The Philosophers' Cocoon

An Underappreciated Book

My previous post about Tomas Bogardus' paper, "Undefeated Dualism", reminded me of this brilliant and flawed, but underappreciated book by Gregg Rosenerg, "A Place for Consciousness: Probing the Deep Structure of the Natural World" (Oxford University Press, 2004).  If memory serves me correct, Rosenberg was a disciple of David Chalmers' at Indiana, but he has since left academia (not sure why).  Anyway, what sets Rosenberg's book apart is that he gives a very different argument for dualism: one based on causation.

Rosenberg's book is actually broken into two parts. The first part is on consciousness, and the second part causation.  By my lights, the first part (on consciousness) is rather unsuccessful. Rosenberg claims to give a new argument against physicalism about consciousness -- but I don't think his argument is all that new or compelling.  The second part on the other hand (the part on causation) is new and groundbreaking as far as I am concerned (though I am still unsure of how successful I think it is).  In a nutshell, Rosenberg argues that physicalism cannot even account for causation, and that the problems physicalism runs into with causation are exactly the problems it runs into with consciousness.

What I think is so great about this is that if he is right, Rosenberg has given a second, independent class of philosophical grounds (causation, not consciousness) for thinking that physicalism is false and dualism true (and, even if he's not right, he's given some pretty darn cool arguments!). This is in large part why I am a dualist. I not only think there are probably these two grounds (consciousness and causality) for dualism, but a third as well: quantum physics, which (or so I argue in a working paper) is itself fundamentally dualistic (feel free to look up the "measurement problem" for the Copenhagen interpretation for a start).

Anyway, if all this is right, then three different areas of philosophy and physics -- consciousness, causation, and quantum measurement -- all converge on the same, startling conclusion: the proposition that dualism is in fact true! Oh no, I have said too much...[bad REM lyrical pun;]

 Here's an excerpt from a review on Amazon that I actually agree with:

If Rosenberg is right, he should get a Nobel prize. If he is wrong, his is still an Important Book, because it actually pounds a stake in the ground and lays out a theory, or at least a template of a future theory. No one else does this. Even in this fringey branch of philosophy, people are much too conservative, and Rosenberg has boldly gone where no one has gone before. But he has done so rigorously, level headedly, admitting where he is being speculative, but arguing why the circumstantial evidence supports his speculations.

Can we all say goodbye to phenomenal concepts now?

Given that I'm an ex-physicalist who is now an avowed dualist (I have also just finished a paper showing that [almost] every existing interpretation of quantum-mechanics is fundamentally dualist, which should lead even the most naturalistically-inclined among us to take greater pause -- and I am far from alone in suggesting this: many great QM physicists, Shrodinger, Heisenberg, and many others, thought quantum reality is fundamentally dualist), I thought I would clue you all into Tomas Bogardus' forthcoming paper in Phil Studies, "Undefeated Dualism."  

Borgardus argues -- correctly in my view -- that no existing physicalist strategy to explain away dualist intuitions is remotely close to successful (including, thank goodness, the "phenomenal concept strategy", which I have long thought to be an enormous red herring). Anyway, I hope you all check his paper out. I need to give it a closer reading, but I think it's worth paying attention to.

Opportunistic writing

One of the great things about being a professional academic is that you get to write about whatever you want. One of the hard things about being a professional academic is figuring out what to write about and what not to write about. I'm curious to know how others approach this issue, but I'll begin with my own account as a cautionary tale.

Things were easier for me in graduate school. Once I'd chosen a dissertation topic, the next few years seemed pretty well mapped out. I'd spend a few years writing my dissertation, after which I'd spend a few more spinning papers out of the major chapters and building a research program on those first few papers. At first, things went according to plan. The dissertation came along at a nice clip, and one of the early chapters was accepted by a journal before I'd defended the dissertation. The paper containing my "main ideas," however, has languished at one journal or another for the past three years. Because it's somewhat idiosyncratic and has received mixed responses, I'm not sure about building a research program on it until it's published. I've presented versions of that paper at conferences and have made some progress on it. However, I'm lucky enough to be on the tenure clock now, and so I can't afford to twiddle my thumbs while journal referees twiddle theirs.

Without the direction established by my dissertation, I've taken what I'll call an "opportunistic approach" to writing. I have quite varied philosophical interests, and I've been indulging them whenever an opportunity presents itself to write a potentially publishable piece about one of those interests (e.g., a conference CFP, an interesting paper comes out about which I have something to say, an invitation to contribute to a volume, etc.). I suppose my strategy has been to try to grab some low-hanging fruit while trying to publish my "primary" research.

In short, this strategy hasn't worked very well. I've produced a bunch of (mostly unpublished) papers on a bunch of different topics. Aside from one coherent research program that's emerged from an opportunistic interdisciplinary collaboration with a friend, most of these papers are mediocre at best. There are two or three that might pan out, but I wouldn't be that surprised if they don't. I think I'm just not deeply entrenched enough in the relevant literatures to execute these papers well. What's more, many of the papers are on topics around which I don't really want to build a research program. If I can get them published, they'll be "one off" pieces. So, I don't have much incentive to get deep enough into the relevant literature to make the paper work.

What strategies have worked for people in identifying publishable ideas and/or fruitful research programs? What strategies haven't been working?

New Contributor: Brad Cokelet

I'd like to welcome our newest contributor, Brad Cokelet, to the Philosophers' Cocoon.  Brad is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at the University of Miami.  He has published an article and several book reviews in Ethics, and has another article forthcoming in Ethics.  His main research areas are normative ethics, meta-ethics, moral psychology, rationality, and the history of ethics. His current research centers on the nature of and relations between virtue, rational agency, autonomy, and respect for persons. He also has side interests in the philosophy of action, virtue epistemology, political philosophy, Buddhism, and the metaphysics of persons.  Welcome, Brad!

Another Reader Poll: How similar is too similar?

I've been told by a few people that it can be advantageous to send somewhat similar papers to different journals (indeed, I've even been encouraged to do this) as long as the papers are not "too similar." I've also been told (by an editor of a journal!) that it can be okay to submit substantially longer, revised versions of previously published papers. As an example, John Rawls published a short version of "Justice as Fairness" in the Journal of Philosophy in 1957 and then a three-times-longer version in Philosophical Review in 1958.  

I have to confess that I've been confused about all of this for quite a while. Most journals state that submissions may not have been previously published "in whole or in part" -- but where exactly is the line drawn? Should one use an "if there's any doubt" standard? Obviously, that's a very safe standard, but whenever I think of using it, I basically come to the conclusion that it is never okay, since, whenever I entertain the thought with my own papers, I always have doubts whether they're too similar. What to do, what to do? I'm curious to hear what you all think. I expect there are more than a few of you out there who have wondered the same thing!

Reader Poll: How to Get Feedback

One of the most important things I've learned about publishing is how important it is to get good feedback on working papers. Simply put, it is very hard to put together a publishable piece of work all alone. This is not to say it is impossible -- but good feedback helps a great deal. But how does one get it? One obvious way is to make connections with people and trade papers with them. Another way to get feedback is to present at conferences. But sometimes neither of these options present themselves. For example, I know many people inside my AOS, but I just finished a very long paper (one too long for conferences) far *outside* of my AOS, in an area in which I simply don't know anybody. What should one do in this case? I've considered posting the paper on a blog or two, but (A) I've done this before and hardly anyone responded, and (B) it would completely undermine the process of blind review (the paper is out at a journal). Indeed, this brings me to a more general question: how smart/dumb/etc. do people think it is to post (polished) working papers online? I have some papers on SSRN and Academia.edu -- and I tend to operate in the spirit of sharing rather than hiding my work (isn't that what philosophy is all about?) -- but at the end of the day I'm not sure whether this is all that smart. One possible problem is that people can steal ideas (I'm not saying this is common, but it could happen). Another issue is that it undermines blind review. Etc. On the flip side, it's incredibly frustrating to have what one believes to be a great paper on one's hands and keep it a secret. If one doesn't share it, one can get "scooped" (someone else can publish the idea before you do). Certainly sharing online doesn't totally obviate this problem -- someone else can still officially publish an idea before you do -- but at least if you share it online, if there is ever a question of precedence later on down the road, there is still a "paper trail" showing that you got there first.

Anyway, what does everyone think? I'd love to hear what you all think about these issues in general, as well as what you all think about my particular situation (i.e. having a paper on my hands that I think is super-cool, but *very* long, not in my AOS, etc.). Thanks in advance -- looking forward to discussion!

In Defense of Publishing in "Bad" Journals

There has been some rather animated discussion lately about which journals "look good on a CV" and which don't. In principle, there's nothing wrong with asking (and answering) this question. It's a relevant issue, to be sure. People want jobs and tenure, and publishing in good journals can certainly help in achieving these ends (though, just to be clear, publishing in top journals is not necessary for either of these things).

At the same time, I firmly believe -- with some real evidence at my back -- that too many people are working with a wrong, harmful message. The message that I am referring to is this: publishing in top-20 journals is a good indicator of success, and of your chances of getting a good job. How many of us have been taught this message? How many of us accept it? If recent discussion and my own experiences are any indication, the message is a dominant one. But is the message really correct, and is it healthy?

On the Truth, and Health, of "the Message"

Let us begin with the issue of "success" in philosophy? What is it? Or, rather, what should it be? What's a rational conception of success (for the average philosopher)? Well, let's think about this for a minute. Suppose you identified "success" with publishing in a top-20 journal. Okay, the average acceptance rate of top journals is roughly 5-10%. Notice, further, that if you look at the table of contents of the average top-20 journal, it is often the same people who publish in those journals time after time after time. Notice where this leaves us: if you define success as publishing in top-20 journals, roughly 90% of us will have to consider ourselves failures. [Note: I am just "guesstimating" probabilities here]. Anyway, assuming this is correct, the above conception of success seems sheer madness. No healthy person -- and no healthy discipline -- should conceive success in terms of a 90% failure rate. I mean, I suppose you can define success that way -- and why wouldn't you, if you're among the few who publish in top journals -- but why should you, if you're among those who don't? Why consign yourself to a 90% chance of considering yourself a failure (especially when, again, one can live happily with a very different conception of success)?

I can imagine a number of responses to what I have said so far. "You should identify success that way because you need to publish in top-20 journals to get, and keep, good jobs", or perhaps, "You should identify success that way because, if you don't, you've settled for mediocrity." Or some such rubbish. But this is rubbish -- for a number of reaons. First, one needn't publish in top-20 journals to get a job. Yes, if you don't publish in top-20 journals, you are probably in line for a teaching job (at least if you're a great teacher!) -- but, if I'm being honest (see my comment here), teaching jobs can be pretty awesome: they can be not only inspiring for one as a teacher, but also as a researcher (again, see my comment here). Oh yeah, and they're much easier to get tenure at! But now what about the worry on settling for mediocrity?

The long game, or why it's okay to publish in "bad" journals

We live in a world where people focus a great deal on the "now." It has probably always been like this. Humans are rather short-sighted things. We prefer to see what's right in front of our noses, rather than what could be 20 years down the road. We focus on the "short game", not the long one. Yet there are so many counterexamples in history. Kant was a minor metaphysician until his 50's. Einstein was a patent-clerk who was such an undistinguished student, and who pissed off his thesis advisor so much, that he went without an academic job for several years -- with only a couple of completely insignificant publications -- before changing the world. There are many others.

The simple fact is: success can take time. This is not to say that you or I are the next Kant or Einstein (uh, no, sorry, probably not!). But look, the point still stands. If life has taught me anything, it is that different people move at very different paces. I, for example, have been a late-bloomer. I spoke late as a child. I grew late. I got my PhD late. Everything has always taken me time. And so it is. It is good to be at peace with who you are. Anyway, the point is: if you are not ready to publish in a top-20 journal now (and you want to), there are steps you can take...steps which -- if the CVs of many well-known people I have checked out are any indication -- can pay off. Indeed, if the CVs of well-known people are any indication (I won't call them out by name, but trust me, I've done my research), publishing in lower journals is really not a bad place to start. Indeed, I can't emphasize this enough: I have seen many CVs of eminent philosophers who "started small." Of course, many "big names" started big -- publishing in top places right off the bat -- but many did not. Publishing in "bad" journals probably won't harm you (see here), but it can do a bunch of good things for you. Among other things, it can:

1. Teach you general lessons what it takes to publish (yes, at a "lower" level than top-20 journals, but the lessons can be helpful nonetheless).
2. Enable you to begin constructing a diverse array of interests and long-term research programmes; and finally, and probably most importantly,
3. Build your confidence.

I can't emphasize this last point enough. In my own experience (both in philosophy and elsewhere), the value of confidence is immeasurable. I lost my confidence for a long time in graduate school, and you know what happens when you lose your confidence? Answer: the same thing that happens when you lose your confidence in just about any endeavor -- you suck. Yes, that's right, when you lose your confidence your work goes to crap. You know why? Because when you lose your confidence, you worry more than you think, and philosophy becomes more of a chore -- a fear of failure -- than a love. My experience, anyway, has been this: publishing in some lower-ranked journals can build your confidence. As your confidence grows, your love for philosophy gows. As your love for philosophy and confidence both grow, your enthusiasm grows -- and when your enthusiasm grows the amount of energy you have to devote to rigor, and risks you are apt to take in thought, both rise. And you become...a better philosopher.  

This is ultimately what I think is so wrong with "the Message." The Message gets us to think about what we are not ("I'm a failure!", "I'll never get a job") instead of about the one truly relevant thing: "What does it take for me, today, to become a better philosopher?" So much time, thought, and discussion is spent about which journals are "good" and which are "crap" (not my words).  Yet the real thing that each of us should be trying to do every day is to become better philosophers. And there are many ways to do it. One way to do it is to publish in lower-ranked journals, gain confidence, hone your skills, and move forward. That has been my way, and I am proud of it. I don't care whether anyone thinks my work is "crap", or whether my publishing in journal X is likely to score me a job. What I care about is whether I am a better philosopher today than I was yesterday. What else could be more relevant? What else could be more healthy? What else can one reasonably ask of oneself? I leave the answers to these questions in your own case to you...

Announcement: Character as Moral Fiction

This evening, I sent my book manuscript, Character as Moral Fiction, to Cambridge University Press to begin production.  Here's a draft of the cover:

And here's a link to the manuscript, which I'll leave up while the book is in production.  It should be possible to make a few revisions at the final proofing stage, so if you find any problems in the manuscript, do let me know.

Some Interesting Facts About This Year's Hires

There's a thread over on Brian Leiter's page with quite an animated discussion over which sorts of publications do and do not look good to hiring committees.  Setting aside the usual squabbling over which journals are "good" and which are "crap" (not my words) -- by the way, this is an issue that I will discuss at length soon in a post -- most of the discussion consists in different people sharing their (incredibly disparate) opinions about what does and does not look good.  

I figured I would try to bring some empirical facts to bear on the discussion.  Because I finished two papers yesterday, the computer that I do research on is broken (no data lost, thank goodness), and my wife is out at work, I've had so much time on my hands that I decided to go through the entire first page of hires on BL's tenure-track hiring thread for this year, and put together a database of everyone's publications (using BL's surveys on journal rankings).

The data I collected are interesting, to be sure.  I'll begin with the data and then give some take-home messages. Here's the data:

Total # of Research-1 Jobs: 94
Hires with at least one top 20 publication: 30
Hires with more than one top 20 publication: 15
Hires with no top-20 publications:52
Hires with at least one non-top-20 publication: 47
Hires with more than one non-top-20 publication: 27
Hires with no publications (from Leiter top-25 department): 31
Hires with no publications (Leiter non-top-25-department):3
Hires with at least one publication in a top-5 specialty journal: 24
Hires with more than one publication in a top-5 specialty journal: 16

Total # of Teaching jobs: 31
Hires with at least one top 20 publication:6
Hires with more than one top 20 publication:1
Hires with no top-20 publications:19
Hires with at least one non-top-20 publication:11
Hires with more than one non-top-20 publication:8
Hires with no publications (from Leiter top-25 department):12
Hires with no publications (Leiter non-top-25-department):6
Hires with at least one publication in a top-5 specialty journal: 6
Hires with more than one publication in a top-5 specialty journal: 4

Takeaway lessons:

Lesson#1: If you want an R1 job, you must either have at least one top-20 journal publication or have no publications at all but come from a Leiter-awesome department.

Lesson#2: Non-top-20 journal publications DO NOT harm you, either in the case of R1 jobs or teaching jobs.

Lesson#3: If you want a job at a teaching university, you do not need any top-20 journal publications.

Lesson#4: If you want a job at a teaching university, non-top-20 journal publications appear to help you.

Lesson#5: If you come from a Leiter-ific department but have no publications, you are a very strong candidate both types of job (research and teaching).

Fwiw, all of these lessons cohere more or less with my own personal experience on the market, and with things I've heard second-hand.  Sooo...who out there is surprised by the data?  Reactions?

 

New Contributors

I'd like to welcome our two newest contributors, Justin Snedegar and Kyle Whyte.

Justin is a PhD candidate at USC and focuses in ethical theory, especially metaethics and practical reasoning.  His dissertation is entitled "Contrastive Reasons."

Kyle is Assistant Professor at Michigan State, and specializes in environmental, sustainability and public policy ethics, and American Indian philosophy.  Prof Whyte is also affiliated faculty for Peace and Justice Studies, Environmental Science and Policy, the Center for Regional Food Systems, and American Indian Studies.

Welcome to you both!

Philosophical Articles on File Sharing

Here's a research-related question: is anyone aware of any substantive philosophical literature on peer-to-peer file sharing? I've taught this topic a few times in undergraduate survey courses in applied ethics using Lessig's Free Culture, but I've been surprised by the lack of philosophical material on the topic, particularly given the impact and growth of file sharing in the last ten years. There seems to be a decent body of literature on intellectual property (judging from the SEP entry), but is anyone aware of some articles that address file sharing specifically?

Blue Books and Framing Effects

I am always looking for ways of making my grading fairer and more balanced. One issue I've discussed with my peers is whether to grade blue books one book at a time or one question at a time. While I've been using the former strategy, I've also suspected that the latter may be less subject to bias; and I have now come across empirical evidence strongly suggesting that my suspicion was correct.

In his recent (2011) book, Thinking Fast and Slow, psychologist and Nobel Prize Winner Daniel Kahneman presents a famous study of ordering effects on people's judgments of character. The study, developed by Solomon Asch, asks subjects to evaluate the personalities of the following two people:

Alan: intelligent--industrious--impulsive--critical--stubborn--envious
Ben: envious--stubborn--critical--impulsive--industrious--intelligent

Most people judge Alan more favorably, even though Alan and Ben are described with exactly the same adjectives! The ordering of the list exerts a considerable influence on our overall judgment of Alan's and Ben's characters. As Kahneman explains, an immediate impression is formed after reading the first two or so adjectives, and this impression affects our interpretation of somewhat ambiguous adjectives such as 'critical'. If we have already started to form a positive impression based on the initial adjectives, we are more likely to interpret 'critical' in a positive way than if it is one of the first adjectives we are given. This is the unconscious brain's way of making coherent sense out of several distinct pieces of information that might otherwise be difficult to reconcile with one another. The process Kahneman describes here is part of a larger phenomenon referred to as the "halo effect": "The tendency to like (or dislike) everything about a person" (Kahneman 2011, pp.82-83).

This same ordering effect can occur in grading. Kahneman noticed this as he graded his blue-book exams, which he had been grading one book at a time. Like many of our philosophy exams, each of Kahneman's exams consisted of two long essays. After reading and grading the initial essay, he noticed that he was more inclined to grade the second essay in a way consistent with his grading of the first; i.e. if he gave a good grade to the first essay, he was more likely to be lenient in grading the second, and if he gave a poor grade to the first essay, he was more likely to be uncharitable and harsh in grading the second essay. Once Kahneman started grading his blue books one essay at a time, this effect was reduced, and he was very surprised at how much differently some of his students performed on the two essays. Indeed, when we went back afterward and found disparities between a student's two essay grades, he was strongly tempted to change one of the grades to reduce the disparity (Kahneman 2011, pp. 83-84).

This type of phenomenon seems to me to be pretty convincing evidence that we can be more objective in assessing our students' performance if we grade blue books one question at a time, rather than one book at a time. Ideally, the process should also be blind. It looks like I should change my approach.

What are some of the strategies you have adopted to minimize bias and maximize consistency in your grading of blue books and papers?

Have Reasons Had Their Day?

Philosophers have spilt a lot of ink over the past three decades or so writing about reasons.  Reasons-talk has become even more pronounced -- indeed, dominant -- in the past decade or so, with reasons internalists and externalists arguing back-and-forth over whether reasons come from "within" or "without", and towering figures like T.M. Scanlon and Derek Parfit taking (normative) reasons to be normatively fundamental entities.

Some of us have long suspected the supposed fundamentality of reasons to be a collosal blind-alley, and that (normative) reasons must be explained in terms of something else more normatively fundamental: the concept of "ought", perhaps, or (if Judith Thompson is correct) the concepts of evaluatives and directives, or (if J. David Velleman is correct) "an evaluative perspective."  Why?  The short answer is that reasons-claims seem to call out for analysis.  We ask, "Why should I think I have such-and-such a reason?"  This very question -- the request for an explanation of what constitutes one's reasons -- suggests that (normative) reasons cannot be normatively fundamental.  

Anyway, I think (and hope) that the "reasons are fundamental"-era is beginning to come to an end. I'd like to draw everyone's attention to this awesome paper by Kate Manne, "The New Euthyphro Problem: What Grounds What for Reasons?"  According to Manne, reasons-talk faces an insoluble dilemma akin to the traditional Euthyphro dilemma: there are two diametrically opposed perspectives on where reasons come from (internalism and externalism), and neither position can be defended successfully against the other.  For (roughly) this reason (pun fully intended!), Manne holds that the "reasons-are-fundamental"-perspective is hopeless.  

Is Manne right?  Have reasons had their day?  I'm curious to see what you all think!

Minimal Truthmakers

I've been working on a paper on minimal truthmakers with an ex-colleague of mine from Durham, Donnchadh O'Conaill (we've previously written a paper together on monism). The paper is now at the stage where we could use some feedback. Rather than posting a link to the draft here, I'll post this general call for volunteers -- drop me a message if you think you might like to read it and could perhaps provide some feedback, or even just a general impression. We make some use of the work of Armstrong, Fine, Correia, Sider, and Schaffer, among others. The goal is to defend the usefulness of the notion of minimal truthmakers and to provide a definition of them, as well as give some reasons to think that there indeed are some minimal truthmakers. Our two primary arguments concern the explanatory value of minimal truthmakers, and the idea that at least 'joint-carving' (or fundamental) propositions are likely to have minimal truthmakers. The draft is about 8,000 words. The abstract is below.

A minimal truthmaker for a given proposition is the smallest portion of reality which can make this proposition true. Minimal truthmakers are frequently mentioned in the literature, and have been referred to as “of quite special importance for metaphysics” (Armstrong 2004, 19). However, there has been no systematic account of what minimal truthmakers are or of their importance. In this paper we shall clarify the notion of a minimal truthmaker for a given proposition, and argue that there is reason to think that at least some propositions have minimal truthmakers. We shall then argue that the notion of a minimal truthmaker can play a useful role in truthmaker theory, by helping to explain the truth of certain propositions as precisely as possible.

Is Moral Relativism Worth Taking Seriously?

Maybe so.  If the past several decades of articles, ethics textbooks, and my own graduate education in moral philosophy are any indication, almost no one takes moral relativism seriously.  J. David Velleman has another take -- and I think he's probably onto something very important.  Just thought I'd share his very intriguing article, "Foundations for Moral Relativism", with y'all.  I'm also curious to hear what you all think of it!

Publishing Practices: Why not do as the physicists do?

Anyone who has experience publishing in philosophy knows how frustrating it can be.  It can take several months for a journal to come to a decision (even at journals that generally have a good reputation for quick turnaround times), and whether one gets reasonable or unreasonable (and sometimes just plain mean) reviewers is a complete roll of the dice. Etc.

Is there a better way?  I keep up with particle physics in my spare time, and I've noticed that physicists do things quite differently.  Their publishing process has changed with the times.  Fifty years ago, they had the same process we have.  Now, however, they've done something very cool. Basically, everyone uploads their papers to a single online database -- the Arxiv -- before sending them to jounals. The Arxiv then functions as a kind of public review process.  That is, people in the profession pay great attention to the Arxiv and begin discussing papers even before they have been published.  In this way, people in the profession begin to determine publicly which papers are "good" and "important"...all before the paper has even been sent to a journal.  In essence (if I understand it right), this process makes the actual review process at journals something of a formality. Everyone already knows publicly which papers are good, important, groundbreaking, etc., so there is a smaller chance that unreasonable papers will be rejected by unreasonable reviewers (viz. the otherwise unreasonable reviewer often already knows that everyone thinks a paper is great, and so will be likely to accept it).

Now, one worry about this process is that it is less than fully blind -- yet I think there are several things to say here on its behalf.  First, blind review in today's day-and-age is almost impossible to ensure.  A simple web search is all it often takes for a reviewer to determine who wrote the paper they are reviewing (note: this need not be any fault of the author, as conferences may post paper titles online, etc).  Second, the Arxiv process seems arguably more fair (to me) than traditional "blind" review.  After all, once again, we all know how unfair unreasonable reviewers can be.  What could be more fair than the profession-at-large determining which papers are good, etc.? Aren't there at least some reasons to think that the profession as a whole is a better judge of quality than, say, one or two reviewers?  For a fun example (albeit with a book), see RM Hare's hilariously dismissive review of Rawls' A Theory of Justice.  Here are a few fun excerpts:

In concluding this not very sympathetic notice, it must be said that a reviewer with more ample patience and leisure might possibly have done better for Rawls. I have taken a great deal of pains (and it really has been painful) trying to get hold of his ideas, but with the feeling all the time that they were slipping through my fingers...The book is extremely repetitious, and it is seldom clear whether the repetitions really are repetitions, or modifications of previously expressed views. I have drawn attention to some of these difficulties, and there are all too many others. Rawls is not to be blamed for failing to keep the whole of this huge book in his head at the same time (the only way to avoid inconsistencies when writing a book); and still less are his readers. He is to be blamed, if at all, for not attempting something more modest and doing it properly.

Many years ago [Rawls] wrote some extremely promising articles, containing in germ, though without clarity, a most valuable suggestion about the form and nature of moral thought. It might have been possible to work this idea out with concision and rigour (Rawls' disciple Mr Richards has made a tolerably good job of it in his book A Theory of Reasons for Action, which is much clearer than Rawls' own book as an exposition of this type of theory). If Rawls had limited himself to, say, 300 pages, and had resolved to get his main ideas straight and express them with absolute clarity, he could have made a valuable contribution to moral philosophy. 

Wouldn't an online, public review process like the physicists' Arxiv be better than leaving publication decisions merely up to individuals? (Note: I do not mean doing away with journal review altogether, but rather supplementing it, as physicists do, with a more public review process).  

One final worry might be that a public review process might favor "popular" people in the discipline over the less popular -- but I don't think this has occurred in the physics world.  Quite the contrary, some of the most widely-discussed papers on the Arxiv have been written by "nobodies", thrusting them into professional discussion.  Finally, the Arxiv also seems to do a very good job of ensuring that bad/incorrect things are not published.  For example, the single most downloaded article on the Arxiv -- Garrett Lisi's "An Exceptionally Simple Theory of Everything" -- generated an immense amount of discussion, but has never been published because it was ultimately shown to be incorrect.

Anyway, I'm curious to see what you all think about all of this!

June 1st Deadline! — MANCEPT Workshops in Political Theory, Session on “Ideal and Nonideal Theory”

Hi everyone, I'm organizing a session on ideal and nonideal theory at the annual MANCEPT political theory workshop at the University of Manchester this September 5-7th.  If you have a paper in this area you would like to discuss, please submit ASAP!  I've listed the full details below:

9th Annual MANCEPT Workshops in Political Theory

CFP: session on “Ideal and Nonideal Theory”

Where: Manchester Centre for Political Theory, University of Manchester

When: September 5-7, 2012

Conference Organizers: Chris Mills (workshop administrator), Thomas Porter, Jonathan Quong, James Pattison, Stephen De Wijze

Session Organizer: Marcus Arvan

Deadline for submissions: June 1, 2012

The MANCEPT Workshops in Political Theory is an annual conference at the University of Manchester on selected topics in political theory. Each session will consist of a reading and discussion of 3-12 selected papers.  The present CFP invites full paper submissions for a session on “ideal” and “nonideal theory.” Potential paper topics include (but are by no means limited to) the following:What is the proper role of “ideal theorizing” in political theory?  How well do existing ideal theories apply to nonideal conditions?  Should nonideal theory be guided by, or independent of, ideal theory?  If nonideal theory should be guided by ideal theory, how?

If you would like to present a paper in this session, please submit a full paper and abstract to marvan@ut.edu no later than June 1st, 2012. Please also include a separate cover sheet indicating your name, professional status (faculty, graduate student, independent researcher, etc.), and institutional affiliation. Papers may be of any length suitable for a peer-reviewed journal article. Please note that participants are responsible for seeking their own funding for travel/lodging/etc. For further details or questions, please contact marvan@ut.edu. Decision notices will be emailed by June 14th, 2012.

 

What Now? Personal Reevaluation After An Unsuccessful Job Market Run

There's just no getting around it. Going on the job market and sending off scores off applications, only to receive few or even zero interviews, is psychologically exhausting and demoralizing. Many in the blogosphere and in person have shared this sentiment. Here I'd like to briefly explore the possibility of using an unsuccessful run (or two, or three) on the academic job market as an opportunity for personal growth and maturation.

Since the economic collapse of '08, many individual philosophers have understandably developed a hyper-competitive attitude in an effort to land a job. I have no objection to competition and competitive attitudes, provided that they are healthy and respectful. But in an academic climate such as the one we are in now, there is potential for that competitive attitude to become destructive--both to one's relationships and to oneself.

Each of us is desperately trying to reach the goal for which we have worked hard and sacrificed much. Some of us may feel as if we are entitled to a job on the basis of our achievements, and when no job offer (or interview) comes along, we may feel a whole host of unfriendly emotions, ranging from righteous indignation to even despair. A quite understandable response to such disappointment is to ratchet up one's own competitive edge and work even harder on one's personal research, sending off more papers for publication and working extra hard to make the right connections. But if we do respond in this way, let us not lose sight of ourselves, our relationships and duties to the public, and the reasons why we decided to pursue philosophy in the first place.

Let us not lose sight of ourselves. That is, let us not allow ourselves to become corrupted by an unhealthy obsession with finding a job; and let us not allow ourselves to neglect our own emotional and physical health in a compulsive quest whose final result may be completely our of our own hands. Let us use our professional setbacks to help ourselves to honestly reevaluate our decision to pursue academic philosophy. It's possible that such a reevaluation will cement and corroborate our choice, and cause us to decide that it is worth continuing to work very hard toward the realization of our passion. It is also possible that such a reevlauation will reveal that we would be satisfied working in some alternative career and using our philosophical education as a tool for both self-improvement and the education of others. We need not be professors of philosophy in order to put our education to use in the service of others; this can be achieved in a number of different ways, including tutoring, blogging, commenting, teaching community education courses, and even simply setting examples of clear-headed and dispassionate investigation of issues when discussing them with others. But above all, whether we choose to remain in the field or leave it, our setback is an opportunity to reassess our lifestyles and career paths, and to potentially become better people on the basis of this reassessment.

Let us not lose sight of our relationships and duties to the public. The single-minded pursuit of a career in academic philosophy has the potential to cause us to neglect our personal relationships and/or allow insufficient time for developing new ones. Moreover, there is potential for us to lose track of our duties to our students, as well as the rich opportunities for meaning and growth that lie in every course we teach. Some might think this sentiment is overly naïve and neglects the harsh reality of teaching students who may not care one whit about the material. But I think that this "harsh reality" is overstated, and even if one only really reaches and impacts one student per course, the overall effects of this over time can be substantial. I have already mentioned some possible ways in which one who chooses to leave the field of academic philosophy can use his or her education in the service of others. But those of us who remain in the field can serve the public in many of the same ways, as well as through public lectures and books directed at a general audience.

Let us not lose sight of the reasons we decided to pursue philosophy in the first place. Think back to the time you decided to attend graduate school. Would your earlier self be satisfied with the direction in which you have taken your philosophical education? Perhaps so. If not, it may be worth asking why not. The spring and/or summer after one has had an unsuccessful run on the job market is an excellent time for revisting such questions and perhaps refining one's approach to one's philosophical career.

These injunctions--to not lose sight of one's self, one's relationships and duties to the public, or the reasons one decided to pursue philosophy--are offered as reminders to those of us who might otherwise become overly self-centered in our pursuit of a position in academic philosophy. Let us not be mere students or professors of philosophy; let us be philosophers.

What's the single most important thing you've learned about the job market?

I know it's early, but the job market will be upon us in just a couple of months -- and so I thought I'd open the question to ye Cocooners who've navigated the market before: what's the single most important thing you've learned about the job market?

Here's my answer: chill out, and be kind to yourself and others.  Yes, the market is brutal -- but the more relaxed and at peace you are with things, the saner you'll be, the better you will perform in interviews, and the better of a person you will be to those around you.

What are your answers, Cocooners?

New Contributor: Peter Nichols

I'd like to welcome our newest contributor, Peter Nichols, to the Philosophers' Cocoon.  Peter is a PhD student at the University of Wisconsin - Madison, and will be defending his dissertation this fall. Peter specializes in ethics and metaphysics, and his dissertation defends the use of wide reflective equilibrium over a "metaphysics first" approach to inquiry in personal identity debates.  Welcome!

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime...you might just get what you need: A Grad School Story

This post is intended as a cautionary tale for anyone thinking of applying to PhD programs in philosophy, as a source of comfort for grad students who are having trouble finding their way, and perhaps a source of insight for faculty in PhD-granting departments (to help students find their way).  I am simply going to tell the story of my experiences -- including second-hand experiences of other students' paths through grad school -- and some of the lessons I've drawn.

First things first.  In my experience, almost everyone enter PhD programs in philosophy with dramatically unrealistic expectations of how things will go.  Everyone is confident they will finish in five years.  Almost no one actually does.  It is far more common to take 7-10 years, and there is a real chance you will not finish at all.  I'll begin with my own case.  

I declared my undergraduate major in philosophy at Tufts University during my very first semester there.  I actually had no prior intention of majoring in philosophy, but as a matter of pure luck I got enrolled in an Honors section of an intro-to-philosophy class taught by none other than Dan Dennett.  Dan was a fantastic teacher and mentor, and he had me transfixed with philosophy from day 1.  We worked our way through Descartes, Hume, Wittgenstein and a few others, and I remember very clearly sitting in my room working through drafts and redrafts of papers while most of my friends were partying. Anyway, a few years later, I had gotten "A"s in all of my undergrad classes, wrote an undergrad thesis on conciousness, and graduated...with every intention of getting my PhD.  I had a good work ethic and thought I was pretty smart (though by no means "the smartest person in the room").  I thought getting into and through grad school would be a breeze.  I was fairly certain, at least, that it would be a roughly linear experience -- with me moving incrementally but steadily toward my degree -- and that I would finish in five years or so.  Oh how wrong was I.

I began my graduate career in Syracuse's PhD program (at the time when John Hawthorne, Ted Sider, Dean Zimmerman, Brian Weatherson, and Bill Alston were all there).  I had expected to get into a more highly ranked program, but for whatever reason I didn't (perhaps it was my GREs, which I didn't bomb but didn't ace; perhaps it was that my undergrad papers weren't that great; I don't know).  In any case, Syracuse was a dream.  I developed great friendships with other grad students that I still maintain to this day, I received A's in all of my classes, and had the impossibly good luck of having my very first course be a seminar on vagueness co-taught by Hawthorne and the mercurial Jose Benardete (who is without a doubt the funniest individual I have ever met or seen, and whose book on infinity is ridiculously awesome).  I was a budding little metaphysician, epistemologist, and philosopher of language writing on everything from epistemic contextualism to modality.

Half-way through my second year at Syracuse, Rutgers hired Hawthorne, Sider, and Zimmerman away.  I immediately decided to transfer.  There were only two well-ranked programs whose application deadlines hadn't passed: MIT and Arizona.  I got into Arizona.

Things were a disaster for me almost from the first moment I stepped (well, drove) into Arizona. As easily as things had fallen into place for me at Syracuse, nothing fell into place at Arizona.  I can't emphasize enough that my problems really had nothing to do with the department itself.  It was a great, supportive place (and still is, or so I hear). Alas, I had just ended a 5-year relationship, and I didn't connect very well with the other first-year students in my cohort.  I also felt out of place philosophically.  There weren't many metaphysicians at Arizona, and the few there were worked in completely different areas than had experience with or interest in.  So, I started my courses, but was rather distracted by personal problems and classes that, for some reason or other (probably mostly my personal issues), didn't engage my imagination in the same way that philosophy had always previously done.

Anyway, I just didn't kick butt my first couple of years at Arizona like I had as an undergrad or at Syracuse.  I didn't bomb, but I wasn't great.  And everyone knew it.  Of course, I started to lose confidence in myself.  I also made a few stupid mistakes, the worst of which was probably calling one of my profs' arguments "disingenuous" in one of my papers for her class, which did not exactly endear me to her.  I still can't believe I did that.  In order to escape a bit from the stress, I started playing in a rock-and-roll band -- and, while I passed my comp exams, I was playing a little too much rock music and doing far too little dissertation-preparing.  I was floundering.  Because I was floundering, I started getting a bit bitter.  Why weren't my profs helping me and other grad students more, I thought?  How in the world was I supposed to come up with a diss topic?  More rock-n-roll and more floundering ensued.  After about two years of wondering what the heck I was doing, I came up with a topic I thought was good -- and my committee canceled my prospectus the night before.  I cried a great deal.

Despite the fact that I hadn't done much to earn it (besides, or so he later told me, a great paper I'd written for one of his classes a few years before), my dissertation supervisor still found it in his heart to support me.  I am still grateful for this more than words can say.  Another prof, Mark Timmons, took me aside and told me to just read.  I did.  I read stuff in areas I had little experience with at all.  I had been focusing in Ethics (no, not metaphysics -- I had already given that up!).  But instead of reading ethics, I picked up Rawls' A Theory of Justice, Political Liberalism, and The Law of Peoples, and found...a real topic.  Rawls, I discovered, had written almost entirely on "ideal theory" (i.e. theorizing about fully just conditions).  I had the idea of applying his original position to nonideal theory (i.e. the real world).  My dissertation -- "A Nonideal Theory of Justice" -- was born.  Well, after about another six months more of thinking. I stopped playing rock-n-roll. I dissertated.  It was hard.  The end result wasn't great.  I think I barely passed my defense.  From what I could hear during the half-hour I waited outside of the room in which my committee deliberated, someone had to fight for me. They might have been wrong.  In retrospect, I don't think the diss was quite ready. The fact that I've written well upwards of sixty full drafts of my dissertation's foundational chapter, had it rejected by a dozen journals (with one very close call, and lots of positive reviews :/), and am still sending it out, attests to that. Whatever, I still believe in it...and, in any case, in December 2008 -- nine years after I began graduate school, and in reality coming very close to washing out -- I received my PhD.

What did I learn from all of this?  Many things.  I will only mention a few here.

First, I learned that I am by no means an aberration.  Almost all of the people I went to grad school with (both at Syracuse and Arizona) believed they would finish in 5 years. Almost all of them took between 7-10 years.  A few of them, sadly, never made it.  I think about them quite a bit. So, first lesson for would-be philosophy grad-schoolers: if you intend to go to grad school, no matter how smart you are or how good of a work ethic you have, you will almost certainly not graduate in five years, and you may not finish at all.  Everyone I started with was smart and had a good work ethics. Smarts and good work ethics can get side-tracked by failed relationships, rock bands, losing one's confidence, and a thousand other things.  I found out the hard way.

Second -- and this is the part actual grad students and grad departments probably don't want to hear -- I am grateful for my floundering.  For although grad students like to finish fast and grad departments (in part due to funding issues) want to get grad students out the door, I am by no means alone in believing (in spite of and because of my experiences) that floundering can be crucial for one's development.  Here's how I think about it.  Had I actually "been on time" through grad school, I probably would have had a servicable dissertation topic.  But...I think I would have been deprived of two crucial things.  (1): I would have been deprived of an incredible amount of adversity.  Yes, I do believe adversity is good.  If you think grad school is hard, you have no idea how hard it is to be a professor.  Imagine from going from having to write a dissertation to feeling that you must publish several papers a year while teaching 2-4 classes a semester with hundreds of students and advisees.  Grad school still sound like hell?  Trust me, I've been both places.  Being a prof is harder...way harder. (2) My difficulties publishing my diss work aside (I've published several non-diss things), I truly believe that floundering leads to better diss topics.  I believe in my topic.  I might have found a servicable topic had I finished in five years, but I think I found a great one.  Whether or not I ever make good on its promise is, of course, another story. :/  Anyway, that's the second lesson (the second lesson I learned, at any rate). Struggling -- almost failing -- really does suck...but I do believe I'm the better for it. And I do believe that departments should support the floundering, not push them out or marginalize them.  My department (Arizona) did support the floundering, and I have them to thank for my life.  I have also seen many other floundering students turn things around and have spectucular careers.  Other departments, evidently, are not as supportive.  If you are looking to apply to grad school, I advise you to choose a department that supports the floundering, not one that weeds them out.  

Okay, I'm tired telling stories...I hope some of you found them helpful.  I truly know how hard it is, and I hope this post will find, and speak to, at least one person who thinks they can't make it through.  I also hope it will knock some sense into undergrads looking to try for a PhD.  But of course it probably won't.  Wisdom is wasted on the old.  

Publication Announcement: Reconceptualizing Human Rights

I am excited to announce the publication of my article, "Reconceptualizing Human Rights", in the Journal of Global Ethics.  

This paper argues that the concept of a "human right" is defective, in that the concept refers indiscriminately to two very different types of moral claims, not a single sort of thing that can be sensibly classified under a single heading.  I then show that insofar as this is the case, there can be no single theory of human rights (of the sort that is so common today).  We must instead seek two (mostly independent) theories of human rights: a theory of domestic human rights (or universal civil rights), and a theory of international human rights. Finally, I show that the most common approach to justifying human rights -- the "Basic View" that human rights are more basic than justice and can be derived from some moral value(s), such as autonomy, personhood, or a minimally decent human life -- is fundamentally misguided.  Domestic and international human rights are rights of domestic and international justice, and should be seen as emerging from philosophical justifications of domestic and international coercion.  I conclude, as such, that there is no place for a "theory of human rights" in moral or political philosophy.  There is only enough "room" for theories of domestic and international justice, as such theories just are theories of domestic and international human rights.

Balance Series, Part 1: 6 Aspects of a Well-Balanced Academic Life

One of the main challenges faced by graduate students and newly appointed professors is finding the time to both fulfill one’s professional obligations and enjoy one’s personal life. In many respects, the challenge is not new—we’ve been aware of the difference between the personal and the professional since we were just children. Admittedly, things were simpler back then. So-called “professional” obligations did not consist of much more than homework and chores, and our personal activities seemed to encompass everything else. Professional academic life, however, is not as straightforward or easy to manage.

Over the next several months, I’ll be exploring a series of issues that arise with regard to balancing personal and professional life in the context of academic philosophy, and the posts on this topic will be part of the aptly-titled Balance Series. Achieving the ideal balance is, I suspect, an obstacle that all academic philosophers have confronted at one time or another, and for those early in their philosophical careers (like myself), the challenge can loom especially large. After all, graduate students and newly appointed professors are bombarded with a myriad of new professional commitments that can put a substantial strain on the other aspects of their lives that they enjoy.

In this initial part of the series, I identify 6 aspects of a well-balanced academic life (3 from the personal sphere and 3 from the professional sphere). Although I doubt that these 6 aspects will capture everything necessary to make for a well-balanced academic life, they should still serve as a useful framework for approaching the topic.

Let’s start with the personal sphere—the realm of activities that seem indispensable to a fulfilling life even though we are under no professional obligation to perform them. I hope the majority of our personal activities can be categorized into these three areas:

1. Solo: These are the activities we enjoy in our solitude. Among other things, these activities can include reading, writing, working out, and playing videogames. I have yet to meet anyone—no matter how social—who doesn’t occasionally need time to herself.
2. Interpersonal: These are the activities we enjoy with others. They include all things we do with our families, friends, and (often) our other acquaintances, ranging from a romantic evening with one’s spouse to a chat over lunch with a professional colleague.
3. Subsistence: Unlike the other two categories, these activities are frequently ones we do not enjoy. They refer to the many mundane tasks we must do to fulfill our basic needs. Activities like cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, paying bills, and buying groceries fall into this category.

Now let’s turn to the professional sphere—the realm of activities we are professionally obligated to perform as part of our academic jobs. Mirroring the personal sphere, I divide the professional sphere into 3 subcategories of activities:

1. Research: I define research activities pretty broadly. Basically, anything related to furthering one’s research falls into this category. This includes (among other things) reading journal articles, completing graduate coursework, revising old paper drafts, presenting at conferences, submitting to journals, and writing one’s dissertation.
2. Teaching: Anything directly related to teaching undergraduate students falls into the teaching category. Some of these activities are course preparation, holding office hours, running class sessions, and grading.
3. Administrative: I label all other profession-related tasks (i.e., those not clearly nestled under the teaching and research categories) as administrative activities. These tend to be the most mundane of our professional activities and include sending emails to colleagues, filling out forms, returning library books, and so on. However, this does not mean that administrative tasks are not time consuming. For example, applying for jobs falls into this category, and that process is immensely time consuming.

I must stress that these categories are not mutually exclusive. If one enjoys reading academic philosophy, for example, then reading academic philosophy could easily be considered both a solo and research activity. Similarly, discussing a paper with a colleague over lunch could qualify as both an interpersonal and research activity. But remember that these labels are only meant to serve as a foundation for further inquiry into how to achieve the ideal balance between personal and professional activities.

Next time, I’ll look at a question that we all confront as we plan our summer vacations: how long should our vacations last? More specifically, how long can we disconnect from our professional lives without neglecting too much work or being too intellectually rusty when we return? I'll try to answer these questions (and others) on the next installment of the Balance Series.

New Contributor: Helen Daly

I'd like to welcome our newest contributor, Helen Daly, to the Philosophers' Cocoon.  Helen received her PhD from the University of Arizona in 2011 and is now Assistant Professor at Colorado College. Helen specializes in metaphysics and the philosophy of language.  Welcome, Helen!

Work-life-balance, or: collaborating with your wife/husband/any family member or not?

Here is a question I would like to share with you: What do you think about working together with your wife or husband or any other member of your family? I would guess that rather many people probably think that one should keep one’s family and one’s business apart, right?

However, I made wonderful experiences with working together with my wife. We currently work together in one project where I am responsible, together with others, for the philosophy part, and she is responsible for empirical psychological studies. I appreciate her work very much, and I love to work together with her on interesting questions, on discussing results and hypotheses, generating new questions and so on.

In the beginning, it was really interesting and quite a new feeling to see her in professional contexts. But that soon normalized. I enjoy our working together very much.

It is great for both of us that we work in the academia. This gives us a good understanding of what the other person thinks, what motivates her, what constraints in the academia she is confronted with etc. It also means that we deeply understand that the other person actually loves the job because we love it both. Working together on the same or at least related questions also gives rise to very deep discussions about these issues. (However, at home we also talk about other things than the job.)

In sum, working in academia and especially in philosophy is such a great thing that I pursue passionately; I can hardly think of another job that is equally cool. And for me, working with my wife is really the highlight. What about your opinions and experiences?

 

Experiment Month!

I would like to encourage everyone to submit a proposal to the second go-round of Experiment Month.  Here is the official description of the initiative:

The experiment month initiative encourages philosophers to develop and submit original ideas for new experimental studies. Students and professors who wish to submit a proposal for experiment month  are invited to contact the experiment month staff for feedback and suggestions before submitting.

A team of philosophers and psychologists will select the most promising of these proposals to be included in experiment month. Then, the experiment month staff will run the selected studies online, collect the resulting data, and help out with statistical analysis.

I can hardly begin to express how wonderful of an opportunity this is.  I submitted a proposal last year -- having little to no previous experience with experimental philosophy -- and the studies the XMonth folk helped me to design have already yielded me two publications and a long-term research program (for some other success stories, see here!).  If anyone has any questions, feel free to post them below in the comments -- I will answer ASAP.

Note: the deadline for submissions is June 15th.  Send proposals to: experimentmonth@gmail.com

Has Contemporary Philosophy Over-Fetishized Rigor?

It is sometimes remarked that there seem to be far fewer philosophical Greats as of late.  As Eric Schwitzgabel writes, "Now, it seems, there are no Greats though a number of Very Goods." Schwitzgabel continues:

Consider by century: It seems plausible that no philosopher of at least the past 60 years has achieved the kind of huge, broad impact of Locke, Hume, or Kant. Lewis, Quine, Rawls, and Foucault had huge impacts in clusters of areas but not across as broad a range of areas. Others like McDowell and Rorty have had substantial impact in a broad range of areas but not impact of near-Kantian magnitude. Going back another several decades we get perhaps some near misses, including Wittgenstein, Russell, Heidegger, and Nietzsche, who worked ambitiously in a wide range of areas but whose impact across that range was uneven. Going back two centuries brings in Hegel, Mill, Marx, and Comte about whom historical judgment seems to be highly spatiotemporally variable. In contrast, Locke, Hume, and Kant span a bit over a century between them. But still, three within about hundred years followed by a 200 year break with some near misses isn't really anomalous if we're comparing a peak against an ordinary run.

What's the deal? Schwitzgabel floats the following two hypotheses: increasing specialization and what he calls the "winnowing of greats at a distance"-effect (i.e. "The farther away your perspective on any body of people varying in eminence, the more isolated and comparatively great will the most eminent among them seem").  I suspect that there is probably some truth to both explanations -- yet I believe there is another hypothesis worth exploring: contemporary analytic philosophy's emphasis on rigor.  Let me explain.

I have repeatedly found myself in a rather awkward position as a philosophy teacher -- a situation that I expect many readers of this blog can identify with.  As a teacher, I do everything I can to drill the importance of philosophical rigor into my students' heads.  I try to teach them to write clearly, logically, and persuasively, justifying each of their premises to a skeptical-but-intelligent reader. In other words, I try to instruct them in the methods and practices that contemporary analytic philosophers prize.  And yet...the philosophical Greats I expose my students to rarely seem to exemplify these qualities!

Consider Kant's Groundwork.  Setting aside the quality of Kant's prose, is there actually a good argument to be found anywhere in the Groundwork?  It's a groundbreaking work for sure, but as far as I can tell the entire manuscript is populated with what I like to call "pu's": poor-and-unclear arguments.  Kant literally makes one pu after another.  For example, does he ever actually show that common moral judgments are categorical in nature?  No, he simply cherry-picks a few Biblical examples (e.g. "Thou shalt not kill") and then simply asserts that, voila, morality is categorical.  Or what about Kant's attempt to apply the Universal Law Formulation to a measly four simple test-cases (e.g. suicide, false promises, etc.)? A near-complete failure. Or what about the Humanity Formulation of the Categorical Imperative? Does Kant ever give a good argument for it? Nope (see e.g. section V of this paper by Sayre-McCord). Okay, then what about the supposed identity of the Categorical Imperative's various formulas? Nope. Or what about Kant's metaphysical argument (in Part III) that the Categorical Imperative is binding on us? A notorious failure.  The Groundwork is a masterpiece in terms of its ideas, but its arguments?  Not so much.

Kant is far from alone among the Greats in this regard.  When I teach political philosophy, I carefully take my students through the usual cast of characters: Plato, Aristotle, Hobbes, Locke, Mill, Rousseau, Rawls, etc.  How many good arguments are there?  Does Hobbes succeed in showing that a state of nature would be a state of war? No.  Does Rousseau ever give a good argument for society conforming to the General Will?  No.  How many convincing arguments are there in Mill's Utilitarianism or On Liberty?  Not many.  And what about Rawls?  Although he spent well over a thousand pages in A Theory of Justice and Political Liberalism laying out and refining his theory of domestic justice, his actual arguments for his principles of justice are incredibly brief (I count 16 total pages in A Theory of Justice).  Worse yet, Rawls' first "argument" for his principles -- the maximin argument in section 26 of TOJ -- is not only a failure; it is not even his real argument (Rawls says maximin is only useful as a "heuristic"). His real arguments -- having to do with "strains of commitment", finality, and self-respect -- come in section 29 of TOJ, and they are notoriously brief, obscure, and lack a sustained defense.

I suspect many readers of this blog will accuse me of being grossly unfair to these Greats, and maybe I am.  In any case, the question inevitably arises: what made the Greats so Great? Is it their awesomely rigorous arguments? I don't think so.  It's that they had great ideas, in the sense that they saw old problems in new ways. This is what was so Earth-shattering about Kant's Groundwork, Hobbes' Leviathan, Rawls' A Theory of Justice, etc. They didn't provide great arguments (at least, not by my lights). What they did instead was show us new ways to think. They had revolutionary ideas.

But now what fosters revolutionary thought in a philosopher?  Not, I think, an emphasis on rigor. Rigor and Revolutionary Thought, it seems to me, inherently pull in opposite directions.  The more rigorous an argument is -- the more of a "sure thing" its premises are -- the less revolutionary it is apt to be. Rigor narrows the way we think about things. Rigor tells us: "If you can't justify each of your premises to an intelligent, skeptical reader, your argument is a non-starter."  Yet, again, how many Great Works of philosophy actually satisfy this stricture of Rigor? I wager: not many.  

I think we can all agree that Great Philosophy should, at least ideally, have two aspects:

1. Great ideas.

2. Rigorous arguments.

Have we over-emphasized the latter to the detriment of the former?  Are we "rigor-ing" ourselves into obscurity?  What thinks ye, Cocooners? Am I off my rocker?  

I would like to close this post with one of my favorite passages in all of philosophy -- a passage from Simon Blackburn's review of Davidson's Truth and Predication:

Philosophers think of themselves as the guardians of reason, intent beyond other men upon care and accuracy, on following the argument wherever it leads, spotting flaws, rejecting fallacies, insisting on standards. This is how we justify ourselves as educators, and as respectable voices within the academy, or even in public life. But there is a yawning chasm between self-image and practice, and in fact it is a great mistake to think that philosophers ever gain their followings by means of compelling arguments. The truth is the reverse, that when the historical moment is right people fall in love with the conclusions, and any blemish in the argument is quickly forgiven: the most outright fallacy becomes beatified as a bold and imaginative train of thought, obscurity actually befits a deep original exploration of dim and unfamiliar interconnexions, arguments that nobody can follow at all become a brilliant roller-coaster ride towards a shift in the vocabulary, a reformulation of the problem space. Follow the star, and the raw edges will easily be tidied up later.

Editing a Book

Having recently completed the process of editing a collection of papers, I thought I might share my experiences with those who may be planning to do so or are already working on a book. I get frequently asked about this process and it seems the whole ordeal of gathering contributors, writing up a proposal, approaching potential publishers, and getting a contract for an edited book are mysterious for many early career philosophers -- they certainly were to me!

So, I'm going give you a brief "behind the scences" account of how my book, Contemporary Aristotelian Metaphysics (Cambridge University Press, 2012) came to be.

 

Idea for a book

The idea for a collection of papers might emerge from a number of different sources: perhaps you've organized a conference and would like to publish the proceedings, maybe your thesis supervisor or some prominent philosopher you are familiar with is retiring and you want to edit a festschrift, or you might spot a pressing need for a collection on some emerging or neglected topic. The idea for my volume was really a combination of things. I had been interested in editing a volume of some kind and one idea that I had was a type of festschrift for my supervisor, E. J. Lowe, whose 60th birthday was approaching. There had also recently been a conference in Lowe's honour and I thought that the speakers at that conference would make for good contributors. However, I wanted the volume to be substantial, so I also needed to have a strong theme to it. It also soon became apparent that festschriften are somewhat frowned upon by many publishers -- they don't tend to sell very well. So it's preferable to have a theme for the volume in any case. 

 

Editing by yourself or with others?

Whatever the reason, the first question is: are you editing by yourself or with others? Many volumes are edited together by at least two people. At least in the case of conference proceedings, I believe that the primary reason for this is that several people may have been involved in the organization. In that case you may not have much of a choice. It may also be that the idea for a volume is the result of some discussions with your colleagues, in which case it is only polite to ask if they want to get involved, should you decide to pursue the idea. In my own case, I was the only editor. I feel that this may have been an advantage, as it enabled me to make all the decisions regarding contributors and so on; the process will probably be speedier if you do it on your own.

 

Choosing contributors

How do you gather the contributors? It's likely that you know some of them beforehand, especially if your volme is based on a conference. But even in a conference volume, there is often room for some extra contributions, so it's likely that you'll end up inviting some people. It might feel awkward to approach potential contributors out of the blue, especially if they're distinguished professors, but keep in mind that you may also be doing a favour to them: they may have a paper that fits your volume perfectly, but they haven't been able to find a home for it yet. Generally, people are flattered to be asked to contribute. They may be too busy to actually do it, but don't take offence if that's the case. Do also make sure that they don't accept to contribute if they indeed are too busy to do it in a timely fashion -- you don't want one person to hold up the volume. I had to drop one potential contributor myself because of this. In general shorter is better: publishers prefer more concise volumes because they're cheaper to print (while they can still ask for the same price). 14 essays of about 8,000 words is often the upper limit (or it is at least for CUP). Finally, make an effort to gather a representative list of contributors. This does not always mean just the leading names in the field, but also up and coming young philosophers (like yourself!). Do also make sure to have both female and male contributors. I could've been better regarding both of the previous points.

 

Preparing your proposal and shopping around

At the point when you have a good idea about what the volume might look like, and have at least a provisional list of contributors (not all of them have to have agreed to contribute yet), it's time to start shopping around. Mind you, sometimes the idea for a volume might even come from a certain publisher -- and they may invite you to edit it -- but that may not be very likely in the case of early career philosophers. I didn't have immediate success with my own volume. I offered the idea to Blackwell's Philosophers and their Critics  series, but they were going through some editorial changes at the time and were planning to reduce publications in the series in any case. I also tried OUP, but my proposal looked too much like a festschrift to them. So I landed with CUP, and the senior commissioning editor, Hilary Gaskin, was interested in the project. It was with her consultation that I came up with the final theme, and I ended up just dedicating the volume to Lowe. You can contact potential publishers before you have the proposal prepared, or even a final list of contributors. In fact, it's probably a good idea to do so, because that way you get an inkling about whether they are at all interested in what you're offering, and you can reflect on their preferences in your formal proposal. The proposal itself depends a little bit on your publisher. Some publishers have a form that you will have to fill out, some accept more informal proposals. In general, you want the proposal to be not much more than ten pages, including abstracts. You should address at least the following:

• The background of the volume and its theme.
• Why it's an important topic.
• Have there been other volumes on related themes?
• What is the market of the volume (can it be used as a text book for courses)?
• Your own background and competence.

Recall that, unlike for journals, the referee process for edited volumes is not double-blind. That is, the referees will know your identity, but you will not know theirs. Typically, the proposal will be sent to at least two external referees, who will report on the aspects mentioned above.

One more thing: who should you publish with? Well, prestige is what matters the most here, but do also look around for existing series that might be appropriate. You could use the following poll about best academic publishers (from Leiter Reports) as a guideline (top ten reproduced here):

1. Oxford University Press

2. Cambridge University Press

3. Blackwell

4. Harvard University Press

5. MIT Press

6. Routledge

7. Princeton University Press

8. Cornell University Press

9. University of Chicago Press

10. Yale University Press

Contract!

Congratulations, you've got a contract! The referees can take anywhere from a few days to a couple of months to review your proposal, but the publishers are usually pretty swift, and you should hear back from them quite quickly once you submit the final proposal. After that there are some legal matters to sort out, and of course you have to negotiate royalties. Don't expect to get rich: it's typical that publishers will only start paying royalties after so-and-so many sold copies, and it's rare that philosophy books sell very well. Even after that, you may only get something like 5-8% of the profits. But you're probably not in this business for the money anyway, you just want people to read your book! In any case, you may have very little influence over the contract, they're pretty generic. One thing that you do want to make sure is that there will be a paperback edition of your book, because those tend to sell much better (as they're cheaper). You also want to make sure that you as well as all the contributors get a few free copies of the book.

 

How long does it take?

From my initial idea for a book to actually having it in my hands, it took just over two years. It's a long process, but my volume actually came out relatively quickly. It's not unheard of for a book to be in the making for three or four years, even longer. Be prepared to wait around... Much of this is not up to you: you have to wait for the contributions (and allow sufficient time, maybe a year), and even if you're lighting fast in the actual editing, you'll have to wait for the copy-editor, get proofs, then get everyone to revise the proofs, then get the copy-editor to go through the proofs, perhaps have another round of proofs, and so on. These tasks are not generally done in-house anymore, so you'll be dealing with people in India, or freelance copy-writers. They can be slow.

 

Cover, index, editing

When you finally get the contributions, you'll have to make some decisions. You will of course read them yourself, but are you going to send them for external refereeing? It will no doubt help in order to get the best possible volume together, but it's likely to take another six months, at least. I compromised: I created a secure server where I uploaded the early drafts of all the papers, and distributed the password among the contributors. That way I could create an internal refereeing process and also enable the contributors to have a good idea about what else would be in the volume. This seemed to work out ok, although an external refereeing process would certainly be preferable.

The actual editing will probably have to be done in Word, which sucks, but you can't really help it. It may be possible to deal with LaTeX files if your book will be very formal, but generally publishers seem to be stuck with Word. It's a good idea to ask your contributors to send you Word files as well, although some of them probably won't. At least you should ask them to keep the house style in mind when they're writing up their papers. Ultimately, it's up to you to make sure that the papers conform to the house style. If you have no experince in editing, this can be a daunting task, but it's not difficult as such.

The publisher may ask you whether you want to create the index yourself, or to hire someone to index the volume for you. You should choose the first option, as otherwise it's likely that you'll have to pay for the indexing from your own pocket, and it will be inferior. It will help here to ask all the contributors to suggest words that they'd like to have in the index, but even in this case it will be a time consuming task to create the index. Once again, you'll probably have to do it in Word, and I discovered that the indexing tool is rather crappy. Still, I feel that a good index is very important, so it's better to take your time with it (it will take you several full working days).

Finally, the cover. Depending on the publisher, they may have some suggestions for your, some of which may be royalty free. Other than that, you can look for royalty free images online (e.g. old paintings). Or you could hire an artist or buy the rights to some image (but you'll generally have to pay for it yourself). A further option is to make the cover yourself, or have your friend or significant other who happens to be an artist to do it for you. In my case, I used a photograph of my own, since I'm also a keen landscape photographer. The actual design will probably be done by someone else, but they will send you proofs of the cover art anyway.

 

That's it, I hope this is helpful if you've been thinking about editing a collection of papers. Feel free to ask further questions in the comments. And of course, buy my book!

New Contributor: Tuomas Tahko

I'd like to introduce the Philosophers' Cocoon's newest contributor, Tuomas E. Tahko. Tuomas is a post-doc at Helsinki, and has been visiting UNC-CH this past spring. Tuomas works in metaphysics. Welcome!

Tips and Tricks: A Call for Lessons Learned

This one goes out to everyone: grad students, entry-level faculty, senior faculty, etc. What are the most important things you've learned over the years, in terms of being successful (and happy) in the profession?  Here are five of mine (I'm sure I could think of a lot more):

1. Communicate: seek out a friendly ear when you need help or advice.

• I remember quite well: like many other grad students I knew, I did everything I could to avoid my dissertation director when I was having trouble. That was stupid. I had a great, supportive advisor and good people in my department. I only got on track when I was force-fed advice. Much suffering could have been avoided if I'd only sought out help to begin with.
• When I was a VAP at UBC, strugging with publishing, I finally thought about asking other people who'd published a lot how they did it. I listened. I published. I'm glad I asked! :)

2. You are not a failure: until you give up. (nuff said?) Even when things get very, very bad, it is possible to turn things around.  

3. Enjoy yourself: philosophy is awesome. We are all privileged to do this. Don't get hung up on who is or is not "smarter" than you, on how many publications you don't have, or how many job interviews you don't have. You can go to the Eastern APA with no interviews and enjoy yourself anyway. Go to a talk or two. Go to the book exhibit. Talk to people. Enjoy talking to people. You can do it, I swear! It doesn't have to be torture. Philosophy is rad. I only started publishing papers when I got this through my thick skull. Think about things you enjoy, write about things you enjoy, do it rigorously, you'll be fine. I sort-of promise. :)

4. Be a good dude(-ette), and realize the things you do that don't come off so well: as we all know, philosophy in some parts is a blood sport. Some people like to show-up others. Don't do it. You may be the smartest person in the room (though probably not). Whatever. One thing's for certain: even if you're the smartest person in the room, if you behave like a jerk everyone will think, "What a jerk!", not, "Wow, how smart is s-/he!?" Also, even if you're not a jerk, realize the things you do that come off jerk-like, and clamp it down. 

5. Find yourself, including your own values: in graduate school, you have faculty and supervisors to satisfy. Now that you're not in graduate school, you only have to satisfy you. You shouldn't take this as an opportunity to forget all of the important things your grad faculty and supervisor taught you. Hopefully, they taught you well. Still, now that you're out in the world, figure out who you want to be. Is publishing in Phil Review the most important thing to you? If so, try to do it. But it doesn't have to be the most important thing to you. Teaching can be important to you. If it is, do it, and do it well. Similarly, if simply doing work that you enjoy and believe in is important to you -- even if it doesn't appear in Phil Review -- then do that! I used to care very much about publishing in "top places." Now, I would certainly still like to -- but it's not my top priority. My priorities are my wife, my family, my students, and doing work I think is good. I don't care if anyone else thinks it's good. It's not their work, it's mine.  :)

Anyway, anyone else have lessons to share?

Welcome New Contributors!

I'd like to formally welcome several new contributors to The Philosophers' Cocoon:

Mark Alfano (AOS: ethics, moral psychology, Nietzsche),  who received his PhD from CUNY in 2011, will be a post-doc this year at the Princeton University Woodrow Wilson School and Center for Human Values, and will begin a TT job at Oregon in 2013.  (congrats!)

Meghan Wallace (Assistant Professor, Kentucky), whose dissertation at UNC-Chapel Hill, 'Composition is Identity', defended the view that the relation between the parts of an object and the whole object is the identity relation--i.e., that parts are (collectively) identical to their whole.

Andrew Rotondo (Graduate Student, Brown University), who is completing a dissertation on the epistemology of disagreement.

Andreas Wolkenstein (International Centre for Ethics in the Sciences and Humanities at the University of Tübingen), who is currently writing his dissertation about security ethics, the value of security and the possibility of just decision-making processes in producing security by means such as body scanners or neuro-technologies. 

Donald Bello Hutt, who is currently living in Spain working on his doctoral thesis in political philosophy.

K. Mitch Hodge (AOS: philosophy of mind), who recieved his PhD last year from Queen's University in Belfast.

Trevor Hedberg, second year of graduate study at the University of Tennessee. 

Welcome aboard!

Help!

So I'm revising a paper for a journal on free will, and I've found it necessary to discuss various interpretations of quantum mechanics (e.g. the Copenhagen, Everett, Bohmian views, etc.) in some detail.  Although I have more than a passing interest in physics -- I follow a bunch of physics blogs and have read up quite a bit on stuff over the years -- I am by no means an expert on quantum theory and expect that I have made all kinds of embarrassing mistakes in my discussion. If there's anyone out there who's willing to read and comment on the relevant sections of my paper (about 10 pages double-spaced), I would be incredibly grateful. Please just try not to make me feel too much like an idiot. :) If there are any takers, please just email me at marvan@ut.edu at your convenience (please note: my revisions are due in roughly two weeks, so I could really use as much help as I can get ASAP!). Anyway, thanks for all of your time!

What to do if you fall out of love with philosophy -- a personal account, with lessons learned

I had a professor in graduate school who was known for telling grad students that the moment philosophy begins to feel more like a job than something you love, you shouldn't do it anymore. I respectfully disagree. I fell out of love with philosophy twice I think, and I couldn't be happier that I stuck with it through thick and thin.  Philosophy, for me at least, has been a lot like a marriage. There are times it is very, very hard -- times you want to give up: but if there's any realistic chance of better times, you should stick to your commitment.  At the very least, I'm glad I did.  I love what I do.  I can't wait to wake up in the morning to tackle philosophical problems.

Please bear with me as I tell two "tales of woe" (I mean this merely as a cute turn-of-phrase; I fully recognize there is a vast number of people in the world who have far worse lives than I).  I will then say a few things that I think I learned from the experience that may be relevant to readers, and make a few friendly suggestions to graduate departments, hiring departments, and job seekers.

First tale of woe and redemption: My love for philosophy waned not long after I arrived at the University of Arizona's PhD program from Syracuse (where I'd transferred from).  It was nothing about the department at Arizona.  Rather, a bunch of things transpired in my own life, creating a "perfect storm" for disillusionment.  When I arrived at Arizona, I had just ended a five-year personal relationship.  I was, unsurprisingly, devastated and insecure.  I also had trouble focusing on my studies.  Consequently, I didn't produce great work. That, in turn, led me to feel more insecure (philosophically).  And, just like that, I had no confidence.  What had always come to me as an undergraduate and my first two years at Syracuse -- the capacity for good ideas -- seemed to have left me.  And so, while I didn't tank my classes, I didn't exactly impress.  Things started to look up after I passed my comps, but because I'd been rather distracted on average (and lacking love for what I was doing), I'd never thought much about a dissertation.  I then strugged for about three years (!) to come up with a suitable topic, spending too much time playing music rather than philosophizing.  I came up with one really bad diss topic at one point -- one so bad that my committee cancelled my prospectus the night before.  Finally, thanks to some sage advice from Mark Timmons (see my earlier post on advice for struggling ABDs) and the unwavering support of my supervisor, Tom Christiano -- not to mention a new department member (Jerry Gaus) who I felt I could start at step 1 with -- I finally came up with a good topic.  A bit surprisingly, I still didn't love philosophy.  After all, although I had a good topic, I still had little confidence that I could actually do good work.  What happened next, I'm not quite sure.  I still don't really know how I got from there to here (where I am now).  I know it involved a lot of time and hard work  Then, at some point, I started to love philosophy again.

Lessons learned: a lot of stuff can happen in graduate school that can affect how people perform -- failed relationships, insecurities, etc.  Such things can cause good and talented people to fizzle out. I'm still not quite sure how I survived, but I'm pretty sure not giving up had a lot to with it; that and faculty members who supported me through thick and thin (see below).

A few friendly suggestions to graduate departments: my impression is that grad students feel deterred (rightly or wrongly) from openly discussing their situation with faculty.  They think it is a "no-no" to let anyone know they are not enjoying philosophy or dealing with personal issues.  Because failing out of grad school can be disastrous for people (i.e. 7-10 years of time), it might be a good idea for departments to (A) encourage grad students to be forthright about their situations, (B) make it known that it is common for difficult personal and professional situations (and insecurities) to arise in graduate school, and (C) actively engage with grad students to help them solve their problems.  I realize that this might sound like a lot of "parenting" (too much so?), but again, I only mean them as suggestions.  They are, at any rate, things I intend to emphasize if/when I become a faculty member in a graduate department.

Second tale of woe and redemption: my first year out on the job market I got a VAP at the University of British Columbia (a very supportive department, by the way -- I am still very thankful to them!).  I had no publications, and had little clue how to get them.  I toiled away day and night on papers that were going nowhere.  And although I had a great deal of teaching experience at Arizona, I felt utterly unprepared for the demands of teaching multiple courses on my own.  Finally, I got a publication, and moved to the University of Tampa (where I now am). After arriving at UT, my wife and I dealt with intolerable living conditions (an apartment building with irresponsible, immoral landlords, paper-thin walls, and tenants who partied all night long and at 6 in the morning).  I lost the ability to sleep, and often taught after not sleeping for three days straight.  No joke (chronic insomnia runs in my family).  Consequently, I taught poorly, stressed about it, and slept even less.  On top of that, I only had one paper that I thought was anywhere close to publishable, and it had been rejected by about 8 journals (an aside: that paper, "Nonideal Justice as Nonideal Fairness", is still bouncing around.  Any constructive comments would be much appreciated!).  I was utterly miserable, a miserable husband to be around, and gave passing thoughts to leaving the academy.  But I didn't.  Somehow, a couple of years later, I've published stuff and feel pretty good about life.  How?

Lessons learned:  I found that the more I cared about success and failure, the more miserable I was.  Instead, I forced myself to stop caring about these things and just tried to enjoy doing philosophy for its own sake.  I wrote papers I liked, the way I wanted to write them, without worrynig whether they were "good enough."  Because I actually started enjoying what I was doing, my production soared.  I wrote ten papers one year.  Some of them were crap.  But I published five of them.  No, I didn't publish any of them in top journals -- and frankly, I don't really care about that.  I discovered, at least for me, that it's more important to do work I believe in than do work that appears in Phil Review.  Yes, of course would be great if I did both.  I would love to publish in Phil Review.  My point is simply this: I found that the less I cared about this (or at least the less I thought about it), the more I enjoyed philosophy, the more I did work I am proud of, and the more I got done.  My suggestion, then, is that if you find yourself in a similar spot (frustrated and worrying yourself sick about perishing rather than publishing), give this little trick a shot: do philosophy for its own sake.  Write things you believe in and enjoy yourself doing it.  Leave the worrying for later.  Hey, if you're miserable, it's at least worth a shot, no?

Pharmacological Lessons Learned: if there is anyone out there who suffers from insomnia, Remeron (generic: Mirtazapine) is a live-saver.  Severe insomnia runs on my mother's side of the family.  None of us can sleep naturally.  We had tried every traditional sleep medication (i.e. those marketed aggressively by pharmaceutical companies): Lunesta, Ambien, etc.  None of them worked (even when they get you to sleep, you don't get REM sleep, and you wake up tired).  My mother did research on her own and insisted to her doctor to try Remeron.  Remeron is one of the most widely prescribed anti-depressants in Europe, but is almost never prescribed in the US (you got it, because its patent ran out!).  It knocks me out like a baby, and I wake up fully refreshed.  It does have one rather annoying side-effect (weight gain), but that can be managed, and it has another wonderful side-effect: increased short-term memory (it has this effect in animalss  and humans).  No kidding: I think it made me smarter (I wrote 2 papers in two years before I started taking it; I've written about 15 papers in the year-and-a-half since).  Anyway, I hope this helps someone find sleep!

A friendly suggestion for hiring departments: I've been very lucky to have supportive colleagues and a supportive administration.  Being an early-career faculty member is very difficult.  Good colleagues are live-savers.

One final suggestion (for job-seekers): maybe it's not important to find a job at all costs. Remember, you don't just want a job.  You want to be somewhere supportive -- somewhere you can flourish.  If you remember this in interviews (you are interviewing them too!), you might not be so nervous about how you perform (do you really want to be a member of the department whose members grilled you like a flank steak?;)

A highly opinionated and merely anecdotally supported timeline to the philosophy job market

This is copied over from what I wrote on my own blog here.  It seemed relevant.

 

This isn't what I did, and it's not what any particular person told me to do.  Rather, it's what, on reflection, I wish someone had told me to do.  If you're at a really fancy place (Leiter top-5 worldwide or so), the following does't apply to you, for reasons I don't really have the time to go into at the moment.  If you're somewhere in the 80-6 range, however, it might help.

Timeline

 

Let’s suppose you want to land a position that starts in the fall of year N.  Here’s a brief overview of what you should aim to have accomplished by what dates.

 

Now:

• Register with the American Philosophical Association (APA)
• Sign up for the philosophy list-serves: philupdates and PHILOS-L
• Create an account at www.philpapers.org

 

Now-N-3:

• Do some teaching.  Be sure to get observed and to get a positive evaluation.  You will need to get a letter of recommendation from someone who knows you as a teacher eventually.  Be sure as well to get positive student evaluations.  The easiest way to do this is to be beautiful and friendly and an easy grader.  If that’s not something you can or want to do, you can still get good evaluations, but you’ll have to try harder.
• Try sending revised versions of your best seminar papers and any other research you engage in to conferences and journals.  Get your feet wet.
• Build (or get someone to help you build) a professional website.  Put your best papers on it.

 

N-3:

• Acquire two or three Areas of Specialization (AOS).  These are areas of philosophy where you plan to do cutting-edge research in the coming years, at least one of which will be the area in which you write your dissertation.  AOSs are very far from being natural kinds.  They are partitioned by branch of philosophy (e.g., ethics, epistemology, metaphysics), by time period (e.g., 19^th-century philosophy), by major author (e.g., Aristotle, Kant, Wittgenstein), and by geography (e.g., 20^th-century French philosophy).  As you consider which AOSs to acquire, you may want to look at recent copies of Jobs for Philosophers (JFP), so that you are sure to specialize in a field where there are jobs.  Right now, ethics seems to be pretty hot.  Philosophy of religion is on the outs. But things change, so do your homework.  In addition, it may be worth having one AOS in a narrower field, even though there may be fewer jobs.  It’s all about supply and demand: narrower fields tend to have few openings, but there will also be fewer qualified applicants.  In addition, if your AOS is listed as an AOC (Area of Competence) in a job ad, you’ll have an advantage when applying for that job.
• Try to become the category editor for a relevant category at www.philpapers.org.
• Establish a rapport with someone you think would be a good dissertation advisor.  Explore the possibility of working together with him or her.
• Establish a rapport with others whom you think would be good committee members.  Some of these people should be at your home department, but it’s good to have relationships with people outside the department as well (either in different departments at the same school or at departs at other schools).

 

Spring N-2:

• Defend your dissertation prospectus.  Have a drink.  Have another.  Get to work.
• While writing your dissertation, there will come a time when you say to yourself, “Damn it, I don’t want to read another book.  Why do people keep writing books about my topic?”  Pause for a moment to consider the irony of this complaint.  Then ask yourself whether the book in question is such that you would be able to write a positive review of it.  If it is, start getting in touch with reviews editors (not general editors) of relevant journals to ask whether they’d be interested in your submitting a review.  Some won’t, but at least one will.  They’ll probably even send you a free hardcover copy of the book.  And of course you can put the review on your CV.  Write a positive – if not glowing – review, then send it to the author saying something along the lines of, “Dear Professor X, Hi!  I’m Y.  I’m an admirer of your work and am writing a review of your book for Z.  A draft of the review is attached.  Would you mind taking a look at it and telling me whether you think I’ve missed anything?  Thanks!”  The author will be flattered that someone other than their mom read the book.  This is great, because it will allow you to show the author some of the work relevant to your dissertation, and a few months later you will ask the author to be an external member of your dissertation committee or at least to write you a letter of recommendation.  (I didn’t do this, but sometimes wish I did.)
• Send (suitably revised) chapters of your dissertation to journals.  They will almost certainly be rejected the first time, but you’ll (usually) get feedback that is (occasionally) informed and (even) helpful for revision.
• Send (suitably revised) chapters of your dissertation to conferences.  Be sure to talk to as many people as you can.  You never know when a connection will turn out to be helpful later on.
• Send other work not from your dissertation (such as revisions of your seminar papers or history paper) to journals and conferences too!  If you are trying to establish an AOS, the easiest way is to have at least one publication in the area.
• Start preparing your job talk by presenting it at internal colloquia and conferences.

 

Summer N-1:

• Finish a draft of your dissertation and prepare to defend it.
• Ask your advisors for letters of recommendation, providing them both your full CV and a “brag sheet” that lists in bullet form the items from the CV you think that particular letter writer may want to mention in the letter.  Don’t make demands, but do make suggestions.  You should aim to have at least three letters, as well as one letter devoted to your teaching.  More would be good, as long as they’re (very) positive.  Bear in mind that negative letters do get written. Whatever you do, don’t get one of those.  Your Placement Director should look at all of your letters and advise as to which to send and which not to send, as well as the order in which they should be included in your dossier.

 

August N-1:

• Craft your job documents by the end of the month.  You don’t want to be working on these while applying – that’s stressful enough on its own!  You’ll need a surprisingly large collection, listed below:
  • Cover Letter Template.  A cover letter should be short and sweet – at most one page unless you have strong indications that a long letter is required.  Put it on electronic letterhead, and be sure to include inside addresses and a scan of your signature.
  • Curriculum Vitae (CV).  A CV lists all of your many accomplishments as succinctly as possible.
  • Biographical Sketch.  This is a one-paragraph description of you and your research, written in the third person.
  • Dissertation Abstract, short.  You will want a one-paragraph abstract of your dissertation, which will typically be included in your CV.
  • Dissertation Abstract, long.  You will also need a longer abstract of your dissertation, approximately two double-spaced pages.
  • Statement of Research.  A research statement of your most prominent research so far, as well as laying out your plans for future projects. At most two pages single-spaced.
  • Statement of Pedagogy / Statement of Teaching Philosophy.  A pedagogy statement describes your strengths and experiences as an instructor.  At most two pages single-spaced.
  • Statement of Faith.  If you plan to apply to religious institutions, you will want a statement of faith.  Not all religious institutions require such a statement, but many do.  One or two pages single-spaced.
  • Teaching Portfolio.  A teaching portfolio is not the same thing as a teaching statement.  The portfolio lays out as succinctly as possible which courses you have already taught, includes your student and faculty evaluations, and describes any curriculum development efforts in which you’ve been involved.
  • Sample Syllabi.  A sample syllabus is not a syllabus.  It’s basically a one-paragraph course description followed by a reading list of at most two pages, sequenced into about 13 weeks with thematic headings.  You will want sample syllabi for every course in the union of your AOSs and AOCs, and perhaps for more.  Some schools will want syllabi included in the initial application; others may ask for syllabi prior to the first-round interview; still others will want (even if they don’t say so!) syllabi during the first-round interview.
  • Transcripts.  Get scans of both undergraduate and graduate transcripts, which you may be required to submit with your applications.
  • List of References.  This is a comprehensive list of all your letter-writers, including mailing addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers.
  • Writing Samples.  Yes, samples.  You should aim to have two or three AOSs, so you will want at least one writing sample for each (between 15 and 25 pages, double spaced).  Most schools require at least one writing sample with the initial application.  Some (the more prestigious ones) want several.  In a recent year, the University of Chicago allowed (read: required) applicants to submit as many as six.  Your writing samples can be publications, money chapters from your dissertation, or even other research that you think is of the highest quality.  Revise them.  Revise them again.  Edit the revisions.  Proofread the edits.  You want your writing sample to be so tight you could bounce a quarter off its ass.
  • Research Proposals.  If you plan to apply for post-doctoral fellowships, you will need a research proposal.  It might be good to have a couple.  The most common thematic fellowships for philosophers are in bioethics, but most fellowships are interdisciplinary.  That means your research proposal should be intelligible to a non-specialist audience.  About 2 pages double-spaced.
  • Amass a small fortune.  You should expect to spend between $400 and $2000 on applications, depending on how many you send and how many you need to send via express or priority mail.  You should also expect to spend several hundred on getting to and finding a hotel at the APA.

 

September-December N-1:

• Apply for every appropriate job you can find.  Even if the AOS doesn’t quite match your profile, it’s worth submitting an application.  After all, you don’t know whether all members of the search committee are committed to the AOS.  Think of each application as a lottery ticket: the more you buy, the better your chances.
• Defend your dissertation, but don’t deposit it until the spring semester.
• Participate in at least one mock interview.  Before the interview, practice your “spiel.”  A lot.  As in: obsessively.  The spiel should explain what the problem is that your dissertation addresses, then segue quickly into a discussion of how your dissertation addresses it.  It’ll be the first thing you say after “Hello” during your interviews.  It may well be the most important thing you say in your whole career.

 

October N-1:

• The main JFP is published in the member’s services section of http://www.apaonline.org/.  Jobs will also be advertised at http://higheredjobs.com/ and http://chronicle.com/ and http://phylo.info/jobs and http://philjobs.org/.  Another useful website is http://phylo.info/jobs/wiki, which has a wiki for job listings and their status.  Keep careful track of the jobs you want to apply to using a spreadsheet.  Further editions of the JFP are published periodically, and in addition, many jobs are advertised on a day-by-day schedule in the online supplement to the JFP.  Be sure to check for these frequently.

 

December N-1:

• Attend the APA Eastern Division conference for interviews.  You should be contacted for interviews by departments in early December, though late November and late (even very late) December are genuine possibilities.  In addition, quite a few schools now conduct their first-round interviews over the phone, via Skype, or simply by asking for more documents (especially writing samples).  Don’t worry if that happens; in fact, it’s probably better than interviewing.
• It’s appropriate to ask who will be conducting your interviews (usually a committee of three people).  Once you know who they are, create departmental profile in which you note what you might say to each member of the department, and especially what you might say to the members of the search committee.  Include images of the relevant people, so that when you meet them for the first time, you already know who they are.  This will allow you to address them by name more easily.
• Try not to despair.  Get out of your house as often as you can.  Talk to people.  Talk about not-philosophy.  Drink, but not too much.  Sleep plenty.  Go easy on yourself, if you can manage it.
• Print out copies of all of your job documents, especially your CV and sample syllabi.  You’ll want to have these readily available at the APA.
• Go to the APA.  Be sure to arrive a bit early, since weather is often awful and delays may occur.  Don’t bother going to talks unless someone from a relevant school is giving the talk.  Take it easy.  Be sure to stop into the placement office and drop your CV in the bin.  A few schools actually set up interviews on-site.  Who knows, you might land an unexpected interview!  (Yes, this does actually happen, though rarely.  I had one such interview in December 2010.)

 

January N:

• Send brief thank-you notes to everyone who interviewed you.  Unless asked to say something substantive, don’t. Sample thank-you note: “Dear [first name] (if I may), Thank you for the opportunity to interview for the position in [AOS] at [School].  I enjoyed our conversation.  Should you have any questions or concerns about my application, please do not hesitate to contact me.  All the best, [me]”
• Try not to be too antsy while waiting to see whether you’ll be invited for a job talk.  Keep in mind that typically 12-15 candidates receive first-round interviews, and only 3-4 get job talks.  Assuming even odds, you therefore have 20-25% odds of getting a talk at each institution.  That said, a number of schools have ceased doing job talks at all and simply go directly from first-round interviews to job offers.
• Make sure your job talk is totally prepared.  It should be something you can deliver in about 45 minutes.  (At UK schools, more like 25 minutes.)  Don’t read from a script if you can help it.  Do a mock job talk.  Figure out what questions you’re most likely to get during the Q&A and what to say in response to them.

 

January-March N:

• Do your job talks and other campus visits.  Blow them out of the water.  Pray, if you believe in that sort of thing.  Sacrifice animals or virgins or virgin animals, if you believe in that sort of thing.
• Write short thank-you notes to everyone you met on your campus visits.  Again, don’t go into too much detail unless you have an indication that it wouldn’t be viewed in a negative light.

 

Spring-Summer N:

• If necessary, continue applying to positions as they are advertised.  Most will be fixed-term – either post-docs or visiting assistant professorships – but they’ll tide you over until you can find more suitable, permanent employment.
• Deposit your dissertation.

 

"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take": Some (Admittedly Anecdotal) Lessons on Publishing

Aside from developing a good disseration topic, one of the most difficult problems young philosophers encounter is getting published.  Now, I'm far from a star in this area, but to the extent that I've had some success and have talked to other people who have had more success than I've had, I think I've learned a few important lessons.  Since they're just my own impressions, I'll present them as suggestions.

Suggestion#1: submit, submit, submit

It's often asked when you should submit to journals.  Of course, it's generally not a very good idea to send out incredibly sloppy work -- but every person I've known who has been successful sends out a lot of work for review.  And I've found that it has worked in my own case.  About a year out of grad school (in my first job), I asked two people I went to grad school who had been very successful publishing exactly how they did it.  They both said: "send stuff out, the more the better."   I followed their advice and now, two years later, I've published several things.  Even if you send stuff out that isn't fantastic, (A) you can still work on the paper while it's out, (B) you may get very useful comments if the piece is rejected, and (C) you might just receive a nice surprise: an acceptance or revise-and-resubmit with just the kinds of comments you need to make it a much better piece.  Finally, this process can actually help you figure out which of your ideas to give up on (a good way to cut your losses).  There are at least four papers I sent out a bunch of times (which I thought were rather good) that I learned, through the review process, were pretty much garbage. If I hadn't sent them out, I might still be wasting time on them. 

Suggestion#2: have faith in yourself

In my experience, success in publishing is partly a result of confidence and trust in oneself.  As a graduate student, it is easy to become accustomed to judging yourself in terms of others' opinions of your work (specifically, your professors and dissertation supervisors).  I've found, in my own case, that learning my way out of this perspective has been perhaps the most important thing in terms of reserach production, enjoyment, and success.  Look, the simple fact is this: no matter how good your work is, someone (indeed, many people probably!) will think it is utter garbage.  If you don't believe me, try reading RM Hare's review of A Theory of Justice -- particularly the part where Hare says Rawls' work isn't very important and shouldn't receive much attention.  Trust yourself. Do work that you find interesting.  Get feedback from others, by all means, but trust your instincts. They've gotten you this far.   

Suggestion#3: seek feedback, but not too much of it -- and don't be a perfectionist

Like some other people, I tend to work in almost complete isolation.  I rarely show anyone my work until I present it at conferences or publish it.  I'm terrible at seeking out help, always have been by nature.  But, it's crucial to get help one way or another.  This is why I send stuff I'm working on to just about every conference that I can get my hands on.  Other people will point out the parts of your work that isn't "there" yet.  It will help you move towards publication.  At the same time, though, don't "over-feedback" yourself.  If you give your work to too many people -- or people who can find something wrong with just about anything -- it can be paralyzing.  You'll never solve every problem.  Almost every "famous" paper in the literature has serious problems.  As Steve Jobs said, "Real artists ship."  No work is perfect.  Ship it, imperfections and all.

Two Suggestions for Struggling ABDs

One of the most common sticking point for PhD students in philosophy is getting one's dissertation moving.  What's so hard about getting started?  At least couple of things: (A) grad school classes teach you how to write 20-page papers, not book-length manuscripts; and (B) by the time you finish your preliminary exams, you might not have even written a philosophy paper in a year or so, and so basically you've kind of forgotten what it feels like to do philosophy.  In short, you're simply not very well prepared to write a dissertation.  This isn't necessarily your department's fault.  Quite the contrary, I'm one of those (and I know many others) who think struggling as an ABD is a necessary evil.  Still, two simple lessons got me on track -- and I've seen them work wonders with friends as well.  What are they?

The first lesson comes from my former professor Mark Timmons, who gave me the advice after my committee rejected my first proposal.  The advice was simply this: read, and read a lot. This might sound trivial as advice.  Who doesn't read?  Well...in my experience, a lot of ABDs think more than they read.  I was guilty of this.  I found a topic I was interested in, thought about it lots and lots, and started trying to write about it. Bad idea.  You can't even begin to get a good topic off the ground unless you really, really immerse yourself in the literature surrounding it.  In fact, this more than anything else makes the dissertation tractable.  Instead of a huge 200-300 page foggy mountain in front of you (and you asking yourself, "How do I do that!?"), what happens when you read is you encounter smaller problems.  Each problem itself demands thought and argument, and problems add up.  Indeed, it helps to think of a dissertation as a ton of small problems.  Once you get each problem in the literature around your idea in the open, you can begin working on this problem, then that problem, then that one -- and soon enough you have a dissertation!  

Another nice thing about Mark's advice to read, and read a lot, is that you might end up (as I did) with a topic you never imagined.  Initially, as an ABD, I was thinking about Humean theories of motivation and normativity.  Then I read Rawls Law of Peoples and got an idea.  Just like that. Lucky is what it was, and it never would've happened without Mark's advice.

The second lesson that got my dissertation off the ground is, you guessed it, write and write a lot.  Lest this advice seem totally trivial too, let me explain it more precisely, as it worked wonders in my own case and I've seen it work wonders for others too (one of my friends had like nothing written after one year and then a year later - after the advice -- was totally done!).  

So I had my dissertation idea.  Writing, however, was very, very difficult.  Again, you have this enormous 200-300 page mountain in front of you, and you're trying to be oh so rigorous!  What happens then, of course, is that you drive yourself crazy trying to get the first page right, then the second page, etc.  But of course nothing turns out right, and you find yourself getting nowhere. Yep, that's where I was -- nowhere -- a year after coming up with a good topic!  And then, out of the blue, I don't even remember how I got it, I got a book entitled something like, "How to Write a Dissertation".  I can't for the life of me remember where it came from.  I think I got it for free in my grad mailbox, or maybe my mom gave it to me -- whatever.  Anyway, the very first piece of advice was force yourself to write 5 pages a day without any editing whatsoever.  The rationale behind this had to do with positive reinforcement.  The book said something like this: if you finish everyday with something substantial actually written, you'll have a more positive attitude the next day.  It was totally right.  Although I was skeptical, I tried it, and after five days I had 25 pages written. Most of what I had written was awful, of course, but I felt like I was getting somewhere.  Which brings me to the book's second piece of advice, which was: approach writing like throwing-up and cleaning-up.  Throw up garbage first, then clean it up.  It worked.  I turned the 25 awful pages into five good ones by the end of the week. Eight months later I was done with the dissertation.  No joke.  I later gave the book to a friend who had the same problem (she was nowhere after a year). She was done in about eight months too.  

Mission Statement

I hereby extend a profession-wide invitation to contribute to a new blog I have created that aims to be "by and for" early-career philosophers: The Philosophers' Cocoon.

This blog aims to be a safe and supportive "grass roots" forum for early-career professional philosophers -- graduate students, post-docs, and entry-level faculty members -- to discuss their work, ideas, and personal-professional issues.  Philosophers who are not in the "early" stages of their careers are also invited to become contributing members, as their experiences in the profession may, for obvious reasons, be very much relevant to the blog's aims. 

Blog participants (i.e. any philosopher who wishes to participate!) are invited to post (A) working papers and ideas, as well as (B) comments, questions, or concerns on issues including but not limited to:

• Navigating graduate school
• Publishing
• Work-life-family balance
• Etc.

This is not intended to be "my" blog.  My hope is to serve as primarily as blog moderator, and for the blog's content to be driven by and for any and every early-career philosopher who wishes to contribute. As blog moderator, I promise to rigorously ensure a safe and supportive environment for all.  I will not approve, and will immediately remove, any contributions or comments that I (or anyone else) reasonably finds remotely derogatory or threatening.  Finally, anyone who wishes to make an anonymous post (e.g. to discuss an issue they are not comfortable attaching their name to) is welcome to email me their post and request that I post it anymously.  I will post any and all such requests, provided they otherwise satisfy the aims described in this mission statement.

If you would like to become a contributor to the Philosopher's Cocoon, please simply send me an email at marvan@ut.edu.  Please also be sure to tell me in the email your present status (grad student, etc.), and feel free to provide me with a link to your homepage.

I hope that this blog finds its intended audience and grows organically to meet that audience's needs.  I very much look forward to meeting anyone and everyone who chooses to participate.

Sincerely,

Marcus Arvan

Assistant Professor of Philosophy

University of Tampa