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.
A wonderful post. I had a very difficult time grappling with all of these issues my first couple of years out, and you've done a great service by raising them here. I hope other Cocooners will share some of their experiences. Here are just a couple of my own reactions. First, although I think a tough time on the job market (and publishing) can lead to healthy reflection and reevaluation, I would like to urge people not to give up too soon. My first year at Tampa, when I suffering from stress-induced insomnia, trouble publishing, and a failed hard disk that erased a year's worth of work, I gave serious thought to leaving the academy. I was incredibly unhappy, and even started looking at alternative career paths. But...I'm very, very glad I stuck it out. I am incredibly happy now, and feel like I'm finally starting to hit my stride. So, I would suggest to readers that even when things get very bad, don't give up yet. Keep going until you're sure you don't want to do it anymore. Second, as I indicated in a previous post, I actually think obsessive competitiveness -- which I was guilty of myself -- is usually counterproductive. My (admittedly anecdotal) experience has been that the more one chills out, enjoys life, and does philosophy for its own sake, the more apt you are to do good work (enjoyment, after all, quite naturally begets more effort! It is so difficult to work when you're miserable, and so easy when you're happy). Third, you're absolutely right: there are more important things than philosophy. The people you care about -- your spouse, your family, your friends -- are far, far more important than a paper. They will love you even if you fail...so don't push them away. Finally, on your point about the "harsh realities" of teaching, I would suggest they are more a matter of perception than anything else. When one is struggling and unhappy, one's attitude can carry into the classroom, leading one to alienate students. On the flip side, excitement about philosophy can inspire students to great heights -- height you might not have imagined they could reach. Further, the classroom is an excellent place to play with ideas. The last 5 papers I've written, for example, originated from issues that arose in putting together lectures for my intro class. This is actually far more common than you might. One of my personal intellectual heroes -- the late physicist Richard Feynmann -- was notorious for rejecting offers from Princeton's Institute for Advanced studies so he could keep teaching undergrads in California. Or take my undergrad advisor, Dan Dennett. I once asked him why he was in a little school like Tufts instead of a big R1. His answer was: "Simple. Undergrads aren't as caught up in the 'game' of philosophy. They're fearless, and all too often approach problems with fresh eyes.". In other words, teach like there's no tomorrow, and try to enjoy yourself doing it. You just might inspire your students, remind yourself why you got into this in the first place, and come up with some good ideas!
Anyway, thanks again for your post!
Posted by: Marcus Arvan | 05/20/2012 at 06:01 PM