The Philosophers' Cocoon

Language as a way to convey cognitions

How do we gather knowledge through language? I can think of at least three possibilities:

1. descriptive statements
2. prescriptions
3. poetic language

 

In the first case, one comes to know that X through a linguistic expression provided that some basic presuppositions are fulfilled. Authors disagree as for them (see this post, this one and this one), but they would mostly agree that:

a) the hearer needs to be competent (i.e., that s/he must be in the condition to gather knowledge from a linguistic communication, e.g., insofar as s/he knows the relevant language, is not clinically mistrustful, etc.)

AND

b) the speaker needs to be reliable, i.e. to be competent about what s/he is saying

c) the speaker needs to be sincere, i.e., s/he needs to want to tell the truth

d) the speaker needs to desire to communicate (this condition is usually considered as obvious in Western discussions about the epistemology of testimony, but it plays a role in Classical Indian epistemology of the Nyāya school)

OR

b-c-d') X needs to be true (independently of the speaker)

b-c-d') leads to the additional problem of how to define truth, but since this does not regard only linguistic communication, I will leave it aside.

 

What happens, instead, in the case of 2. or 3.? As shown by Josif Bochenski, prescriptions depend on a deontic authority, not on an epistemic one. Thus, neither the competence nor the sincerity of the speaker are required. However, does the speaker need to be in an authoritative position in regard to the hearer, in order for the prescriptions to communicate knowledge? Yes and No. If I am a mother and I tell my son to go to bed, he will know that he is under the obligation to stop playing and put his pajama on. Other members of the audience will know that I told X to my son, but my prescription will not have communicated an obligation to them. They will not be under an obligation for having heard my prescription. In other words, unlike in the case of 1., the communicated obligation is personal and regards only a specific person (or class of people, e.g., a football team). In other words, in order for an obligation (as distinguished from the knowledge that X, where X might also be tantamount to the fact that someone else is under an obligation) to be communicated:

 a'') the hearer needs to recognise the deontic authority of the prescription's source (note that I am avoiding speaker in order to make room for cases in which there is no personal speaker)

b'') the source needs to be a deontic authority for the hearer

The case 3. is also interesting. I would say that:

a''') The hearer needs a specific competence (Classical Indian authors call it sahṛdayatva 'ability to be sym-pathetic')

 

What is the specific content communicated in this case? Surely not knowledge, nor obligation. Perhaps a certain 'aesthetic experience` (e.g., the aesthetic experience of love, although one is not in love with Ophelia)?

Moreover, is something similar to a'') implied also by a)?

On telling students why you're there

Today was my first day of spring term. As I was working my students through my syllabi, one thing seemed to go over extremely well -- and so I thought I might share it with you all. 

A couple of years ago, my university organized a student panel discussion on, "What I wish my professors knew." One of the more surprising things about the session -- to me, at any rate, and to a few faculty I chatted with afterward -- was that almost every student on the panel made a point of saying they wished their professors knew to share their teaching philosophy in their syllabi.

This surprised me (and a few other faculty members I spoke with). It surprised me because I had never included my teaching philosophy in my syllabi before, and because I could not recall having taken a course in which a professor did that sort of thing. Anyway, as a result of attending that session, for the past several years I have devoted a full, single-spaced page in my syllabi to explaining what I'm all about as a teacher. I won't go into detail about my teaching philosophy, but among other things, I make it clear that:

1. I am committed to seeing each of them succeed, and to putting them in a position to do so with hard work (provided they are willing to do so).
2. My courses -- and grading standards -- are really challenging, not because I want to punish students but because I think I owe it to them to give them a great education (which suitably high standards are a part of, in my view).
3. I treat the classroom as a place of collaborative inquiry, where I serve as a facilitator and active participant, seeking answers along with them -- not a "sage" who will simply lecture to them about philosophy (I often mention here that I aim to do real research in the classroom, exploring ideas of my own, just as I expect them to share ideas of their own).
4. They can expect some low grades early on in my course -- again, not because I'm mean but because one cannot expect to do difficult things like philosophy correct the very first time.

Anyway, whatever you might think of the way I approach teaching, my students really seemed to appreciate the information. My sense -- from their facial expressions, and from a few I chatted with after class -- was that it accomplished a few important things. First, and most obviously, it gave them a clear idea of what to expect (e.g. my class will not be easy, I am a tough grader, etc.). Second, I think it conveyed that I care about them (which I do), and that am invested in their success (I am). Third, I really felt like it helped me come across not just as some dude who is their teacher (or as someone who will be grading them), but as a real human being who actually has real hopes, aims, and aspirations, both as a teacher and as a human being. Finally, I also got the sense that they appreciated knowing the rationale behind my practices (it's one thing to be a hard grader; it's another thing to get students to see that you're tough because you sincerely want what's best for them, and believe that high standards are necessary to challenge them).

Anyway, I just thought I might share the practice. I don't know how many of you do something like it (what do I know? Maybe everyone does this sort of thing nowadays!). All I know is that it felt good (and right) to begin the semester being clear and forthright to students about why I'm there, and that many my students seemed to appreciate it, too. 

Does anyone else do this sort of thing? Have you had similar (or dissimilar) experiences? Are there any other teaching practices anyone is interested in sharing? 

Investigatio semper reformanda

Should we try to periodise philosophy or shall we give up any attempt, since each one will be criticised and is in some respect flawed? Periodisation, as recently highlighted by Julius Lipner, is a form of classification and as such also a form of controlling (Lipner 2013).

It is hardly the case that a periodisation is just a neutral act of recording what has happened (Lipner mentions the case of pre- and post-Copernicus astronomy). Much more often, to periodise just means to superimpose what we now deem to be a decisive criterion. If you studied history in Europe, you probably learnt that the Middle Age "ends" either at the fall of Byzantium, or in 1492 (discovery of America) or with Luther's theses in 1517. Apart from the Eurocentrism of all three, it is interesting to note how the discovery of America had much less impact on its contemporaries than one could expect. The fact that there were so many human beings who could not have heard of Jesus' message for more than 1400 years, for instance, did not shake Christian theology from its foundations (for more on this lack of change, see P. Armandi 1982). A similar case is the relative small impact of the Islamic invasions on Indian philosophy, which has been discussed already in the comments to this blog post.

Thus, periodisation is a risky enterprise. However, it is hard to avoid it, since one needs some structure while approaching the clumsy mass of uninterpreted historical events.

A similar case is that of the interpretation of the history of a given philosophical school. It is fascinating to look at X's and Y's main philosophical innovations as replies to Z, and we as scholars need to have and to provide some interpretative cues unless we want to end up in a Babel's library, where anyything counts as anything else. However, great theses are also dangerous, insofar as we tend to cling at them and to become blind to other hypotheses (cf. on this point Andrew Ollett's commentary on this post).

Remember that relative who would not listen to your revolutionary ideas and would just say "You think like that because you are young, but you will change your mind in ten years"? Do you remember hating his frame of mind which did not allow for any other possible explanation? I, for one, do not want to exercise the same kind of violence on the texts I read. Nor do I want to read texts only in order to find confirmations of my theory (and to have to disregard blatant counter examples).

Long story short: we need interpretative frames as orienteering tools and because otherwise we would just fall prey of an even more dangerous implicit methodology. But, if you ask me, I think that all such interpretative schemes should be constantly revised. Let us attempt great theories, general periodisations and classifications of authors and ideas, but if and only if we are then not only willing, but also ready to question them. The great interpretative frame is not a goal to be reached once and forever. It is "always to be revised".

When did the Middle Ages (or Antiquity, or the Modern Age...) "end" according to your school teachers? And according to your grown-up you? And, did you ever radically change your interpretation of something?

On implicit methodologies, see this post. On various hypotheses for a periodisation of Indian philosophy, see this post.

(cross-posted, with more Indian material, also on my personal blog.)

A Powerful Post on MLK

Here.

Second annual online undergrad conference

Some Cocooners might already be aware of our annual online undergrad philosophy conference. We've extended the deadline for submissions this year to February 1, 2014. Please encourage your students to submit! In many cases, we expect, term papers that students wrote for philosophy courses last semester will be usable as submissions for our conference. 

This project is a collaboration between the Philosophy Dept. at UMass-Dartmouth, the Jackson Family Center for Ethics & Values at Coastal Carolina University, and Philosophy TV (http://philostv.com/). Maureen Eckert and I are the principal faculty organizers.

The theme of our conference is Meaning--broadly construed. We intend this to be a very inclusive theme. We will accept papers on a wide range of topics connected with meaning, in a wide range of subfields, including philosophy of language, mind, logic, continental philosophy, social/political philosophy, and value theory.

To download a pdf of the CFP (suitable for being printed and posted in a hallway or on a door!) please see here: http://philostv.com/meaning/

Our efforts from last year can be seen here: http://www.coastalethics.org/

If you have any questions or suggestions, please email me (dkilloren@coastal.edu) and Maureen (meckert@umassd.edu). Thanks!

UCSD Summer Program for Women in Philosophy

Amy Berg from UCSD brings this super-cool program to my attention:

The Philosophy Department at the University of California, San Diego is pleased to announce a call for applications for the 2014 Summer Program for Women in Philosophy, which will be held at UCSD from July 28 to August 8, 2014. The two-week program will feature two intensive courses and a variety of workshops, all geared towards providing an engaging philosophical learning experience and preparation for applying to graduate school in philosophy. Participants will be provided with housing and meals, will have transportation costs covered, will have all course and workshop materials provided, and will receive a $600 stipend.

Anyone who's interested can visit our website (spwp.ucsd.edu) or our Facebook page (facebook.com/ucsdspwp).

Spread the word!

Advice for undergrads?

I would like to continue my new series responding to readers' suggestions for "Topics for the New Year", by dedicating this post to Matt Dewar's request for advice for undergrads. Given that it has been..ahem...a while since I've been an undergrad, I am not sure I'm the best person to offer advice. Accordingly, I'll just offer a few thoughts I have and then offer up the issue to community discussion. Hopefully, some of you are better placed to offer good advice than I!

In any case, here are a few things that occurred to me (if people disagree, please do chime in):

1. Undergrads looking to pursue a graduate degree in philosophy should not underestimate the importance of the GRE: I learned in grad school (in both of the programs I was in) that GRE scores are incredibly important. Grad programs -- particularly PhD programs -- are invested in their students' success. As such, they want to admit students they think are likely to succeed, and not just succeed mildly, but really do well. In part because likelihood of success is hard to quantify -- and undergraduate grades and rec-letters are often quite inflated -- programs place a great deal of weight on the only "objective" measure they have of a candidate's overall intellectual abilities: the GRE. Although some of you might object to the GRE carrying such weight, it is, in my experience, a fact of life that it does carry such weight. You need excellent GRE scores -- not just good ones, but excellent ones -- if you want to get into a top program (there's an online website, GradCafe, where people report their GRE results and acceptance/rejection/wait-list stats -- and the GRE scores for people getting into top philosophy programs are super high). As an aside, I would not let this discourage you; if anything, it should push you to prepare hard for the GRE (and you can improve markedly: my wife for instance [who is not a philosopher], improved her score several hundred points in a few months of studying).
2. Undergrads wanting to go to grad school should know the "lay of the land" in professional philosophy: although I hate to admit it, when I applied to PhD programs (right out of undergrad), I simply had no idea what was going on in the discipline. I'll never forget: when I was flown out to a couple of programs for their "visiting weekends" and told people that I was super into Wittgenstein (and Heidegger, and Husserl), more than a few people gave me sideways glances and said things that implied, "Well, you can forget about that if you come here." The idea that Wittgenstein and Heidegger weren't considered super-awesome to work on came as a complete surprise to me because, well, they were two of the figures I studied as an undergraduate, and I just assumed the people I was being taught as an undergrad were, well, considered super-awesome by everyone. Silly, silly me! As naive as I was, I had no idea I was so naive. As an undergraduate, I thought it was only natural to assume that I was being educated in mainstream stuff. Big mistake. Now, don't get me wrong: I don't mean to suggest that one should -- as an undergrad or otherwise -- care for "what everyone else cares for", or that Wittgenstein or Heidegger aren't worth doing work on. Far from it, I still hold Wittgenstein and Heidegger in very high estimation, and some other famous mainstream philosophers in far less esteem than (or so it seems to me) many, if not most, of my colleagues in the discipline. At the end of the day, I think one can (and should) make up one own darn mind about what one is interested in (though of course I also think it is worth taking seriously what others think, and why they think it). My point is not that, as an undergrad, you should look at what philosophers in Leiter-Awesome departments are working on and decide you should work on that. No -- my suggestion is simply that you should be aware of what's going on the discipline, so that when you think about where to go to grad school (if that's your aim), you have some idea of what is considered mainstream, what's not, etc.
3. Undergrads should know exactly what they are getting into: I know many professional philosophers who actively discourage their students from going to graduate school in philosophy. Although I get why some do this, I have explained before why I don't do this. Long story short, I just don't think it is my place to decide for another adult human being which risks they take with their lives; I do think it is my place to put them in a position to make an educated decision. To this end, I always make it a point to tell my students -- as frankly and scarily as possible -- that going to graduate school in philosophy (and seeking a PhD in particular) is very, very risky. Here, in brief, is what you need to know: (1) A good proportion of students who enter into PhD programs (even in top places) never make it through. Yes, that's right, a good proportion of students who enter into philosophy PhD programs spend something like 7-10 years of their lives working toward a degree, making $10-15K a year as a teaching assistant, only to never receive the degree (see here for a program-by-program report on graduation/attrition rates); (2) No, you cannot reasonably expect yourself to not fall into the proportion that never finishes: I cannot emphasize this enough. Many of the people who never make it through the PhD are some of the smartest, most diligent people you will ever meet. I say this from experience. Everyone who enters into a good PhD program is you (viz. they all have your grades, your GRE score, etc.). And, just like you, they all think they will not only finish, but of course finish in 5 years. Despite this, 25%+ of people just like you never finish. Because of this, you should not enter into grad school with any allusions: you may well be one of those who never finish. You should only go to grad school if you are very, very sure you want to risk this; (3) Even if you finish your PhD, there is a very significant chance you will never get a full-time, tenure track position: you would think that if you got the PhD, you would have a job just waiting for you, right? Wrong. Full-time, tenure-track professor jobs are incredibly difficult to get, and some people never get them. Scared yet? You should be. You need to know that graduate school in philosophy is an incredible risk, one that very well might not work out in your favor. Again, this isn't to say that you shouldn't do it. I love what I do, and am happy with the decision I made to do this with my life. But, truth be told, my own journey has often been very touch and go, and there were many, many times whether I seriously doubted whether grad school was a good move. Whatever decision you make, these are things that I think you should know.
4. Learn to love philosophy for its own sake: I've written about this before, but I can't emphasize it enough. Philosophy (and grad school) have become so competitive and ultra-professionalized that, sometimes, it can all feel more like a competition than an inquiry into things that really matter. There are not only a lot of forces -- competitive people, competitive programs, etc. -- that serve to reinforce this. It's also easy enough to fall into competitive thinking oneself. Try not to. In my experience, it is a recipe for anxiety, bitterness, and "falling out of love with philosophy." It took me a number of years, but it was really only when I put this kind of stuff out of my mind and pursued the craft for its own sake -- doing philosophy because I loved it, competition be damned! -- that I really felt like I started flourishing and enjoying philosophy as the important, personal, and enjoyable intellectual journey I always thought, deep down, that it should be.

Anyway, these are just some of my thoughts. Anyone disagree? Anyone have better ones?

Reader Question: Top 5 ways to narrow down grad schools?

I received the following email from a reader this morning:

Dear Marcus,

I wrote you in the spring re: the topic of 'work' and philosophy, after which you provided a helpful response on your blog. 

I am writing again to ask whether or not you might do me the favor of asking your readers to provide a 'top 5' list of the most important factors that should be considered when deciding on a graduate program after one has been accepted., i.e. a conversation about how to narrow down ones choices when, say, they have been accepted to something like 50% of the programs they applied to and can think of sound reasons why all schools would be great fits. As the acceptance period approaches I find myself (when in more optimistic moods) wondering about just how I will decide on the one program that is right for me if I were to have the choice between a few. The curious thing about crafting one's Statement of Purpose, but something I also found to quite pleasurable, was that when it comes to writing that final paragraph that tailors one's statement to particular school X, I found myself coming up with very good reasons for why I wanted to attend each program and thus, in the end, I think it'll be a tough decision if I have the choice. I know placement record is key, but what else? Location? Friendly graduate community? Etc. 

I think this is a great question, and I'll be curious to see what everyone's answers are! Here's my top 5, along with explanations for each:

1. Know which faculty are likely to leave/retire/etc.: I started my PhD career at Syracuse, where I completed 2 years. Mid-way through my second year, four of our best up-and-coming professors -- John Hawthorne, Ted Sider, Dean Zimmerman, and Brian Weatherson -- were hired away (the first three by Rutgers, the latter by Brown). This was a disaster for our program, and I transferred away to Arizona, where I more or less had to start all over again (only a couple of my classes transferred). Finally, not too long after I left, one of the most senior philosophers at Syracuse, William Alston (who I also worked under), died (R.I.P.). Although one cannot of course predict when someone will die, Alston was clearly at the retirement age.
2. Know the programs' completion/attrition rates: This, in my mind, is absolutely crucial. You do not want to enter a PhD program you are unlikely to finish -- and, believe you me, they exist. I know of at least one very highly-Leiter-ranked program whose student-completion rate is absolutely abysmal. Given how horrific an outcome never finishing a PhD program can be, I would absolutely prioritize joining a program that graduates the vast majority of its students. [note: the APA recently published a great resource on this]
3. Know the programs' placement rates: I know the reader mentioned this, but it is worth reiterating the importance of it. Some very highly ranked programs don't have good placement rates, some lower-ranked programs do. Choose a program that has a good placement rate. 
4. Know the programs' climates: Different programs have very different climates. Some programs are supportive, some are not. Some have faculty members who look like people you would want to work with on paper, but who (or so I have heard) are nightmares to work with. And of course some programs have sexual predators. Aim for a place that has a climate that will not result in you feeling like you are in hell for the next 5-10 years of your life.
5. Know the programs' funding situations: Some programs have no problem continuing to fund students after 5-6 years. Given that most students do not finish in 5-6 years, this is really important. If you are in a program that does not continue funding past 5-6 years, and it takes you 7-10 years to finish, you may have to scramble with crushing adjunct teaching jobs your last few years, which may further delay you (or even prevent you altogether) from completing your degree.

You might have noticed some things I didn't mention, such as: "Go to the program that has the faculty member(s) you would most want to work with", or "Prioritize programs that are really the best in your area of concentration." I did not mention these things because, frankly, I do not think they are that important. Okay, they are sort of important -- and may be more important to some people than others -- but I would like to suggest not underestimating how much your interests can change in grad school. I entered grad school intending to focus on the philosophy of mind (I did my undergraduate thesis with Dennett at Tufts). Then, when I got to Syracuse, I got really into metaphysics and epistemology (thanks to the people who were there). Then, when I got to Arizona, I got really into moral and political philosophy (my current AOS). Grad school throws a lot of things at you that you don't expect. Changing interests are often among them.

Anyway, what's your top-5, my fellow Cocooners?

The consequences of accepting free will and an omnipotent God…

Can a theist believe in God's omniscience&omnipotence and in free will?

Unless we rephrase the question, it seems quite difficult to avoid a conundrum and in fact many thinkers have gone all the way until the result that an omniscient God must know in advance what is going to happen to each of us and that an omnipotent God must also want it to happen (else, He or She would have acted accordingly).

Now, one might suggest that God does not want things to go differently because He or She wants us to be free, and thus does not lead us to something, not even to what would be best for us. This explanation runs well (I have myself used it here) but leaves some questions open, for instance: it makes sense that God, like a loving parent, leaves us free to choose our partner, our job, etc., supporting us but not interfering with our choices.

However, which parent would not interfere when his toddler runs across the road among speeding cars? Similarly, does it make sense that God does not interfere with our most important choice (the one about God Him- or Herself), given what is at stake? After all, if we choose wrongly, we have lost forever our chance of happiness.

It seems that the only solution is to imagine that God's lack of interference with us must entail that what is at stake is not definitive. That He or She would always be ready to accept us back ---against the idea of an everlasting Hell.

What do the Cocoon's readers think? Any other solution?

Some thoughts on timing the academic job market

In response to my query for "Topics for the New Year", JMugg raised a very timely issue that I have some experience with. He writes,

Once one defends the dissertation, one looses [sic] funding. However, ABDs don't seem to do well on the job market. So...how do you time this just right?

It's hard to say just how well ABDs do on the market, but anecdotally, the suggestion that ABDs have difficulties on the market seems broadly accurate. So, then, how does one "time things just right"?

My first-, second-, and third-hand experience is that it is hard to time things just right, but that a few things can help. First, it seems to me that the best thing one can do is be almost done with the dissertation -- all but defended, essentially -- the first year one goes on the market. This (1) shows search committees that you are basically done (so you're not one of those ABD's for whom it's a real question whether you will defend successfully), while (2) giving you the opportunity to get another year of grad school funding (because you haven't yet defended). Whether you can do this depends, of course, on your grad department (i.e. whether they are willing to keep you on for another year, just short of defending). But, my experience has been, if you can do it, this is the way to go. 

The only other thoughts I have to offer is this: in my first-, second-, and third-hand experience, offer for people in precarious positions (i.e. ABD, just defended, etc.) often come very late in the job season. I can't express enough just how true this has been for people I've known -- myself included. I've known many people who were basically at the end of their rope -- no more grad student funding -- who got 1-year VAPS, 2-3 year post-docs, etc., in late spring to (yes) as late as the end of the summer. I, for example, got offered my first (2-year) job completely out of the blue in late March, if I recall. I also got offered an on-campus (and soon after, an offer) for my present job out of the blue in mid-March, a couple of months after I interviewed (it had been so long, I had pretty much figured I was out of the running. Surprise!). Finally (seriously!), I've known people to get 1 or 2-year offers as late as July or August (yep, for the school year starting in August).

In short, my experience is (1) the job market is very hard to time, but (2) there are things one can do to time it as well as possible (see above), and (3) fly-outs and offers can come agonizingly (and shockingly) late in the year. This, unfortunately, is all the thoughts/advice I have to share (though I hope some do find it helpful).

What say you, my fellow Cocooners? (JMugg: hope you found this helpful!)

Who is getting interviewed? Some (very) anecdotal data

Seeing as there is always a great deal of debate about what it takes to land interviews in the academic philosophy job market, I took a look at the Smoker thread where people are reporting their interviews and other "vitals" (publication #s, where those pubs are, the Leiter-status of their PhD program), and compiled data from it (along with inside data from at least one other source). Although the sample size is small (only 36 interviews have been reported), and it is unclear how representative the sample is relative to all philosophy job-seekers, I still thought the data might be worth reporting and/or discussing.

Here, then, is the data. General data:

• Total # of candidates reporting information: 29
• Total # of interviews reported: 40
  
• Total # of R1 interviews reported: 29
• Total # of SLAC interviews reported: 11

Interviews by PhD program Leiter rank break down as follows:

• % of interviews received by candidates from Leiter top-5 programs: 5% (n=2)
• % of interviews received by candidates from Leiter top-10 programs: 15% (n=6)
• % of interviews received by candidates from Leiter 10-25th ranked programs: 27.5% (n=11)
• % of interviews received by candidates from Leiter 26-50th ranked programs: 27.5% (n=11)
• % of interviews received by candidates from Leiter-unranked programs: 15% (n=6) 
• # of candidates from Leiter top-5 program with no interviews: 1
• # of candidates from Leiter top-10 programs with no interviews: 1
• # of candidates from Leiter top-25 programs with no interviews: 2
• # of candidates from Leiter 25-50th ranked programs with no interviews: 1
• # of candidates from Leiter-unranked programs with no interviews: 1

The takeaway? Again, this is a very small sample. However, people appears to be getting interviews from all over the Leiter spectrum, and even outside of it, and the lion's share of interviews appear to be going to people from programs ranked between 10 and 50, not the Leiter top-5 or top-10 (contrary to the dictum -- commonly recited on philosophy blogs -- that "our discipline" is rankings-obsessed).

Next, here's some publication data. Here are the average publication numbers for people with no interviews:

• Mean # of publications for people who received no interviews: 3.9
• Mean # of top-20 publications for people who received no interviews: 1.0
• Mean # of top-10 publications for people who received no interviews: 1.14

Here, in contrast, are the publication numbers for people who did receive interviews.

• Mean # of publications for those who did receive interviews: 3.30
• Mean # of top-20 publications for those who did receive interviews: 0.65
• Mean # of top-10 publications for those who did receive interviews: 0.35

The takeaway? Again, we have a very small sample. However, the data are suggestive. First, >80% of people who report receiving interviews have at least one publication. Secondly -- and more interestingly -- people who received no interviews actually had higher publication rates, and higher rates of publishing in top-20 and top-10 journals, than those who received interviews.

The data, then, suggests a few things. First, having  publications appears very important for securing interviews (people with no publications fared badly). However, (A) how many publications one has, and (B) the rankings of the journals in which they appear, seems not so important

I must, again, point out just how anecdotal the data are -- so we must be cautious. For all I know, the data are totally unrepresentative of the full population of job candidates (though, for what it is worth, the past two years data of job hires seem to support similar conclusions). But, in any case, since it is the only information we have, I thought it would be worth sharing it. Thoughts?

Some thoughts on Impostor Syndrome

I've written briefly about my experiences with Impostor syndrome on this blog once before. Impostor syndrome, for those of you who may not have heard about it, is -- roughly speaking -- an inability to internalize evidence that one is competent (or even good) at something one does. In philosophy, then, Impostor syndrom can take several forms. One can fail to believe that one is a competent or good philosopher even though one has plenty of evidence to the contrary. Alternatively, one may believe one is an incompetent teacher of philosophy when, once again, one has evidence to the contrary. Alternatively still, one may believe one is a good philosopher and teacher, but believe that one is an incompetent colleague for some reason or other, one's evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. And so on. There are in principle, I suppose, hardly any limits at all on the ways in which one can be convinced of one's own incompetence, regardless of what the "objective evidence" may be! :)

Anyway, although I've written briefly on the subject before, I'd like to thank Rob Gressis for requesting further discussion of the issue on the Cocoon. Before I open the issue up for discussion, I'd like to share a few thoughts that I immediately had when Rob raised it.

I am going to begin by suggesting something that might at first seem needlessly provocative, but which, once clarified, I think is pretty clearly true and worth discussing: namely, that some of us, especially early on in our careers, really are impostors. Impostor syndrome, if you recall, is the inability to internalize evidence that one is competent or good at what one does. I want to suggest that, given the way the humanities job markets work (and the philosophy job market in particular), many of us are not competent or good at what we do, at least in the relevant context, early on in our careers. Let me explain why. In the hard sciences, such as physics, there is a standard progression for those pursuing academic jobs: (1) one finishes one's PhD, (2) one spends a few years "learning the ropes" in a post-doc or two, and finally, if one is lucky enough, (3) one gets a tenure-track job as an Assistant Professor. This, of course, isn't how things work in philosophy. Given the financial realities in academic philosophy, there just aren't many post-docs. Most job candidates are hired directly out of grad school into either a VAP position, a tenure-track Assistant Professor job, or into high-teaching-load adjunct positions. And here, I think, is a simple truth about all this: grad school just doesn't prepare people very well for any of these positions. Yes, completing a PhD is hard (trust me, I know!) -- but still, every person I have met who has left grad school remarks on just how much of a "fish out of water" they feel once in their first job. For those of you who are still in grad school, I mean this seriously. Once you're in your first job, you have to (1) teach anywhere between 2-5 courses per semester full-time, (2) expect yourself to publish at least a couple of good articles per year, and (3) deal with a ton of other stuff you never expected (committee work, departmental and university service) -- and do it all at a very high level (if you want to score a TT job), all at the same time. The simple truth is this: unless you are an absolute genius (and probably not even then), grad school does not prepare you for this. My first couple of years out of grad school, I felt like an incompetent teacher, incompetent researcher, and an incompetent colleague...and I probably was. And I don't think I am alone, or to blame for it. Academic philosophy throws people right out of grad school into jobs they are not well-prepared for, and people have to "figure it all out" on the fly. It's just the reality. As difficul as grad school is, nothing you do in grad school prepares you very well for the conjunction of tasks -- teaching multiple courses full-time, publishing multiple articles per year, advising students, working on committees -- you have to perform at a high-level to succeed in a full-time academic job.  It takes a ton of hard work once you're out of grad school to figure out how to actually become a competent, let alone good, professional. It would be nice if there were more post-docs, but there aren't -- and so most of us are forced to be incompetent for a while before learn not to be.

Anyway, that's my first suggestion. I'll be curious to see if others who have gone through the experience share my point-of-view (again, almost all of those who I've actually spoken to about the transition from grad school to professorial roles voice similar points -- but admittedly, I've only spoken to people on an anedotal basis).

My second thought is this: although feeling too much like an impostor may be debilitating, a decent measure of feeling like an impostor can be a good thing. Because this post has been a bit long-winded so far, allow me to explain this one very briefly through my own example. As I mentioned above, my first couple of years out of grad school, I felt like an impostor. Feeling this way gave me motivation -- and that's putting it mildly. I felt like the only way to not be an impostor was to work myself into the ground, putting more effort into my lectures, research, and job as a whole than I ever expected myself to. For a while, it felt punishing. Then I just got used to it, coming to the realization (or at least the seeming realization) that if I want to be a good teacher, researcher, and colleague, it takes that much work. Although, again, I don't know if this is everyone's experience, my anecdotal impressions -- from talking to people -- is that it clearly is. The fact is: it takes a whole lot more work to be a good professional philosopher, however you understand this (whether your focus is teaching, or research, or university service), than you might expect. Anyway, if I hadn't felt like such an impostor, I don't think I would have put that level of work in, and for this reason, I think a certain amount of feeling like an impostor can be a good thing.

Finally, my experience is that Impostor syndrome can be overcome. Truth be told, I still feel like an impostor from time to time. Every once in a while I'll have a bad day teaching, for instance, and maybe I'll feel that evening like a bad teacher. Or maybe I'll open up a paper I'm working on and feel embarrassed about the quality of the argument or prose. Here again, I don't think I am alone. I've spoken to a number of very accomplished colleagues, ranging from decorated teachers to famous researchers, who report feeling these ways sometimes. The simple fact is, being a good professional philosopher -- a good teacher, good researcher, a good colleague -- is hard. You will inevitably fail sometimes, both in terms of meeting your own standards (however you define them), as well as in terms of meeting others' standards (the ones that determine your professional prospects). But here's the thing (again, in my experience): if you really put your nose to the grindstone and work your tail off at whatever it is you want to become good at -- whether it is teaching, research, whatever -- chances are you have the talent to actually become good at it. You made it this far, after all. If you made it through your PhD, you're a pretty damn smart person. The real question is: are you prepared to do what it takes to become a non-impostor? It will take a ton of work to become competent and good at whatever it is you value as a professional (whether it be teaching, research, etc.), but chances are, you can do it, and if you do, you will begin to feel a lot less like an impostor.

This brings me to my final suggestion, which is that, to some extent, whether you feel like an impostor depends on how you define success. I've written about this before, so I won't belabor the point too much -- but okay, let me belabor it a bit. :) In my experience, most of us are indoctrinated with a certain Message in grad school. The Message is that if you're not consistently publishing in "top-ranked journals", you are a failure. This is probably oversimplifying a bit, but whatever. Anyway, if you define success in this narrow way, chances are you will feel like an impostor. "Top-ranked journals" are tough to publish in, and while some of course do it on a regular basis, it's pretty tough to pull off. And of course it's probably even tougher to pull off consistently if, like some of us, you don't buy into some of the dominant disciplinary standards for how philosophy is supposed to be done (this is something that I have written on numerous times). Anyway, while one must of course be sensitive to disciplinary standards if one wants to obtain permanent full-time academic employment -- you must show potential employers that you can do what they are looking for in a researcher, teacher, or whatever -- the reality is that there is a vast plurality of employers looking for different things. It's really only R1 schools that are looking for someone who publishes in Mind, Nous, and PPR. Many R2 and R3 schools, SLACs, and community colleges could really care less about these things. Which leaves one, I think, with substantial room to set one's own standards of success. I, for instance, haven't published in Mind or whatever, but I'm happy with my research (I, at least, think I'm doing some pretty interesting stuff); I'm happy with the progress I've made as a teacher, and I feel like I'm a good colleague. And so I don't feel like an impostor anymore (at least not the vast majority of the time). Time will tell, of course, how well this works out for me. ;) But whatever the case may be, I still think the general point stands: whether, and the extent to which, one feels like an impostor is in large part a function of the disciplinary standards of "success" one accepts. So, if you don't want to feel like an impostor anymore, there are a couple of things you can do: (A) work your tail off to meet whatever external standards you have internalized, or else (B) set your own standards, while doing what is necessary to meet enough external standards to get, and keep, a full-time academic job. I'll leave it to you to decide which approach is better. ;)

So, yeah, these are my (rather long-winded) thoughts about Impostor syndrome. What are yours?

The Problem of Unconceived Objections & Peer Review

It is my impression that many referees think of peer review as essentially trying to come up with objections against the main thesis of any paper they are reviewing. That is, it appears that many referees subscribe to the following principle of peer review:

(PR) If there is a serious objection (or serious objections) against the main thesis of the paper under review, then recommend rejection.

Now, (PR) implies that no philosophy paper is worthy of acceptance. Why? Because Philosophy’s track record suggests that, at some point, someone will come up with a serious objection to a philosophical thesis that seemed to be well-defended at the time. In other words, for any given philosophical thesis, there are probably unconceived objections, i.e., objections that no one has thought of yet. If that is the case, then those referees who adhere to (PR) should never recommend acceptance, since there are probably unconceived objections against the main thesis of any given paper they are reviewing.

So, if you are a referee who adheres to (PR), then you are committed to the claim that no philosophy paper is worthy of publication in any journal. If this consequence strikes you as absurd, then you should change your refereeing ways.

 

 

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Topics for the New Year

Happy new year, everyone! I thought it might be a good time to solicit from you, our readers, topics or questions that you might like to see addressed here on the Cocoon in the new year. So please, fire away - the more suggestions, the better!