The Philosophers' Cocoon

Having trouble publishing? Try overproducing

"The best way to have a good idea is to have a lot of ideas." - Linus Pauling

I've written several times about how one of the best pieces of professional advice I've ever received--independently from several different, very successful people--is to write and send out a lot of papers. To review, my first couple years out I was having a really hard time publishing. I published a very short reply piece my first year out of grad school, but that was all--and I mostly spent my days slaving away over a couple of pieces from my dissertation, which kept getting rejected (though oftentimes with encouraging reviewer comments). I felt like I was treading water. Research was a slog, I wasn't having fun, and again, I wasn't getting the results I wanted. So, I asked several people I knew--very, very successful people--what their secret was...and they all independently said the same thing: they write and send out a lot of papers. Their rationale was simple. It was:

1. Given that the average journal acceptance rate is somewhere around 10%, odds alone dictate that you have to have 10 pieces under review at a given time to expect one acceptance, and
2. You never know which ideas/arguments/papers will "click" with reviewers, and which won't.

The more I've gone along in my career--and heard about others' experiences--the more I've come to appreciate (2). Even some of the best, most influential papers in philosophy bounced around at journals for years before finding sympathetic reviewers. Even if a paper is very, very good, the peer-review process is a crap-shoot.

Anyway, almost from the very moment I started taking their advice, everything turned around. I wrote up ideas/arguments into paper form as they came to me. I sent them to conferences to test the waters, and sometimes, if I felt particularly confident, immediately to journals. Research not only became fun again--exploring new ideas weekly is a lot more fun than stressing over articles you've been working on for months and years; I began to publish, and publish a lot--and, for the most part, publish on things I'm proud of.

Another thing that seems much clearer to me now is that there are seriously diminishing returns on the good that time spent "polishing" old papers can do. There is a saying, "You can't turn a turd into gold." Conversely, gold, as far as I know, can't be turned into a turd. ;) On the one hand, if a paper idea is any good, and you are thinking about it at all clearly, you should be able to write it up relatively quickly. On the other hand, if a paper idea is awful, you should also be able to write it up quickly. Finally, if a paper idea is good but you don't have it clear in your mind, you shouldn't waste your time writing on it just yet. Just keep it in the back of your mind until you get clearer on it. As such, whatever you choose to write on, you should be able to write it up quickly and move onto the next.

Finally, writing up lots of stuff is excellent practice in a number of respects. Getting stuck futzing around on a paper you've been working on for months or years is, in my experience, really stultifying. Writing up new ideas constantly is great practice for (A) getting ideas out of your head and onto paper, (B) working out problems on paper, (C) improving your writing, and (D) philosophical reasoning more broadly (insofar as, when you write, you force yourself to raise, consider, and reply to objections to your arguments).

Anyway, maybe this approach--of producing lots of new stuff all the time--won't work for everyone. However, I read a lot of biographies of famous scientists, philosophers, etc., and it is a common theme. Almost all of the people I read about produced a lot of work...a lot of which never saw the light of day. In any case, if you're having trouble publishing, I advocate trying it. When you're having trouble, one good thing to do is try what other successful people do...and again, "overproducing" is a clear theme I've come across both in biographies and successful people I've sought tips from.

To give you an idea of just how much I "overproduce", I counted up the number of full, unique papers I've written over the past 6 years. I count 41, only thirteen of which ended up published. In other words, I wrote an average of seven papers a year, with only a 31.7% peer-review publication rate. Should I be embarrassed by this? I don't think so. Lebron James, arguably the best basketball player in the world, sunk only 622 baskets in NBA regular-season games last year out of 1492 shots. Are those the only shots he took? Of course not. James took thousands of additional shots purely as practice. Many of them were probably "garbage" shots. But they all served a purpose. They were all practice. And I look at my research similarly. I think some of my unpublished papers are good, and I know some of them are awful. Writing them all, however, has served important purposes. They have given me practice: practice writing, practice developing new ideas, practice arguing, and practice figuring out which ideas/arguments are worthwhile, and which are not. The way I see it, the 28 articles I wrote but never published are not failures or a waste of time. They are successes, and time well spent.

CFP: Analytic Existentialism

My attention has been brought to this CFP for a conference on analytic existentialism:

The department of Philosophy and Moral Sciences, Ghent University, Ghent, Belgium, is pleased to host a workshop on "Analytical Existentialism," October 20–21, 2014

Keynote: LA Paul (UNC): "Transformative Experiences"

We welcome abstracts on topics related to Analytical Existentialism, which is the use of an analytical style to investigate topics that matter to us as human beings capable of feelings and anxieties or joys while doing justice to our first-person (even phenomenological) perspective. In particular, we welcome papers that instantiate and theorize Analytical Existentialism (and its history) as well as criticize it. In addition, we welcome papers on transformative experiences from any perspective, including phenomenological and other non-analytical traditions.

Please send abstracts (maximum 500 words) to Eric Schliesser by August 15.

Looks like it will be a fun and interesting conference, and a good place for early-career folk to present!

Reader Question: A broken faculty life-cycle?

A reader emailed me this weekend:

What do you make of this: 

http://theprofessorisin.com/2014/07/25/adjuncts-assistant-professors-and-a-broken-faculty-life-cycle/ - one idea I thought was interesting: Kelsky says the current market is damaging to new faculty members (and I would further and say it's damaging to others too), even the lucky ones who make it: "My point was, tenure track hires today are often harmed by the destructive conditions of the job market, even when they have been successful in it. They are harmed by the years of anxiety, the pervasive sense of panic and uncertainty, the indignities of years of adjuncting at poverty wages, by 10s or 100s of thousands of dollars of debt, and by a kind of ‘survivor’s guilt’ vis-a-vis all their friends and comrades still laboring in the adjunct trenches."

 

This strikes me as true - I remember though you saying that you felt that the years in NTT positions do make you (and others) better people: more dedicated etc. So I'm wondering if both could be true - if junior academics could both be a better person *and* incur significant harm by the current model.

This is a really tough one, and I can really only speculate. That being said, let me speculate a bit. ;)

 

I am inclined agree with Kelsky that current hiring model in philosophy harms everyone--(1) people who are lucky to get tenure-track jobs out of grad school, (2) people who are not so lucky, (3) departments who hire, and (4) the climate of the profession as a whole--at least in comparison to the model that is more common in the sciences: grad school to (non-tenure-track) post-doc to tenure-track job. Although this may sound counterintuitive, allow me to make a case for it.

 

There's a simple reason why the standard progression in many of the hard sciences is from grad school to post-doc to tenure-track. It is commonly recognized in these fields that grad school does not fully prepare one to be a successful and mature professional, and that time in a post-doc is vital for developing the research, teaching, and other professional qualities that make later success in a tenure-track position likely.

 

Although there are obviously far fewer post-docs in philosophy than in other fields, there are plenty of non-tenure-track jobs in philosophy, and I think there are reasons why it would be better for everyone involved to more closely appoximate the progression in the sciences (grad school-->non-tenure-track job-->tenure-track job). 

 

(1) Hiring people into tenure-track jobs straight out of grad school is arguably sub-optimal for those who are lucky to land those jobs.

 

This might sound absurd, and I could well be wrong--but let me give some reasons to think that it may true. 

 

It is natural to think that getting a tenure-track job straight out of grad school is the best result for a job candidate. Yet I have known a number of people who received such jobs for whom this just doesn't seem true--people who got plum jobs straight from grad school but who then published nothing or next to nothing for years, dealt with incredible levels of anxiety and self-doubt as a result, and either failed to get tenure or got it but failed to come anywhere close to their own views about their potential. Indeed, I know some people in these jobs now--people who have been in them for several years, published nothing or next to nothing, and are totally panicking about their future.

 

I also believe I was plainly better off not getting a tenure-track job right out of the gate. Like many people I've known, I really struggled as a researcher and teacher my first few years out. I wasn't published much, and although my teaching reviews had been great in graduate school, I found the transition to full-time teaching overwhelming. It took me a few years to find my feet as a researcher, teacher, and professional--and I'm truly glad I had the opportunity to do so without a tenure-clock over my head.

 

In any case, if personal development, self-assurance, and tenure are the best results for a candidate (and who doesn't want to obtain tenure while feeling confident in their own abilities along the way?), it seems to me that the grad school-->non-tenure-track-->tenure-track model is more optimal for many job candidates. One is better prepared for success in a tenure-track job by learning how to publish, teach, etc., in a non-tenure-track job first.

 

(Note: some might suggest that this is what grad school is for. To which I reply: graduate school is a very poor proxy for actual professional life. Publishing an article or two while TA-ing a single course in grad school is one thing. Publishing several articles a year while teaching 2-4 full-time courses is very, very different).

 

(2) Hiring people directly out of grad school is obviously sub-optimal for those who do not obtain tenure-track jobs right out of the gate.

 

This should go without saying. The model of hiring candidates into tenure-track jobs right out of grad school effectively strands many deserving candidates--people who have published and taught effectively--in adjuncting positions, etc. As many people have noted in many places, this is unconscionable. Deserving people shouldn't get stuck in poorly paying positions without benefits. A hiring model than gave more people the opportunity to move from these positions to tenure-track ones would improve the situation. And the hiring model of grad school-->non-tenure-track-->tenure track would do precisely this. It open up more tenure-track jobs to people in non-tenure-track jobs. 

 

(3) Hiring people into tenure-track jobs straight out of grad school is arguably sub-optimal for hiring departments.

 

By and large--with some exceptions--I've long been puzzled by the practice of departments hiring people into tenure-track positions straight from grad school. In one sense, I get it: many departments want to "win the lottery" by hiring the next superstar from a top-5 program. And, for these candidates, I think departments are behaving rationally. If you want a superstar, you can get one straight from grad school, and you can expect to keep them, by all means, you should hire them. That being said, there are problems.

 

A first problem is: there are plainly many people who hired into tenure-track jobs from graduate school who don't have "superstar" written all over them. A second, related problem is: there is a non-trivial proportion of direct-from-grad-school hires who do not learn how to publish or teach effectively, and do not get tenure (I've seen it happen). A third problem is: a non-trivial proportion of people hired direct-from-grad-school look at their positions as "stepping stones" to better ones.

 

A story: a couple of years ago, I was at a conference, and a colleague told me about the person they'd recently hired for a teaching-centered job. He had "said and done all of the right things." He aced the on-campus, etc. Then he showed up for the job, and he was like another person altogether. He hardly socialized, was arrogant, focused all of his energy on research, and plainly was looking to "move up" to a better position at a research university. For anyone who knows how universities treat tenure-track lines, this is a disaster for this person's department. When the person they hired leaves, there is no guarantee that the department will get to hire someone for that position again. They may lose that line.

 

Let's think, then, about what is optimal for most departments hiring for tenure-track lines. A few departments will benefit from hiring "stars" straight from grad school--namely, those departments who can actually expect to retain these people. But this isn't true of many of departments. The optimal result for tenure-track hiring departments is to hire someone who will (1) publish and/or teach effectively, (2) be a good colleague, (3) get tenure, and (4) stay.

 

I believe that on all four counts, the grad school-->non-tenure-track-->tenure-track hiring model is likely to be more optimal for hiring departments. Non-tenure track jobs are a place where people can develop and prove their abilities as researchers, teachers, and colleagues before getting a tenure-track jobs. If someone cannot publish, or teach, or is a total jerk, these things are likely to show themselves in a non-tenure-track job in ways that do not "show up" in grad school (people aren't expected to publish tons in grad school, they don't teach multiple courses at a time, and reference letters by grad faculty can hide whether a person is a jerk. Grad faculty do, after all, have a vested interest in their students finding positions, even the jerks!). Furthermore, it seems to me that departments have a better likelihood of actually keeping the person they hire if they hire from the non-tenure-track ranks. A person who is hired into a tenure-track job right out of grad school has plenty of reasons to want to "move up" to a better position. If they get a tenure-track R2 or teaching job right out of the gate, they might try to spend a couple of years publishing their butt off to move up to an R1. A person who has been in a non-tenure-track job for several years, however, is intuitively more likely to want to "settle down." At the least, I can this for myself! When I got my first job, I wasn't married. Moving from job to job wouldn't have been a big deal, and so I might have looked to "move up" as much as I could. Now that I'm married, and have had had a non-TT job for several years, I just want to be settled, get a home, and stay.

 

Thus, in terms of expected outcomes, it seems to me that the grad school-->non-tenure-track-->tenure track model is arguably optimal for hiring-departments, too. While a few departments may benefit from hiring "stars" straight from grad school, many will not. When you hire someone from a tenure-track job, you have a better idea of "what you're getting", and the person will be less likely to "job hop" away from your program. 

 

(4) Hiring people into tenure-track positions directly out of grad school might be indirectly subobtimal for our profession's overall climate.

 

Many people have remarked recently on how comparatively aggressive our discipline seems in comparison to some other academic disciplines.

 

First, public scandals seem to disproportionally occur in philosophy compared to other disciplines. As an anonymous faculty member in English reports here, "I've been a member of the MLA for twenty-five years and this is the first I've heard of its code of conduct. Then again, the sort of scandal that has beset philosophy would be unheard of in English, so perhaps it works."

 

Second, as Jon Cogburn reports here, common behaviors and norms in philosophy seem systematically more unfriendly and unsupportive than in many other fields:

I've been to linguistics, theology, narratology, and theatre conferences and the norms of basic politeness in those fields are radically different from philosophy. If your question isn't charitable and helpful, the whole room will frown at you and the moderator will just call on someone else. You can't just do the philosopher thing of just trying to score dialectical points against the speaker.

Indeed, I've had many similar experiences myself. When I've discussed philosophy with my wife and people in her (STEM) field, they express surprise and dismay at several prominent features of professional philosophy: mean-spirited book reviews, aggressive Q&A sessions, insults, etc. For example, when I showed an infamous (but popular) negative book review in philosophy to a famous senior figure in my wife's field, his response was: "That seems really unprofessional to me. No editor would dream of publishing anything like that in our field."

 

These things beg the question: why is philosophy this way?

 

No doubt, the true answer to this question is complex--so I'm not even going to try to answer it. Without trying to diagnose our discipline's problems, let me say a few positive (albeit speculative) things instead.

 

Suppose you're unhappy with the climate of our profession--with, say, the levels of arrogance, aggression, and apologetics-for-bad-behavior you perceive to exist. Suppose, next, that you wish that people in our discipline were more kind, more humble, etc. This begs the obvious question: how could our discipline develop more kind, humble people?

 

Here is what I will say: as the reader who submitted the above email indicates, I think time in non-tenure-track jobs can help people become better people. I think we all know in life that all too often, quick success can "go to people's heads", leading to arrogance, etc. In contrast, it's also a truism from life struggles tend to humble people (not always, of course, but often).

 

I will say, at any rate, that I think being in a non-tenure-track position has been really good for me. Although, like all people, I have my character defects, I truly think my time in non-tenure track positions has humbled me, and helped me to become a more kind, helpful person. Of course I could be wrong, but I think (or at least hope!) that most people who've known me for a number of years would give a similar assessment. 

 

Thus, I will suggest--but only suggest--that a greater shift toward the grad school-->non-tenure-track-->tenure-track hiring model might also be a way to improve our discipline's climate. Such a model could reasonably be expected to produce more humble, more kind, more helpful professionals.

 

In closing, I'd like to stress that these are all speculations. Although I think careful empirical studies of all of the hypotheses I've floated might be fruitful and interesting, I'll be the first to admit: the cases I have made for them are speculative. They are not meant to be definitive. They are merely meant to provoke conversation! :)

Weekend Wavelengths

For your weekend-listening pleasure, one of the more beautiful rock ballads written...

 

And for good measure...

   

Bad grad school advice?

I came across this blog post yesterday, "The Worst Advice Grad Students Get", and thought it touches on issues that might be worth discussing here. According to the author, one of the worst pieces of advice grad students get is to focus on the dissertation and leave publishing for later. She describes a case where she received interest in her dissertation from an editor at a prestigious academic press, and a faculty member told her not to follow up.

No, no, no, Faculty Mentor said. Your dissertation is not done, and a dissertation is not a book. “Keeping in touch” would end up making me look foolish, because I would end up wasting everyone’s time—the editor’s as well as the potential readers’. Better to do nothing so as not to embarrass myself (and, potentially, my mentor). 

The author then relates that after heeding her mentor's advice, she was never able to interest the editor in her work again. She seems to have received bad--very bad--advice.

I've heard similar things--of grad students at top-ranked programs being told not to publish while in grad school because it (1) gives them an air of mystery (viz. "This person might be a genius!"), and (2) provides them time to make sure their work is truly awesome before they (finally) publish it later on, preferably in some place like Mind or Phil Review.

I actually don't think this is terrible advice...if you attend a "top-5" place like Rutgers, NYU, or what have you. In compiling data on this year's hires and 2012 hires, I found that a significant number of people obtained tenure-track jobs in philosophy with zero publications. But, you guessed it, almost all of them came from top-5 programs. In other words, if you're in one of those programs, "don't publish" seems to be good advice--but if you're not, it's not.

Interestingly, the author says that, in her view, the single worst piece of advice she received in grad school is not to have a baby. 

I heard it on the first day of grad school, and many times after: Don’t have a baby while you’re here. No one will think you’re serious. It’ll kill your career. Better to wait until you’re in a postdoc or, better yet, have tenure. 

Long story short, the author found herself in grad school for the better part of a decade, and then on the job market for 6 years...and poof, she is now in her late 30s, she has fertility issues, and has unable to have a child. So while, yes, while having children while in grad school has its risks--maybe people will take you less seriously--the risks of not doing so may be far, far greater. (Side-note: I've known people--men and women--who had children in grad school, and it didn't seem to harm their careers).

I also like another piece of bad advice the author shares: "Go to the best grad school that accepts you, even if that means no funding." In my view, this is terrible advice for several reasons. First, as the author notes, it promises to leave you in a heap of debt, and you might not even finish your program, let alone land a decent-paying job after grad school. Another reason that it's bad advice, in my view, is that there is so much more to picking a grad program than its ranking or placement record. I've known people who went to low-ranked programs, enjoyed their time in grad school, and are doing splendidly. I also know people who went to top-ranked programs with good placement records, meshed with no one in their program, did not enjoy grad school at all, etc. Long story short, a program may be great, but if you're not happy there--for whatever reason (it's in a boring town, you don't mesh with personalities in the department, it's a generally hostile and unsupportive place)--going to that program can be an awful choice. You may well be better off going to a lower-ranked department with people (grad students and faculty) you gel with (though it is still a good idea to go to a place with a good placement record, which some lower-ranked programs do have).

One piece of advice the author endorses which I do not is, "Go to the best grad school that will give you a free ride and fit your interests." I don't endorse this piece of advice for two reasons. The first is the one I just gave: you shouldn't just go to the best program that gives you a free ride. You should look at programs carefully, taking into account things (department climate, how well you seem to mesh with faculty, etc.) besides rankings. Second, I think it is a bad idea to prioritize your philosophical interests when thinking about grad school. Because I suspect many people will find this surprising/disagree with it, let me explain my rationale in some detail.

I've always been puzzled by the emphasis that prospective students and grad programs both place on incoming students' philosophical interests. Let's think about this a bit. Many prospective students have just finished their undergraduate degree. Consequently, their philosophical training is likely to be quite narrow. When I was an undergraduate, I focused on the philosophy of mind, Wittgenstein, and existentialism. So, quite naturally, when I applied to grad school, I looked for places that were good in philosophy of mind (my strongest interest). I then got into a program with a faculty member whose work on philosophy of mind I enjoyed...yet once I got there I found that our department had spectacular people in metaphysics (something I had little background in), and I basically lost all interest in philosophy of mind. Then, when I transferred to Arizona (to do metaphysics, presumably), I took some courses in moral and political philosophy...and decided I no longer had much of a taste for metaphysics.

In my experience, this kind of stuff happens, and happens a lot. Graduate school should be a place to find out what you're philosophically interested in. If you apply to (and then attend) a department because you're interested in X and its faculty are great at X, what's going to happen if you lose interest in X, get interested in Y, and the faculty at the program aren't great at Y? You guessed it, you have a tough choice to make. You can either keep working in X (even though you no longer enjoy it), you can start working in Y (even though the faculty in your program aren't great at it), or you can transfer to another program. None of these are very good options...and I've seen many a grad student face them. Don't be one of them! You should try to go to a graduate program with breadth--with faculty that are good and well-established in many different areas. This is one of the reasons I'm glad I went to Arizona. There are strong faculty there in the philosophy of mind, experimental philosophy, ancient philosophy, philosophy of science, history of philosophy, philosophy of language, moral and politcal philosophy, etc. 

Anyway, these are just some of my thoughts about "bad grad school advice." What are yours? Are there any particularly bad pieces of advice that you received or have seen others receive that might be worth sharing? If so, share away!

"Moon" and some musings on moral education

It is really striking to me, as a moral philosopher, that while many people in our culture place (or claim to place) a very high value on education, there are few formal or informal structures in our society--besides parenting, school rules, etc.--for moral education. This is disturbing to me for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that one good predictor of moral behavior (e.g. concern for the welfare of others, anti-discrimination, etc.)--empathy--has been observed to be on a strong downward trajectory in college-aged students. Here's the study's "money chart":

Anyway, these results and a couple of other recent experiences got me musing a bit about moral education lately.

The first experience was a viewing of the 2009 film, Moon, starring Sam Rockwell. If you haven't seen it, it's a must-see for anyone who likes philosophically-relevant science-fiction. I'll try not to ruin the movie for anyone who hasn't seen it (I don't think it can be ruined!), but its main conceit is clearly telegraphed, so I'll share it. Moon's main character meets another version of himself. Although this is by no means the first work of fiction to explore such ground, one of the most interesting, original, and amusing features of it is that the character is literally marooned with his other self. They are the only two characters in the film. And they can't stand each other. Rockwell's character begins to see, really for the first time, what a jerk he is. Prior to meeting himself second-personally, he was mostly unaware of the negative parts of his personality. He really only begins to see what a jerk he is when he experiences himself second-personally, that is, as others experience him in interacting with him. And it is quite an eye-opener--both for him, and for us, the film's viewers.

I take it that most of us can identify, at least to some extent, with the character's "lack of self-awareness." It is hard to see ourselves as others see us. Things we do that seem utterly innocent to us from the inside may appear very differently to others on the outside. Just this week, for instance, my wife remarked how I've seemed "on edge", or anxious about something. Truth be told, I had no idea I had been behaving any differently than normal--but once she brought it to my attention, I began to see little things I had been doing differently. It occurred to me that I have been anxious about some things (my book manuscript currently under review, the fall academic job market coming up, etc.)...and I hadn't realized that any of it had affected my demeanor.

Anyway, it occurred to me that second-personal self-viewing--quite literally watching videos of one's behavior from the perspective of other people, or even engaging with simulations of oneself--might be worth investigating (if it hasn't already) as a method of moral education. Similar methods work wonders in many other areas. For instance, I was a baseball player in high school and university--and one of the most effective ways to spot troublesome playing habits is viewing videos of oneself. I distinctly remember going though a "batting slump" where I just couldn't hit the ball. I felt sure (on the basis of introspection) that I wasn't doing anything unusual, and that I was swinging the bat just like I always had...until I saw a video of my swing. What I saw shocked me. I immediately saw several flaws in my swing that weren't usually there. Once I concentrated on eliminating them, I began to hit better almost immediately.

Given that (1) lack of self-awareness, and (2) motivation to improve our behavior are intuitively--from everyday experience--two serious impediments to improving our moral behavior, and are also intuitively related to one another (we often seem to fail to improve our behavior because we fail to appreciate how others experience our actions), it occurred to me that second- (and third?) personal viewings of ourselves might be a particularly effective method of moral education. For again, while it is all-too-easy to justify one's behavior to oneself from the inside (viz. "I don't think I'm a jerk, I think I treat people fairly"), I suspect many of us might have experiences similar to Rockwell's character in moon if we were regularly presented with our behavior from the outside (viz. "Wow, I though I behaved really well. Now that I see myself, I'm really embarassed. I need to work on being more kind.")

Anyway, is anyone aware of empirical research on this? I've searched around in the moral education literature a bit, and while I could have missed it, I haven't come across anything. Alternatively, if such research doesn't exist, it might be a prime research program just waiting for an enterprising experimental philosopher to try out!

Should philosophers stay out of politics?

My friend Bas van der Vossen has an interesting paper, "In Defense of the Ivory Tower: Why Philosophers Should Stay Out of Politics", forthcoming in Philosophical Psychology.

I'm curious to see what people think of it. I'm inclined to think that premise (2) of his argument ("The task of political philosophers is to seek the truth about political issues") is false. Seeking the truth is certainly one of our tasks, but must it dominate all other considerations? What would be wrong with balancing truth-seeking against making the world a better place? Bas briefly considers something like this objection on p. 21 of the unpublished draft of his manuscript, but I don't find his response very convincing. He writes:

The problem...is easy to spot. Suppose that the need to make the world a better place really does trump considerations of truth. That raises an obvious question: how should we go about this? In order to make the world a better place, we first need to know what would make it better. But to ask that question is to ask the central question of political philosophy. And to answer it we need to know the truth about political philosophy. In this sense, truth cannot be avoided.

By my lights, the line of argument here hangs on a false dilemma: namely, either (1) we pursue truth, or (2) we pursue making the world a better place. Bas' argument then is that if we want to do (2) effectively, we have to do (1)--thus, the idea that advocacy should "trump" truth is incoherent (one can't advocate properly without first knowing truth).

Suppose, though, that we substitute a weaker goal: that of balancing concern for truth with some probability of making the world a better place. Bas' line of reasoning in the above passage doesn't show that this is incoherent, nor, it seems to me, does anything in the rest of the paper show that it is wrong. Advocacy may well have epistemic and moral risks (viz. the kinds of biases Bas talks about in his paper), but why not think that those risks--the risks of making the world a worse place--might be morally outweighed by a significant probability of making the world a better place through advocacy? To see how this might be the case, consider an oversimplified but broadly concrete case.

Suppose, on the one hand, I do not engage in advocacy. Then suppose that because I don't, my biases are lessened and my chance of finding The True Theory of Justice is 99%. However, suppose that because I do not engage in advocacy, the chances of actually convincing many people of The True Theory are small to nil (so that even if I find the True Theory, my finding it will do very little good). On the other hand, suppose that if I engage in advocacy, my probability of finding The True Theory falls to 70% but, through advocacy, I stand to convince many people of whatever theory I arrive at. Even though I risk great harm in the latter case (should my biases drive me to convince people of a False Theory), there is a far greater chance of doing great good (should I settle on and convince many of the True Theory). 

For Bas' argument to be sound, he would have to show that the moral risks of playing it safe (99% of finding True Theory+no advocacy) outweigh the possible moral benefits of the other option (75% chance of True Theory+effective advocacy), given that the benefits of the latter could be tremendous. Now, maybe there is a good moral argument for playing it safe here over playing it risky--but I don't quite see such an argument in his paper.

On one final note, I can't help but wonder what the implications are for Bas' role as contributor over at Bleeding Heart Libertarians. Given that the blog--by its own self-description--engages in political advocacy ("We seek here to revive, energize, and extend that tradition—to demonstrate that contemporary libertarians can, in addition to their traditional vindication of individual liberty, offer effective, powerful, and innovative responses to the problems of economic vulnerability and injustice and to their social, political, and cultural consequences"), shouldn't Bas call it quits (if he hasn't already)? 

It's a Wrap! The 2nd Annual PCPC

The 2nd Annual Philosophers' Cocoon Philosophy Conference is now in the books, and I'm happy to report that it was a wonderful weekend. Great talks, great people, and all around great times. I'd also like to thank everyone who took part. It was wonderful to meet those of you I didn't already know, and to see again those of you I did. You all made the conference what it was. 

Anyway, here are just a few pictures, so that those of you who didn't attend can see what you missed out on, and which will hopefully motivate you to submit a paper to next year's conference! ;)

Presenter: Brian Fiala (University of Arizona)

Presenter: Lourdes Ortiz Bautista (UC Santa Cruz)

Presenter: Elizabeth Grossman (University of Michigan)

Presenter: David Killoren (Coastal Carolina University)

Presenter: Greg Lusk (University of Toronto) by SKYPE

Presenters: Katherine Ward (Georgetown University), and Mary Salvaggio (Rutgers University) by SKYPE

Pictured: Fun

Thanks again to everyone for such a great weekend!

SpaceTimeMind: Episode 9

Richard Brown and Pete Mandik have posted Episode 9 of SpaceTimeMind, "A Journey to the Edge of Hypertime." Here is the episode's capsule-summary:

This is the first of several episodes of the SpaceTimeMind podcast wherein amateur chrononauts Richard Brown and Pete Mandik tackle topics in the physics and metaphysics of time. In this episode, one of the main ideas we kick around is whether any moments exist beyond the present moment. Additionally, we tackle the issue of whether it makes any more sense to say that time flows than it does to say that space moves. If time flows at some rate, must there exist a hypertime relative to which first-order time changes? And is the ensuing infinite regress an intolerable ontic horror? Finally, we discuss the relationship between the phenomenology of time experience and the metaphysics of time by exploring whether a computer simulation of a brain would notice being run backwards in time.

Enjoy!

The Book of Rankings

And in the 2500 eons of time before ranked time, there was formlessness. Apart from The Academy and The Lyceum, one knew not where a department stood, nor how deeply one might plant one's feet. One's judgment was clouded by the gossip of the philosophers and the void created by opinion and argument. And one wandered often as in a trance, sometimes lost, sometimes uncertain, but sometimes also in such a fervor of happiness and jouissance that one clung to unranked time.

But, then, out of the darkness of unranked time, came The Lighter. The Lighter paved the way, first with the early tablets of ranking law. These firsts--small things, involving staples, circulated lazily, for every philosopher, in the wake of Kant and the German Idealists, was slow to bow his or her yoke to any law except one that he or she had authored (and staples, verily, required stamps). But The Lighter, in his prescience, saw glimpses of the future and pressed on, for he knew that a giant Network would be built. And The Lighter bent that Network initially to his will and he clothed the law in tasty morsels of food, feeding the hungry and starved, but also the curious and wandering alike. 

Not all approved, however, of what he was cooking. Most loudly, from an ivy palace, there arose The Heckler, who fought with The Lighter for 40 days and 40 nights. But his weapons were weak, for he used letters, hoping to unite the philosophers. But this was folly, for in the wake of Mill and Bentham, the philosophers valued utility greatly. And above all, The Lighter appeared useful, appealing to philosophers, and especially their curiosity (and it is suggested, in cyclopean tracts out of Meßkirch, their boredom). Working from his Gourmet Shoppe, the Lighter grew in power, calling to himself advisers from the Network. And The Network, too, grew in power, and the two became intertwined. And The Lighter cooked his food, and the philosophers ate. And for a time there was quiet.

Soon, though, the Administration discovered The Lighter's treats, and they gorged themselves on it, stuffing themselves into a frenzy, and growing greatly in power thereby. And with that power, The Lighter's power also grew, and The Lighter grew more fearsome. And this power unnerved many and great rifts grew in the world. As the rifts continued to multiply, there arose rival Gourmet Shoppes, for ultimately The Network owed no allegiance to anyone, not even The Lighter, and it birthed further offspring, perhaps even to spite him.  

But none, within the shoppes and without, could agree on the best ingredients, for much in the world of food is cloaked with secrecy, and it is hard to predict which salves will serve best in future, even if they had served once before. With the threat of formlessness again, there arose The Miller and The Gambler, and the two did their cooking in the open, using sauces and spices they offered to share, and The Lighter, now even more fearsome, grew wary or perhaps frightened. And he struck at The Gambler with a mighty wind, but The Gambler parried his attack. And then the philosophers found themselves in between two mighty forces. We might call them "past" and "future." And after Arendt, it has come to be known that these two always produce a third, a deflection of forces. Thus a question is posed for all those who exist in ranked time: might such a deflection offer a path out of ranked (and unranked) time? And if so, what grand seas and vistas will we find there? And what dangers?

There's more to it than that

There has been a lot of discussion (and controversy) lately on the philosophy blogosphere on PhD program placement rates--that is, on measursing different programs' track records of placing their graduates in tenure-track jobs, etc. As I wrote recently, I think this is important stuff. Given the risks involved in attempting an academic career, it is important for prospective students to have an accurate idea of what they are getting into before they join a PhD problem. It is also, I think, a good thing for placement rates to become better known and publicly disseminated, as--all things being equal--it stands to hold programs more accountable for their performance (or lack thereof).

All of this is important. It is also important, obviously, for data to be accurate, accurately presented, etc.--which is why I appreciate (1) all of the hard work some parties have been doing on this front, presenting and updating their analyses publicly, with appropriate qualifications made explicit (viz. their data is incomplete, etc.), as well as (2) public discussion on the philosophy blogosphere about how to go about all of this properly (note: as I have said before, I have no interest in weighing in on recent controversies here, given this blog's mission).

Anyway, as important as placement rates are, it occurred to me this morning that it may be a mistake--though an understandable one, to be sure--to focus overwhelmingly on placement rates, to the exclusion of more-difficult-to-measure things that, nevertheless, may be important to prospective grad students. Allow me to explain.

As I've explained many times (without shame:), my career has been far from the linear path to success that I expected--and, at many times, hoped. It has been full of ups and downs, successes and failures, and my career prospects are still, at present, very much up in the air (though I have been in a good, stable-but-non-permanent position for several years). At times--many times--it has been an intensely trying experience, both for me and for my family. Looked at in numerical terms (i.e. tenure-track appointments), I am not a success story (at least not yet). At the same time, I have found, there can be more--far more--to "success" than reaching the "promised land."

I have known more than a few tenure-track and tenured faculty who are unhappy with their jobs. Some of them never became the researcher--the philosopher--they wanted to become. Others are stuck at teaching schools, despise teaching, and look at teaching as a necessary evil. I'm not saying that either of these results are disasters. Surely there are worse things in life--far worse things--than being a tenured faculty member whose job does not promise fulfillment. My point is not that such situations are awful. It is simply that there is more to success and career-fulfillment than merely the "end result"--and that when choosing grad programs, it is important not to focus simply on the "end results" programs generate (TT placement rates), but also on the kind of philosophers/professionals the programs produce.

Some programs--or so I have heard--provide their grad students tons of direction, and get their students through them and to TT jobs quickly. Other programs (or particular advisors in particular programs) provide their students far less direction, etc. The former type of program may be far more efficient, and "safe", than the latter. The former type of program might even have higher TT-job placement rate than the latter. And yet...the latter type of program may well be worthy of attending for different reasons. Allow me to explain.

My career, again, has in many ways not gone as I expected (or at many times hoped). But, for all that--and for all of my limitations--I am the kind of philosopher and teacher I wanted to be. My PhD program did not turn me into someone I didn't want to be. No, to this day, I am doing research I am passionate about, doing it in ways that feel authentic to who I am as a person and philosopher, I love undergraduate teaching, and of course, I run a blog I care about. These are all things that get me up in the morning. I don't have a tenure track job...but I have never enjoyed being a philosopher more than I do now. Am I a success? A failure? That depends, I suppose, on who you ask. But, if you were to ask me, I would say this: I wouldn't change a thing. And I would mean it. 

And so, I would say, if you are a graduate student trying to settle on a program, placement rates are something you should probably care about. But they are not the only thing you should care about. You should look into a program--and the kind of people it produces--more deeply than that. For, there may be a lot more about a program--a lot of importance to you, depending on who you are--beneath the surface worth looking at. Does the program churn out successful people like a "philosopher factory", or does it let its students find themselves as philosophers, teachers, etc.? As I've said recently, there are often different types of risks with different choices. "Safe" choices may be safe (viz. you may increase your chances of a tenure-track job), but they can also carry risks (will you be happy in that job if you get it?). Similarly, although risky choices are risky, sometimes risks can be worth it (I've known more than a few people who chose lower-ranked PhD programs over more highly-ranked ones and are successful, and happy, with the choice they made). The important thing, I think, whatever choices you make, is to be as informed about and clear about your values, and all of the associated facts relevant to making a decision, as you can be. "End-results" may be all that matter to you, but they may not be. It's important to figure out who you are and what it is that you value, because, after all, it is you who have to live with your choices.

Or so say I. What say you?

Saturday Soundtrack

Remarkable...

 

The Ethics of Journal Reviewing, and the Rejection Letters of Nobel Prize Winners

I came across this paper today by Debra R. Comer and Michael Schwartz entitled, "The Problem of Humiliation in Peer Review." Here is the abstract:

This paper examines the problem of vituperative feedback from peer reviewers. We argue that such feedback is morally unacceptable, insofar as it humiliates authors and damages their dignity. We draw from social-psychological research to explore those aspects of the peer-review process in general and the anonymity of blind reviewing in particular that contribute to reviewers’ humiliating comments. We then apply Iris Murdoch's ideas about a virtuous consciousness and humility to make the case that peer referees have a moral obligation not to humiliate the authors whose work they review.

In other words, Comer & Schwartz argue that (1) it's morally bad for referees to write reviews that humiliate authors, and (2) existing structures--anonymous reviewing, inadequate supervision/direction by journal editors, etc.--not only fail to prevent this bad, but cause it to flourish.

As someone who has suffered some absolutely brutal reviews myself--some fair, some profoundly unfair (at least in my view)--I have to say that I think this is a problem, and one that more should be done about. It is one thing to have a manuscript rejected on the basis of incisive criticism (it can be tough to handle, but instructive). It is another thing entirely for reviewers to write--and editors to pass along--reviews that more or less savage the author. No matter how bad a reviewer thinks a manuscript is, there are kind ways to express it, and unkind ways. I believe journal editors should instruct reviewers to do the former, and indeed, insist upon it. We have every professional right to criticize authors. We have no professional right--not in my view, at least--to treat people badly. And authors, whatever else they may be, are people; and typically, people who, for whatever their manuscript's failures might be, put a lot of time, energy, and heart into the product. The product may not be good. It may be awful. But, again, there are ways to express one's judgment about a person's work with kindness, and with callousness. We should all insist on the former. Or so say I. (Note: Just in case anyone was wondering--not that you were!--no, I did not receive a brutal review today;)

Anyway, the main reason I'm writing this post is not to insist on the claims I've just made. My reason for writing it comes from a second article I came across today (by way of Comer & Schwartz's paper), a 1994 article in The Journal of Economic Perspectives entitled, "How Are the Mighty Fallen: Rejected Classic Articles By Leading Economists." The paper basically reports the results of a series of interviews with 20 Nobel Prize winners in economics, and it's an eye-opener. Papers that turned out to be classics were rejected as "trivial", "not interesting", "lacking rigor", etc.; basically, all the things one tends to hear from journal referees. ;) And of course there were startling cases of referrees writing diatribes not even related to the paper under review (one review is described as, "a 13-page essay citing every Chicago deity as to why there could be no such thing as entry barriers; the  referee's essay made no reference to the paper at hand"). Finally, there was this absolute gem from a Chinese economics journal:

"We have read your manuscript with boundless delight. If we were to publish your paper, it would be impossible for us to publish any work of lower standard. And as it is unthinkable that in the next thousand years we shall see its equal, we are, to our regret, compelled to return your divine composition, and to beg you a thousand times to overlook our short sight and timidity." (p. 178)

The authors then describe the general outlook of the Nobel Prize winners interviewed:

Many respondents deplored bored, careless editors and referees. Roy Radner,  who has "had quite a few papers rejected by journals," notes: "My casual impression is that much of the refereeing-at least for economics journals-is careless, irresponsible, and narrow-minded. This can be frustrating for both authors and editors." William Baumol concurs: "We have all had rejections that infuriated us because the reviewers always seem not to have read our work with the care and understanding that it merits." Similarly, Graciela Chichilnisky notes, "The more innovative and interesting the paper, the more likely it is to be rejected, in my experience. Editors seldom read papers, and referees don't read them carefully either." Richard Freeman describes the "relief one normally gets from a rejection: the certain knowledge that the editor and referees are blind baseball umpires, members of The Three Stooges, or incompetents in even more drastic ways...Many respondents indicated special difficulty in obtaining fair journal evaluations of unorthodox papers."

Does this kind of stuff sound familiar? It probably should, as these are the very kinds of things often bemoaned about peer-reviewers in philosophy today!

Anyway, we now come, finally, to why I'm mentioning all of this. One of the most common arguments I have heard for giving brutal reviews is that there is a kind of moral imperative to be clear to editors "just how bad" a piece of work is--as if it would be a crime against humanity (or some such) if a bad piece of work got published as a result of a failure, on one's own part, of giving a brutal review.

Even if I were to agree with the principle here--that it is of the utmost importance to ensure that bad work does not get published (and, for the record, I don't agree with it)--the argument from this principle to the practice of giving vitriolic reviews seems to me a poor one. There is just too much evidence--from the historical record, both in philosophy and outside of it--that people who review pieces of work can, and often do, terribly misjudge their quality. Given the kinds of mistakes that have been made, the morally responsible thing to do is as a journal reviewer is to review on the general assumption that one could be wrong about the paper's quality, even if one feels strongly. But, I think, if one reviews on that assumption, one will not write vitriolic reviews. One will say to oneself, "I think this paper is bad. But, I could be wrong. And the author is a person--a person who could be terribly hurt by a vitriolic review...a review that might even lack warrant. So, I will tread carefully. I will say what I think is wrong with the paper, but leave harsh rhetoric aside." 

You do not have to live in fear

Over at The Smoker, there was a brief but interesting exchange recently on fear and prudence for early-career philosophers. At July 6, 5:14AM, Anonymous writes:

I am wondering if the current job market situation creates a culture of fear whereby young scholars are advised to be as mainstream and risk-averse as possible (e.g., publish in the top philosophy journals, no coauthoring, no online activity, don't work on unpopular or fringe topics). This is a high price to pay. After all, not all my work fits in top journals, and steering my work to the direction of the narrow range of topics that are considered there is not something I feel like doing. I like co-authoring. Finally, I like the engagement with fellow philosophers and people outside the discipline that blogging provides. All things that are important to me as a philosopher. 

We should not wait until tenure to take risks. Also, given the importance of online media, creating a thoughtful online presence can be an important part of one's professional life and, after all, your career starts *before* you get tenured or even on a tenure track position.

"Zombie" then responded at 8:19AM:

I don't think this is about fear, but about prudence. I don't see anything wrong or worrisome with anything you're doing. I'm thinking more about the kind of stuff that makes you look like a jerk, or immature, or psychotic. Posting racist, drunken rants on Facebook, or publicly posting ad hominem attacks on other philosophers, etc. The kind of stuff that makes you look like a bad colleague. I suppose this could extend to stuff that makes you look like a sloppy, bad philosopher too. 

Finally, however--in a comment that preceded both of these--(another?) Anonymous wrote:

Zombie is right. Prudentially speaking, all us smokers should build firewalls, and keep our public online presences positive...Prudentially, we should all keep their heads down and live in fear.

I can only speak for myself. But that's not what I got into philosophy to do. And I, for one, would rather fail to secure a TT job, or even driven out of the discipline, than to continue to "be careful" (and fearful) one more year.

I want to comment on this exchange for a couple of reasons.

First, it is an issue that is very close to my heart. I used to "live in fear" as an early-career philosopher. I worked on "safe" topics, and basically kept my head down...and it sapped most of the joy out of my career. 

Second, many early-career people I have known and spoken to tell me that they live in fear too. I've had people tell me, for instance, that they would like to blog, but fear that it might make them look bad, harm them on the job market, etc.

In what follows, I am not going to suggest that it is rational for everyone to take risks. It can make sense to keep one's head down, play it safe, etc. Playing it safe might even land you a tenure track job and/or professional esteem. All I am going to suggest is that playing it safe carries its own risks, and that whatever choice one makes--to play it safe or take risks--one should do it with a full view of risks/benefits in mind.

It's hard, of course, to define "playing it safe" in philosophy. What is "safe" to some may not seem safe to others. What I would rather like to do, then, is define "safe" in a way that is relative to a person's own experience. Allow me to explain. 

Suppose you're doing certain things in your career--you're working on certain topics, not blogging, etc.--and you feel constrained. You feel, on the whole, like you're "not doing philosophy authentically"; you're not staying true to who you are as a person and philosopher. You feel isolated, you feel uninspired. And you begin to have the hankering suspicion that if you worked on other, less popular topics, or if you started blogging publicly, it might make a difference: it might make you enjoy your career more. It might bring the fun back into research, and it might connect you more to other people. But you stay away from both things--you stay away from working on unpopular topics, and from blogging--because you fear certain risks. You fear, let's say, that people will consider you a bad philosopher for working on the new topics, or perhaps just ignore your work. And you worry that, if you start blogging, it might harm you on the job market. Finally, let us suppose that both risks are genuine. In short, suppose you experience yourself "playing it safe" out of fear of taking (genuine) risks.

Is it rational to continue to play it safe, or should you take the risk? I don't think there's a simple answer to this question. There is great uncertainty involved either way. That being said, allow me to tell you a story. 

Several years ago I "lived in fear"--just like some people I've talked to. I found myself working on projects that I didn't really believe in--projects that didn't inspire me--because I thought they were "prudent" to work on. I thought I could publish on them in good places, etc. I kept my head down, worked my tail off, and didn't interact online (this was before I started The Philosophers' Cocoon). I was, in short, "doing what I was supposed to" (at least as I understood this). And I felt isolated, alone, and unhappy with my career. I discovered, much to my dismay, that I was doing none of the things that made me fall in love with philosophy in the first place. I was not exploring bold new ideas. I was afraid to even discuss ideas with others, out of fear of judgment. Etc.

"This", it occurred to me, "is no way to live." So, I made a change. I started The Philosophers' Cocoon. I started working on crazy ideas--whatever tickled my fancy, really. I began to connect with colleagues. I laughed when they said my ideas were nutty. And I began to love philosophy again. The past several years have been the most enjoyable years of my life as a philosopher, and not by a little bit, but by far.

I'm not going to sit here and say that I've taken "crazy risks." I'm not that full of myself! :) I'm also not prepared to say that whatever "risks" I have taken will pay off in the long run. As anyone who reads this blog knows, I still don't have a tenure-track post. The only thing I can say is this: to anyone out there who is "living in fear", who feels afraid to take what seem to be risks, if you are unhappy with your situation, you can change it. You do not have to live in fear. Whatever risks you take may or may not work out. But simply making a change--and trying something new and unexpected--can make all the difference. It can make you fall in love with philosophy again. It can make you realize why you got into this career in the first place. And that is something.

The only final thing I would suggest--following Zombie's remarks above as well as my experience with the Cocoon--is that whatever risks you take, whether they are blogging or whatever, commit yourself to pursuing those risks kindly, and helpfully. As I mentioned above, early in my career I found the discipline to be a rather scary place, full of judgmental people. Part of this, I think, was just my fear talking (I "saw" judgmentalism everywhere). But it was not all fear talking: there are judgmental people here and there. But, what I will say is this: if you commit yourself to pursuing your career--your "risks"--kindly, you may be surprised just how many people of good will are out there. In my experience running the Cocoon, there are a ton of people out there looking for more kindness in the discipline. Be among them, and be among those who contribute kindness. If you do, you have little to fear.

Writing sample as a job-talk?

In the comments section of my post, "Job Market Prep Questions?", Anonymous Grad asks:

Let's say I am fortunate enough to get a campus interview and give a job talk. Should I plan to prepare a job talk that is different from my writing sample?

As luck would have it, we actually discussed this topic almost a year ago! There, the consensus seemed to be:

1. If you can give a good talk on something other than your writing sample, you should do it. Giving a talk on your writing sample can make you look like a "one-trick pony."
2. However, if your writing sample is far and away your best piece of work, give it.

At least offhand (and I may be wrong!), I'm inclined to think that one should err on the side of (2). There's an old saying in baseball, "If you're going to get beat, get beat on your very best pitch." When you're giving a job talk, you want to be sure to absolutely kill it. You should give your talk on whatever piece you feel like you can hit a home run on, even if it's your writing sample. I personally know at least one person who scored an R1 job giving their writing sample as a job talk. If it were me, I'd rather lose the job knowing I'd presented my very best work rather than my second-best. But, perhaps this is just me. 

Am I wrong?

One final thing to note is that, as Rachel pointed out in the comments section of last year's post, it may be a great idea not to present a paper as your job talk at all, but rather "3-4 talks in one", giving a "big picture" presentation of your research program, along with how everything fits together, thus giving the people in attendance at your talk a really impressive presentation of the many things your research project promises to do in years to come. After all, you need to remember, (1) most of the people in attendance at your talk will not be on the search committee, but (2) their opinion on your job talk will count in the hiring process. While the search committee members may (or may not!) have read your research statement carefully, a lot of people in attendance--other faculty members, grad students, etc.--may know nothing about you.

Indeed, I was in a one-year position at a research university, and when our department had people in for job talks, their talk was the only thing most of us knew about the candidates. I can tell you--in no uncertain terms--that if someone came in and gave a kick-@#$, "big picture" presentation showing us how amazing their entire research program was, I would have been blown away. Too many of the job talks were on really specialized topics that I had no knowledge of, and which left me pretty disinterested (sorry, but it can be really hard to get interested in a problem that you have no background in!). In any case, since the job talk is likely to be your first (and maybe only!) impression on grad students and faculty members not on the search committee--and these people do play a role in who gets hired--I think Rachel's idea of giving a "big picture" talk is brilliant...if you can pull it off. :)

Should you hire a job-market consultant?

In the comments section of my recent post, "Job Market Prep Questions?", Anonymous writes:

I was wondering if you would be willing to start a thread on hiring professional consultants. The job market is such a crap shoot game where grad school typically leaves you poorly prepared that it seems sensible, especially if you don't have (good) placement officers at your school or are, like me, a few years out of grad school, to pay someone to look over your letter, cv, writing sample. This past job season, I hired [name redacted by me to avoid advertising]. For a fee - which was not cheap, but I wanted to give it my best shot this year - she looked over my cover letter and CV. She surgically removed all pandering, pleading and empty phrases and made my letter professional, helped me to find to concisely formulate my overarching research project, and to phrase a compelling narrative of my teaching philosophy (getting out the "I love teaching!) phrases). The letter seemed to make a noticeable difference: I got several interviews, and was offered a job in a fabulous city in a university I greatly admire. I am wondering what the experience is of others who have used professional job consultants/coaches. It might well be that my experience is a lucky coincidence (my CV was also a lot stronger this year, with a book at a major press coming out, which certainly helped). It would be of benefit to cocooners to hear some more data on this.

Since Anonymous asked, and it seems like a worthy issue to discuss, have people hired job-market consultants? If so, what was your experience? Was it helpful? A waste of time and money? 

Independence Day Interlude

On this, U.S. Independence Day, I figured it would only be fitting to feature a song by a group called "Canadians"...from South America. :P

 

Why is the non-academic job market so much more humane (and sensible)?

In the comments section of my recent post, "Job Market Prep Questions?", Anonymous wrote:

Recently I had one E-APA interview. I was a few months' pregnant, it wasn't super-visible yet. I had to fly in from Europe and they notified me 1 week before the conference took place, so it was very expensive, well over $1500 to book my transcontinental flight. And then I still had to register and pay the accommodation. Of course, I asked if it could be via Skype, but they said no. Unfortunately, I did not want to disclose that I was pregnant (knowing that this never speaks in one's favor and often against), so I could not use that as a reasonable argument not to go. So, off I went on an 8 hour flight. I was very tired, ill-concentrated, not to mention very ill from the combination of jetlag, flight sickness (which is always a problem for me) and morning sickness - together they made me feel terrible. The interview didn't go well. The head of the SC thanked me several times for traveling so far, with that look of pity in his eyes. Bottom line: I should have told them I was pregnant, rather than fly all the way and screw up my interview. What a waste of money.

I have a somewhat similar story. A couple of years ago, I had a flyout interview to a department abroad, in a very attractive location I was very excited about. Although there were many flights available of similar cost, the university that flew me out paid for the cheapest option--an option which included an overnight flight to London, 9 hours in Heathrow airport, followed by another 11 hour ovenight flight to my destination. After 2 overnight flights and travel that took over 25 hours--without a decent night's sleep in two days--the department had me interview with the committee and dean the very first thing the next day, followed immediately by my job talk and teaching demo. Not surprisingly, I bombed all of them, wasting my time and theirs. Due to the two overnight flights, I was entirely "not myself." I did not perform anywhere close to how I normally do. ("Excuses, excuses", you might say. To which I reply, "Fair enough-I blew it!:).

Anyway, Anonymous' story, coupled with my own story, coupled with Helen De Cruz's final post in her series at NewAPPS on philosophers who work outside of academia, got me thinking a bit more about the entire job search process in academia. Over at De Cruz's post, one of the non-academic philosophers De Cruz interviewed, Zachary Ernst, writes: "The process of applying for jobs in the private sector, interviewing, and learning new skills is not like in academia -- it's much more humane."

This got me thinking: why is this? Why is the process of applying/interviewing for jobs in academia so different than in private industry? In private industry, people tend to be hired on the basis of their accomplishments rather than, say, an hour-long "demo." In private industry, a person's accomplishments are commonly taken as the best evidence of their promise. But, this isn't how things work in academia. One's accomplishments--the papers one has published, one's teaching reviews, etc.--are only a small part of the puzzle. Anyone who has been through the job search in academia knows that it is other stuff--the teaching demo, the research demo, happy-hour with faculty and grad students--that figure in most prominently toward the conclusion of a job search. Are there good reasons for this, or, is academia's focus on these things backward?

One obvious suggestion for why things like teaching/research demos and happy hours should matter so much in academia is that the stakes in academia are higher than in private industry: in the case of tenure-track hires, a department is (at least ideally) hiring someone for a lifetime. But wait, that can't be whole story. The stakes are very high in industry settings in ways that stakes aren't in academia: managers or CEOs can be responsible for millions, even billions, of dollars--and yet their hiring processes are (as far as I've heard) nothing like ours.

Why, then, are our hiring practices so byzantine? The answer seems to me to be this: academics--people in departments, but also Deans, etc.--think more information about a candidate is better. "Okay," the thought goes, "we know this person's CV, and we've read their research. We even know they have spectacular teaching reviews and personal references. But let's get them in the classroom and see them give a teaching performance, a research performance, and then go to dinner and happy hour to see who they really are!" This, at any rate, is the line of thought expressed by some in the comments section of Moti's post-and indeed, I've heard similar things said by people in person. The general thought is: "We're better off making academic hiring decisions on the basis of more information rather than less, especially personal interactions!"

As common (and intuitive) as these thoughts about hiring seem to be,as I mentioned once before in the comments section of Moti Mizrahi's post, "The Romantic Date Test", my wife (who specializes in Industrial-Organizational Psychology)--and everyone in her field, or so she tells me--says that we know these claims about hiring to be false. Yes, you read that right: empirical psychology has demonstrated, time and time again, that a purely quantitative, algorithmic hiring process is more reliable than human judgers. Don't believe me? Here is just one landmark 1996 meta-study in her field: a study of 136 other studies showing that algorithmic hiring processes consistently outperform "human experts." For those who can't access the paper, here's the abstract:

Given a data set about an individual or group (e.g., interviewer ratings, life history or demographic facts, test results, self-descriptions), there are two modes of data combination for a predictive or diagnostic purpose. The clinical method relies on human judgment that is based on informal contemplation and, sometimes, discussion with others (e.g., case conferences). The mechanical method involves a formal, algorithmic, objective procedure (e.g., equation) to reach the decision. Empirical comparisons of the accuracy of the two methods (136 studies over a wide range of predictands) show that the mechanical method is almost invariably equal to or superior to the clinical method: Common antiactuarial arguments are rebutted, possible causes of widespread resistance to the comparative research are offered, and policy implications of the statistical method’s superiority are discussed.

Further, my wife tells me that (1) it drives people in her field crazy that people systematically refuse to accept these results, except that (2) whenever I-O psychologists are hired in industry to implement algorithmic processes, the results are just as the studies show (better hiring outcomes!).

Finally, if the results do sound crazy to you--if you think you can judge a philosopher better in person than a machine--consider this. Setting aside your prejudices--and knowing the kinds of biases that human beings are known to be susceptible to (confirmation bias, recency effects, salience affects), which of the following two methods is likely to be a more reliable predictor of future performance: (A) several years of consistent performance (good publications, good teaching reviews, good reviews from colleagues regarding collegiality, etc.), or (B) a one-off performance? Setting aside prejudices, the answer is obvious. No one in their right mind would judge a sports player's ability on one shot or one game. Heck, even Joe Montana, Michael Jordan, and LeBron James--the very best stars--have had absolutely wretched games. What, then, is more reliable: judging a person on many games, or one game? The answer, surely, has to be former.

Indeed, consider again Anonymous' experience. Anonymous flies out at the last moment to the EAPA. As a result of jetlag, morning sickness, etc., she interviews badly. She might also come across badly in "happy hour" (i.e. the smoker), given that she knows she is "off." How is any of this a reliable measure of Anonymous' capacities as a researcher, teacher, or colleague? The answer, obviously, is that it isn't. All the stuff academics throw into the hiring process insert more "noise" into the process than anything else. If you want to know if Anonymous is a good researcher, read her work. If you want to know whether she is a good teacher, look at what her students have to say--and perhaps, at a recorded teaching demo that displays her at her best. If you want to know whether she is (normally) collegial and fun at happy hour, ask around (I'm quite sure: people will tell you!).

So, then, why are academic hiring processes so torturous? Could it be that it is for no good reason at all? I leave it to you to think about and discuss!

The Importance of Measuring Placement Rates, But Why Long-Term Data is Crucial

Anyone who follows the philosophy blogosphere knows there have been a couple of controversies over Carolyn Dicey-Jennings' new ranking of PhD programs by placement rates. Given that the Philosophers' Cocoon is supposed to be a safe and supportive environment, I am not going to wade into those controversies. Plenty has been said about them elsewhere.

What I would like to briefly mention instead is--methodological concerns about her particular report aside--just how important I think Dicey-Jennings' project is. Several years ago I was on an airplane, and by sheer luck found myself sitting next to a graduate student at a very highly-ranked PGR program (we weren't coming back from an APA or anything; it was pure coincidence).

I am neither going to say, nor imply, which PhD program they were from--and I do not believe that anything I say in what follows provides any indication of what program it was. What I will say is this. The person was broken. Their program, they conveyed to me, was a nightmare. Very few people made it through the program, and even fewer got jobs. It was not uncommon for people to spend 10+ years in the program with nothing to show for it. 

The person's story was devastating. As prestigious as their program was, it was--according to them--a horrible place to be: a place where, more often than not, very capable students' careers, and dreams, were broken. So, whatever problems there may (or may not) be with Dicey-Jennings' project, the project itself is a vital one. Getting a PhD in philosophy is already an enormous risk. There are no programs that assure their grad students career success. But, as risky as it is, people entering grad school deserve to know the truth about programs' placement rates.

I guess I would also say, however, that it is really crucial for reports to look not just at a handful of years--which is what Jennings' report does--but really present long-term placement data and trends. I say this because, as a graduate of a department that did not fare too well on Dicey-Jennings' analysis, I can say that placement rates vary enormously over different periods of time. A program may, for instance, have a couple of bad years (a couple of bad cohorts?), but overall, over the long-term, have much better placement rates. Conversely, a program that looks really good in a report like Jennings'--a program who beats average placement rates by 2+ standard-deviations over a 3-year period--may have just gotten very lucky over that period (a lucky streak which, like all lucky streaks, are subject to regression to the mean over a longer period of time).

In short, however the current controversies over Dicey-Jennings' work (and other stuff) shake out, I believe she has done our discipline--particularly the grad students who wish to enter it--a great service by bringing these issues to greater light, and that the proper way forward is to encourage more work on these issues, and corrections to whatever methodological or presentational errors that may (or may not) have been made. 

Job Market Prep Questions?

Given that the fall academic job market is just a couple of months away, and the Cocoon's mission is to be a safe and supportive forum for early-career philosophers, I thought it might be a good idea to solicit reader questions about prepping for the job market. Does anyone have any questions about dossiers, letters of recommendation, etc., that they could use some insight on? If so, now's as a good of a time to raise them as any!

Recent work by Cocooners (June 2014)

The following articles were added to philpapers by Cocoon contributors during the month of June (listed in alphabetical order by author):

Marcus Arvan (forthcoming). "A Unified Explanation of Quantum Phenomena? The Case for the Peer-to-Peer Simulation Hypothesis as an Interdisciplinary Research Program." The Philosophical Forum.

Marcus Arvan (forthcoming). "Justice as Fairness in a Broken World." Philosophy and Public Issues.

Marcus Arvan (forthcoming). "Why Hobbes Cannot Limit the Leviathan: A Critical Commentary on Larry May's Limiting Leviathan." Hobbes Studies.

Clayton Littlejohn (forthcoming). "Fake Barns and False Dilemmas." Episteme.

Moti Mizrahi (forthcoming)."Don't Believe the Hype: Why Should Philosophical Theories Yield to Intuitions?" Theorema.

Justin Snedegar (forthcoming). "Deontic Reasoning Across Contexts." In F. Cariani (ed.), DEON 2014. Springer. 208-223.

Did I miss any? If so, please email me and I'll update the list!