What have you learned about being a good professional philosopher?

I've heard a lot of people say that going from being a grad student to being a good professional philosopher is a surprising and in many ways transformative process. Indeed, I was having a conversation with a sort-of early career philosopher at a conference this past weekend, and he was talking about (A) how long it took him to learn the skills it takes to publish, and (B) how they are a very specific set of skills (i.e. framing papers the right way, having the right tone, etc.).

Although of course I am still learning how to be a good professional myself (and have much to learn!), I thought it might be fun to share a few things that I think I've learned, and invite readers to do the same. So, here are just a few thoughts:

1. Tone is really, really important

One of the most common pieces of advice one receives early in one's career is "not to write like a grad student." And indeed, my experience has been that this is really super-important. Reviewers, etc., come to expect a certain kind of tone in pieces, and if you don't hit that tone correctly, they tend to react negatively. But what is the right tone, and how does one hit it?

I think, like most skills, it is hard to convey how to hit the right tone in a series of explicit rules. But let me do my best. I've heard (and believe myself) that one can go astray of "right tone" (i.e. the tone reviewers respond positively to) in broadly two ways: (1) overstatement/overconfidence, and (2) understatement/underconfidence. I'd hazard a guess that people have their own natural tendencies to err in one direction or the other, and that different people differ.

In my own case, I think I've always had a tendency to err in the former direction. My grad advisor was always going on about how I was too italics-happy, and using overly strong language. These are still things I struggle with. Before I submit things, I have to go back and systematically remove italics -- and often need outside help (e.g. from my wife or other colleagues) to make sure that I don't leave too many in. It's something I still struggle with (see, there I go again!;).

Over time, it's become clearer and clearer to me just how subtle "hitting the right tone" is. Before I submit papers, I systematically look for words that might be "too strong", and replace them with less strong locutions. So, for instance, I might replace a statement that an author's reading of an argument is "uncharitable" with the locution that their reading "could have been more charitable." The more I've gone along, the more it seems to me this sort of thing really matters. If modern psychology teaches anything, it's that people tend to make judgments on the basis of how they feel -- and so you need to get your readers feeling like they like you, as well as the actual content of your work.

Now, of course, this may offend purists out there -- i.e. those think it's the ideas alone that should matter. But, in my experience, (1) there's very little to be achieved by being a purist in this sense, and (B) there actually are sort of good (moral) reasons to hit the "right tone." Our discipline is, after all, notoriously contentious, and at times unfriendly. When I read particularly aggressive criticisms, I wince, and tend to think the author could have made the same point without being unnecessarily hurtful to the person criticized. 

In any case, it's become very clear to me that a certain kind of tone is expected in pieces (and even in philosophical conversation), and that learning this tone is one of the more important things one needs to learn in becoming a successful professional philosopher.

2. Relationships are really, really important

If there's one commonality I've seen among successful, flourishing professional philosophers, it's that they tend to build strong professional relationships with others. I don't mean this simply in a somewhat cynical, instrumental sense (i.e. it's useful to get to know people, and get on their good side-although, for what it is worth, this is probably true throughout all human affairs!). I mean it also, and perhaps primarily, in a more intrinsic sense: i.e. developing relationships both tends to (A) result in doing better philosophy, and (B) enjoying it more.

I say all this, by the way, as a person who has struggled with shyness throughout my life. I'm one of those who has a tendency to "hole up" in my office, on my computer, and reading books and articles. While I don't think this is always a bad thing -- I don't want to suggest that there's anything wrong with being shy, or that we all must be super-outgoing -- I do think it is important to push through whatever shyness one has and develop strong relationships with others. It's not only instrumentally important (especially in graduate school, where your advisors will be writing letters of recommendation on your behalf); it's especially important (in my experience) if you want to be happy and produce good work after grad school. After all, if you're like many of us (including me), you may find yourself in a job with few philosophers around. For example, there are only three philosophers in my department, myself included -- and we're all at different career stages and have very divergent philosophical interests. When we get together, we normally talk about other things: our personal lives, what's going on at the university, etc. Developing relationships with people beyond my department -- on the Cocoon, for instance, and at conferences -- has been a real godsend, and not in a cynical/purely instrumental way (though it is nice to receive feedback!). It's been really nice, and I think important, in a more instrumental way: philosophy tends to be more fun, and meaningful, the more one interacts with and develops relationships with others. Indeed, it's not just philosophy. Relationships can add great meaning to one's professional life. Rejoicing in the successes of people one has relationships with, and being there for them when things are difficult, can both be great parts of one's career. 

3. Learning to trust oneself is important

This is, I think, one of the more interesting, transformative lessons I've learned. As a grad student, you have strong incentives to defer to the judgments of your faculty mentors and advisors. And, of course, once you're out of grad school, you still have incentives to satisfy others (i.e. reviewers, editors, etc.). At the same time, once you're out in the professional world, how you decide to define yourself -- as a teacher, researcher, etc. -- is up to you. Provided you've learned something in grad school, you have every right to now trust your instincts. My first few years out of grad school, I tried writing short, rigorous papers in response to the literature. Although that might have been a path to career success (who knows?), it did nothing for me. I found it soul-deadening. That's not the philosopher I wanted to be. So, I tried more ambitious stuff, and suddenly found that I loved philosophy again. And I found there are least some people out there (some reviewers, at some journals) that seem to appreciate what I'm up to. Are there some who respond negatively? Yes. And sometimes I learn a great deal from them. But sometimes I also think they're too conservative, and have a different view from me about what a good philosophy paper is. And, as a professional, you begin to feel qualified to make this sort of judgment. You may sink, you may swim, but ultimately, what kind of philosopher you want to be is up to you -- and I've seen all kinds of people go a long way by fearlessly embracing this. Trying to be something you're not -- a kind of philosopher you think other people will like -- is like running headlong into a brick wall over and over again. We all have different talents, and once you're out in the professional world, you need to figure out what you think your best talents are and run with them. Or, who knows, maybe I'm wrong about this! :)

Anyway, what have you learned about being a good professional?

Comments

[Rachel]

Work really, really hard to make sure that you're reading other philosophers charitably, and that you're representing their arguments in a respectful light.

[Helen De Cruz]

Hi Marcus: A great idea for a thread.
Now my pet theory about the right tone is that it is something that is extremely hard to fake. A confident (but not overconfident), calm and clear way to express yourself is something you acquire over time. It is very hard for someone who just ventures out in the field to hit that tone - how can your prose radiate calm, confidence and clarity, if you are insecure, unsure about whether what you're saying is right at all, and don't have a good grasp of the field (as a grad student is). So the tone is what one in biology might call an honest signal - easy for those who have the trait we are looking for (e.g., expertise), hard for those who lack the trait (e.g., a grad student who gives her first APA presentation).

[Fritz Allhoff]

I'd also say that working hard is super important. I think a lot of young philosophers (correctly) think they're super smart, but that just isn't enough. And also singularly focusing on "big publications" isn't so good, either, it's also important to get involved, do a lot of things and, as MA says, cultivate relationships. Also just being nice to people is pretty useful.

[Guglielmo Feis]

Does anybody who is not provided with the English-native-speaker property think that "right tone" often attaches to something that is recognized as a classal paper?
I did not experiment but I guess I'm biased in attributing "right tone" to classical papers I disagree with or find not so interesting rather than to most recently written, hyper-documented, clearer and better structured papers I admire.
Maybe as the literature becomes more technical papers get more like entomologists describing arguments rather than as pieces of writinig putting forward ideas with a tone.
To borrow an analogy from music, it's like there numbers of shredders who can playing hyperfast and clean arpeggios is growing a lot, but still there's no one with Jason Becker's tone.

Anyway, is there something like a "canon" for getting inspiration on good tone (e.g. the sum of all the issues of the philosopher's annual)? Is there a tone section in the referees' guidelines (if there's anything like that)? Do you think that it might be worth to have a survey on that? (i.e.: what do you think is the right tone standard in a certain philosophical community? which works have it? what would you suggest as a canon to learn how to get the right tone?)