A second query: what are the actual costs and benefits of early-career blogging?

The other day, I asked why so few early-career people blog. So far, the general consensus in the comments section is that blogging is "too risky" for one's career.

For example, 'Anonymous' writes,

I don't blog or post named comments on blogs (although I do frequent all of the major ones, with this one being most useful to me) because I don't want my name attached to anything an advisor, admissions committee, search committee, etc. may see. It is important to have a very controlled online presence.

'AnonGradStudent' writes,

I'm going on the job market for the first time this year and I don't want to say anything that will sabotage my job search. 

Elisa Freschi writes, 

I have asked this question many times in informal discussions and have myself pondered a lot about it and here are my (tentative) answers...1. especially in the US, non-tenured scholars are afraid of what could be thought about them by future commissions ---no matter what they say. 

'Anothergrad' writes,

Like others, I fear that blogging might be held against me. Nothing is anonymous. If someone wants to identify you via an IP address, they probably can.

The cost/benefit calculation doesn't make much sense for me, personally. Besides the possibility of making enemies, the time writing on a blog might be used to write papers...

'Merlin Z' writes,

Someone, somewhere will take offense at something I say. It's quite possible that that someone will be my chair, my dean, a student who will complain, or someone else in a position to endanger my precarious employment. 

While these sorts of worries are not obviously unreasonable (as I will explain shortly, I once lived with similar fears), I am not at all sure that they are accurate, or at least, I am not sure the overall risks of early-career blogging outweigh the likely benefits. Allow me to explain.

I have been blogging for about four years now. I technically began The Philosophers' Cocoon once in 2011--when I was still in a temporary academic position, and on the job-market--and, when it did not pick up a readership, I let it languish for several months. I then started it again in 2012, and for some reason, this time it did pick up a readership. During the 3+ intervening years, I have not only experienced costs and benefits of "early-career blogging" in my own case.  I have come to know other early-career bloggers, like Helen, in a way that (I think) gives me decent second-hand understanding of their experiences. And here's the thing: like Helen (and some other people I know), my experiences have been overwhelmingly positive, not simply for intrinsic reasons (which I will mention shortly), but also extrinsic reasons.

When I began the Cocoon in 2011, I had no hope of reaping career benefits from it. Nobody read the darn thing, and there was no real prospect that anyone would. I started the Cocoon simply because I felt alone in the discipline, was sick of living in fear, and wanted to try, in some small way, to contribute to the discipline in a positive, helpful way. I was in a temporary academic job, had no philosopher friends, and had been "walking on eggshells" for as long as I could remember. For my entire career--in grad school and beyond--I had been worried, much as the above commenters express worries, about "saying the wrong thing" in front of the wrong people. And I was sick of it. Being a lonely philosopher, in a temporary job, toiling away in complete obscurity, was truly awful. It sapped all of the joy out of philosophy for me, as well as my career. When I had started philosophy (as an undergrad), I had imagined having great conversations with great people--and feeling free and capable of speaking my mind publicly on philosophy, etc. Yet there I was: living the exact opposite of that; living alone and in fear of saying anything publicly. It was horrible, and it was intolerable, so I decided to try something: I decided to try blogging.

Although, once again, the Cocoon took some time to get off the ground, I quickly found--like Helen--that it had immense intrinsic benefits. As people began to read, comment, and contribute, I no longer felt alone. I felt like I had good people--philosophers!--to talk to, as well as the freedom to express myself. Further, like Helen, I enjoyed trying to do something (if only my own little part) to help make the discipline just a little bit of "a better place." Finally, I was also continually struck by just how many likeminded people there are in the discipline: people who are helpful, supportive, etc.

Anyway, I cannot express enough how immense I have found the intrinsic benefits of blogging to me--and my sense, from Helen and other early-career people I know who blog, is that others have similar experiences. Additionally, however, as Richard Yetter Chappell notes below in a reply to my earlier post, my strong sense--again, partly from personal experience, but also partly from second-hand experience--is that early-career blogging tends to have significant extrinsic benefits as well:

I actually think there's a pretty strong case to be made that, if anything, blogging is more likely to help than to harm one's career prospects. This is so even if any given person is more likely to dislike than to like what you post. For anyone interested, my argument is here:
http://www.philosophyetc.net/2009/03/academic-blogging-pros-and-cons.html.

Again, I did not go into blogging expecting or (I believe) seeking "career benefits." After all, if I had been, I probably would have never started blogging to begin with--since, when I started, there were no such benefits in the offering. That being said, I have the strong general sense--from first- and second-hand experience--is that Richard is probably right. Although, like many bloggers, I have written some things that I wish I could take back, and which were probably embarrassing or otherwise cast me in a poor light (like all people, I make my share of mistakes--more than I'd like!), I have nevertheless found in my own case, and the case of other people I know, that blogging does not seem to hurt one's job-market prospects: it actually seems to help. Further, although I don't want to go into too much detail, I strongly suspect that early-career blogging can have other significant extrinsic benefits too, "opening doors" (as it were) that might not otherwise be open to one.

My aim here is not to convince you that "blogging is a good career move", or that one should blog to further one's career. That, or so I believe (though I may be deluded), is not why I do it (at least not primarily). Like Helen, I blog primarily because I enjoy it: because I like no longer living alone or in fear, and because I like trying, in whatever small way I can, to contribute something positive to the discipline. My aim in this post is very different: namely, to raise the question of whether the fears the above commenters express are actually accurate representations of the likely costs and benefits of early-career blogging. However, since my impression are just that--impressions--I would like to follow up my previous query (why do so few early-career people blog?) with a second query, this one directed to actual early-career bloggers who blog publicly under their own name. 

The query is this: what is your experience of the overall likely benefits and risks of early-career blogging? Are the risks as negative as the above commenters suggest, or, do the overall benefits plausibly outweigh the risks, as I, Richard, and (I dare say) Helen (though I do not wish to speak for her). Thanks, in advance, to everyone who participates! 

[Note: I would like to ask respondents to blog under their own name, but will accept anonymous comments from early-career bloggers who do not wish to reveal their identity, provided they email me at marvan@ut.edu to verify their identity, as I want to ensure that survey answers are actually provided by real early-career bloggers!] 

Comments

[Trevor Hedberg]

Some folks have told me that it is a complete waste of time or that the risk of saying something that might offend others or make them dislike you is too high to justify posting anything. Others say it is a good way to increase your name recognition and acquire familiarity with the current issues (both philosophical and professional) that everyone is most concerned about. I'm not aware of any rigorous empirical studies of whether blogging in philosophy is more likely to have a positive or negative impact on one's professional reputation, so the lack of consensus among the anecdotal evidence leads me to believe that we really don't know how to appraise whether blogging is better or worse for early career scholars on the whole. From my own experience, I certainly have a better understanding of professional philosophy as a result of reading blog posts, posting comments, and (occasionally) writing blog posts, and I've met a few people at conferences who have known me from a few of my posts on the Cocoon. (My posts on the Cocoon seemed to have made a positive impression on them, on the whole.)

My participation on the Cocoon stems from the thought several years ago that there was a need for a supportive venue focused on the interests and ideas of early career scholars. It's especially easy for graduate students to be intimidated by the job market and other discouraging aspects of the profession, and as an early stage graduate student, I thought an effort to counteract that trend was worth supporting. I became a contributor because I supported the blog's mission and overall objectives, not based on a guesstimate of whether my participation was more likely to help or harm my professional standing.

[Malcolm Keating]

I blog at the Indian Philosophy Blog and on my own personal blog. The latter started as a place to put some helpful LaTeX tips, and evolved into a place where I write about once a month or so on topics ranging from teaching to professionalization to pop culture and philosophy. I generally do not put my in-progress thoughts online because I prefer to have my work more fully developed first. Further, if I am going to put effort into polishing something to the degree that I want to put it online, it's going to be part of an article for publication--and I worry about the anonymity of the peer review process.

I blog a bit more frequently at the Indian Philosophy Blog and I have found that experience to be both enjoyable and rewarding. It's been a way to meet colleagues whose work I read and develop relationships. For instance, Elisa Freschi and I put together a panel on language and epistemology after she mentioned the idea in a blog post. So that is an example of a concrete benefit.

Personally, I find that blogging has had primarily benefits and (as of yet) no significant drawbacks. However, I have kept my blogging on the lighter side since I prefer to put energy into writing articles for publication at this stage, although I can imagine developing the blogging into more public philosophy as my career allows. For instance, there are quite a few people interested in "Indian thought," often through pop culture ideas about Hinduism and Buddhism. I have often thought about finding a way to engage with this audience.

[Elisa Freschi]

I would say that blogging amplifies the advantages and disadvantages of general philosophical activism. If you organise conferences or panels within conferences, edit volumes, invite people for special issues of philosophical journals, found new journals, contact senior colleagues for one or the other project, answer questions on Academia.edu (or contact local radios and newspapers, approach the literary supplements of some newspapers, etc. etc.) you will become more visible. Some will appreciate you for that, while other will agree with Anon 3:09 (and somehow Axel) here (http://philosopherscocoon.typepad.com/blog/2015/07/query-why-so-few-early-career-bloggers.html?cid=6a014e89cbe0fd970d01b8d13fe9c7970c#comment-6a014e89cbe0fd970d01b8d13fe9c7970c) and think that you are doing it just in order to gain visibility. Blogging is similar. I am very grateful for the several colleagues I met through blogging (Jayarava Attwood, Malcolm Keating, Amod Lele and Matthew Dasti ---with whom I am now moderating the Indian Philosophy Blog---, Aleix Ruiz Falqués and so on), several of which became friends or co-authored with me one or the other (panel, article, project…).
On the other hand, I have been schocked by the reaction a post of mine once provoked (further details at your previous query). Since the post was meant as a praise of the participants of the conference I was summarising, I imagine that it might have irritated them (at least also) because they interpreted my blogging like Anon 3:09.

[Marcus Arvan]

Hi Elisa: Like you, I have had a few difficult experiences blogging or commenting--instances where I either wrote ill-advised things, or what I wrote wasn't taken by readers as I intended or hoped.

That being said, I take it that your experience with blogging has been good on the whole, no? (I don't mean to put words into your mouth. I'm just trying to get a better impression whether--as is the case with me--you find the benefits of blogging to significantly outweigh the costs!). :)

[Elisa Freschi]

Marcus, I really enjoy blogging and learnt a lot through it, thus my overall experience remains positive.
But experiences such as the above one make me less enthusiastic in recommending it to people who might not enjoy as much as I do interacting with other people.

[BLS Nelson]

I'm an ex-blogger who might get back into it when I've done something useful for the profession. I put my two cents in already from my comments in the other thread, and won't repeat the points I made there.

Instead I'll go ahead and add that the worries of the folks in the OP are reasonably justified. My experiences have been mixed. Most people are pretty helpful, if you can curate the conversation properly. But you still have to deal with some headache-makers: the anonymous trolls who want to be at the center of *the* conversation, the senior colleagues who want *you* to *want to* be part of *their* part of the conversation, and junior colleagues who are coming to discover how easy it is to participate in call-out culture from the luxury of the armchair. All of them take exception if you disagree in any meaningful way, and this is a sad fact of professional life that needs to be overcome and persevered through.

But, as I said, it's a mixed bag. So for anyone who wants to give blogging a go, I will offer two pieces of advice which might be useful:

A. Develop your own "code of conduct" explicitly and stick by it. For example, I have adopted two maxims (generally geared towards respecting dignity of persons without necessarily respecting their views):
(1). Always be in intellectual good faith (aware of your own limits, have integrity, listen carefully, be candid);
(2). If you should ever happen to fail at that, at least don't be an asshole.

Other people have adopted very different principles: "Kiss down / kick up" or "Don't be a dick", for example. I myself find these alternatives quite defective. But the important thing is to be clear about your own rules in your own head.

B. Develop your own sense of what productive value philosophy blogging has, or might have. For example, later on in the game I tended to ask myself the following questions before posting a new blog entry:
(1) Am I writing something that could be actually interesting and informative if it were published in a professional journal?
(2) Are these ideas I have more than half-baked?
(3) Am I doing more than just telling people about existing literature?
(4) Am I writing about philosophy, as opposed to the profession of philosophy?

If the answer to all four questions was "Yes", I would not write it into a blog post, and instead try to make a manuscript out of it. (1-2) are self-explanatory, I hope. The reason for (3) is Machievellian, in that I think we ought to aspire to flood the internet with excellent surveys of existing literature so that the journals will feel less of a need to clog up their pages with exegetical dreck. My reason for (4) is that in principle I do not believe that systemic incentives should exist to encourage meta-philosophy as an area of professional expertise that is subject to formal peer review.