It's Not "Giving Up"

By Trevor Hedberg

Not long ago, there were some lively discussions on the Cocoon about the extent to which we should encourage philosophers to stay on the job market and the extent to which graduate programs can best prepare job candidates for the many years of applying for academic jobs that likely awaits them. I’m not going to rehash the central positions in these disputes or endorse one view over the others. Instead, I want to point out a worrying assumption in these discussions, one which I believe is also found in the profession at large.

The assumption might be put as follows: if you get a PhD in philosophy and do not get a tenured academic appointment, then you have failed. The profession often appears to operate as if the be-all, end-all of a philosophy PhD is securing tenure at an academic institution. Think about how many folks apply for academic jobs year after year without ever applying for a single non-academic position. Think about how few resources are provided to graduate students to facilitate their pursuit of non-academic jobs. Think about the general perception of those who choose not to pursue academic jobs: are these individuals typically regarded by their peers and departments as success stories? (My impression is that the answer is usually no, though I'd be happy to be wrong about this.)

Now one might counter by stating that this assumption is not that widely held in the profession, and in one sense, I agree: I suspect (and hope) that most do not hold it consciously. Instead, this belief usually manifests as an implicit aspect of how we judge others in the profession. Sometimes it reveals itself subtly in the language we use to describe the pursuit of a non-academic career. Think about the title of a post I mentioned earlier: “When should one give up? And what should we encourage?” Few phrases in the English language generate the connotation of failure more powerfully than “give up,” and many who choose to leave academia may well regard it as a failure of sorts. In fact, the portrayal of leaving academia as an act of “giving up” or “quitting” is fairly common:

• Mike Sturm, “Why I Chose to Give Up on Academia”
• Eric Anthony Grollman, “Giving Up on Academic Stardom”
• Karen Kelsky, “Thoughts on Throwing in the Towel”
• Patrick Iber, “Should I Just Quit Academia?”
• Sydni Dunn, “Why So Many Academics Quit and Tell”
• Louie Generis, “When to Quit Academia”

In a strict sense, these expressions are not incorrect, but they do not accurately reflect how these decisions should be perceived. The expression that one “gave up” on a task usually carries an implication that it is within the person’s power to complete the task and that completing the task would be a good thing (or at least preferable to not finishing it). These assumptions explain why claims like “She gave up on winning the lottery” or “He gave up on being a drug kingpin” are at best hollow truths, and they also provide the only context in which the adage “Never give up” can be a sensible rule.  With these assumptions in place, it’s reasonable to portray instances of “giving up” as bad because they demonstrate a personal failure of some sort.

Analogous points can be made about "quitting." There's an assumption that quitting pertains to activities that one both can and should complete, and so quitting is seen as a personal failure. Why else would we feel so guilty at being called a "quitter" by our parents, teachers, coaches, and so on?

And here's where the problem arises: for many people it is not a poor choice to stop pursuing academic employment and does not reflect a personal failure. Why? Because the academic job market is so saturated with quality candidates that getting a tenure-track position is relevantly analogous to winning a lottery. Your odds are surely better than most conventional lotteries, and you can do some things to increase your individual odds a bit, but ultimately, as I’ve stressed before, there is no reliable formula for what to do to get an academic job. The problem is that the way we often portray decisions to leave academia does not reflect this fact and instead (often unintentionally) casts the person leaving in a negative light, encouraging us to attribute their departure to unsavory character traits, such as poor work ethic or bad decision-making, rather than tough circumstances or bad luck.

While it’s perfectly appropriate to discuss more concrete means of supporting graduate students who seek non-academic careers, an equally important task is to promote more positive attitudes toward non-academic career paths for philosophy PhDs. I can only speculate at how easy or difficult cultivating that outlook will be, though it was certainly a slow process in my own case. Only after several years of examining the job market statistics, reflecting on the relative scarcity of academic positions, and interacting with stellar philosophers in non-tenure-track positions did I manage to change my attitudes about those who ultimately leave academia. It is far easier, especially early in one's professional career, to believe that those who cannot find academic employment are "not good enough" instead of acknowledging that the same thing could happen to you, no matter how skilled you might be. In any case, I think an appropriate starting point for shifting our attitudes is  altering how we portray those who seek employment beyond the classroom. Many move on from academia, but very few truly “give up” on it.

Comments

[Derek Bowman]

As I've expressed before, I don't think the problem is with "giving-up," it is with specifying its object.

If you try to secure permanent or semi-permanent academic employment and, after one or more years without success, you stop trying, then you have definitely "given up" on trying to secure academic employment.

But you need not thereby "give up" on philosophy, or education, or the life of the mind, or whatever it is you went into philosophy education for.

I also think it's important to distinguish two very different ways of promoting "more positive attitudes toward non-academic career paths for philosophy PhDs." The first is to promote the idea that those who succeed at such paths have indeed succeeded at something worthwhile. Indeed, a philosophy PhD gainfully employed in another industry is doing better for themselves, and for the academic profession of philosophy, than someone who is barely getting by as an adjunct instructor or underpaid lecturer. (I say this as someone who has been, and may yet in the future be, such an underpaid adjunct).

But the other ways of promoting the value of non-academic careers for PhDs is more dangerous; it's the kind of wishful thinking that, as long as we just open our mind to new careers we don't have to worry about the overproduction of PhDs as compared to available academic jobs. Without well-established pathways for such careers, this is a recipe for offering individual successes as fuel for wishful thinking about systemic problems.

(NB: Giving up on "winning the lottery" sounds weird because winning/non-winning isn't something you can effectively decide to do. But giving up on "trying to win the lottery" - or giving up on "playing the lottery" is a quite sensible thing for lottery players to do).

[Scott Clifton]

With me it's just the opposite: when I hear that someone previously on the market for several years has found a non-ac job, I ENVY them. I wonder whether they can help me do the same thing. In some sense continuing to play the lottery, when the odds are so stacked against you, is what is more likely to create a negative bias against which one would have to struggle. As they say, if you've determined that you're in a hole that is going nowhere you want to be, stop digging. It's the ones who stop digging at the appropriate place that I admire. The difficult question, of course, is at which point should you stop digging.

[Trevor Hedberg]

Hi, Derek. I don't think I disagree with anything you've said. My point is simply that we often talk about leaving academia as if it isn't a worthy path (even if that isn't always intended). My concern is more about the connotation of the phrase "giving up" than its literal meaning.

Scott, I imagine a lot of folks share your perspective and wish there were more concrete paths to non-academic employment following a philosophy PhD. But I've also met some folks who clearly viewed their leaving academia as evidence of some personal shortcoming -- even after they started to flourish in their non-academic careers. We can still definitely make improvements in getting people to think it's "okay" for them to pursue careers outside the academy.

[gradjunct]

1. The majority of people who obtains PhDs in philosophy intend upon careers in academia. Such careers count as "success" for such people. Thus, being unable to achieve their chosen end does constitute a failure. Failure is simply lack of success. That said, we should distinguish between culpable failure and non-culpable failure. In most cases, the failure to obtain a tenure track position in academic philosophy is certainly not a culpable failure. Most of the people who apply for such jobs have the talent, education, skill, drive, and desire to flourish in the job, they simply don't get the chance. Their failure is non-culpable, but it is nonetheless a failure.

2. There are no non-academic career paths for philosophy PhDs. A path, to elaborate on the metaphor, is a known and standardized route to a given destination. No such thing exists in this case. There is no known or standardized route from academic philosophy into industry. There is no occupation, other research and teaching, for which the degree is seen as an adequate credential. In many cases, in the United States at least, it can even work against the applicant to have an advanced degree in philosophy (given the poor public image of the profession and the entrenched anti-intellectualism of American society). There are non-academic career *possibilities* for philosophy PhDs. But the best of these often require further education, Ivy League pedigree, personal/familial connections in industry, or very specific undergraduate backgrounds. In many cases (such as my own), the possibilities outside academia are as grim as they are inside, or worse.

[Stacey Goguen]

I think you've put your fingers on something important by talking about the implicit associations that go along with talking about failure.

For instance, the word "failure" often has the association of what gradjunct refers to with "culpable failure". This is also tied up with our associations regarding moral luck, Fate, and what it means to " succeed" at life.

[Trevor Hedberg]

gradjunct, I agree that if we're just concerned about dictionary definitions, you can consider failure a simple lack of success. But the way it's used in most contexts is, as Stacey mentions, the culpable type of failure. Referring to a person as a "failure" or to something they did as a "failure" is typically meant to be an insult, which is why we should try to avoid that label when we talk about leaving academia.

I was not thinking of path as limited to "standardized route" when I used the term in the original posts, but I agree that there aren't any career paths that are widely applicable to philosophy PhDs: what opportunities one should pursue will be highly dependent on individual background, personal interests, and a host of other factors. Even so, if one is smart enough to earn a philosophy PhD, then I suspect the person is capable to performing well in a wide array of jobs. (As someone put the point to me at the APA recently, "Your undergrad students are the ones who get most non-academic jobs, and what employer in his right mind would choose one of your undergrad students over you?") I suspect the bigger problem is a lack of knowledge regarding how to market one's skills and where to find jobs that one would be a good fit for. There aren't a ton of resources for facilitating the transition from academia to non-academic employment, but http://thescholarpreneur.com/ and https://versatilephd.com/ are a couple examples.

[gradjunct]

Trevor, I can only speak for myself, but being a philosophy PhD, I don't take having earned philosophy PhD to be a sign of intelligence at all. At best it is a indicative of dogged determination, and willingness to work at an obscure and difficult task for a long time. Many philosophers, myself included, are not interested in or skilled at with "quant" work, and rely more heavily on linguistic and rhetorical abilities than pure logical/mathematical ability. This undercuts your claim a PhD in philosophy is, generally, indicative of the capability to "perform well in a wide array of jobs." Perhaps if a philosopher has quant skills/background this will be true, but not all of us have those skills, or that background.

And, it is not difficult to fathom why a an employer might prefer to hire philosophy undergrads rather than philosophy PhDs. Undergrads are younger/more energetic/more adaptable, they are less set in their ways than more established academics, their salary expectations/requirements are less costly, as are the costs of their healthcare coverage in general, and they are probably more accepting of mentoring and corporate culture (and thus less likely to be flight risks).

[Trevor Hedberg]

gradjunct, I'd say the demonstration of intelligence comes in large part via the fact that one was able to get into a doctoral program in philosophy in the first place. I have not met a single PhD student in philosophy that was not markedly smarter than the typical undergraduate. You may be right that the actual process of attaining the PhD manifests determination more than anything else, but it also demonstrates an intellectual curiosity and an ability to learn a specialized field, both of which are skills employers would value.

Anyone can learn how to program with C++, how to use Statistical Analysis Software, how to design a website, etc., with relatively little formal training, provided that one is properly motivated and a good independent learner. (Statistics-based work nowadays is about the use of the appropriate software; you don't have to make calculations by hand or have an intricate conceptual grasp of the relevant formulas that the software uses, so I don't think a lack of mathematical acumen is a significant obstacle in that particular case.) I'm not diminishing formal instruction here, but with the wealth of online resources freely available, acquiring the basic skills no longer requires an additional degree. The real challenge, I think, is presenting oneself as having the appropriate motivation and disposition toward the job that one is applying for, such that one would actually be willing to undertake a little training -- potentially being taught by someone younger -- to make up for their relative lack of experience. (You allude to this when you note that many academics may be less enthusiastic about non-academic work and less adaptable than undergraduates.) Even so, those are obstacles that I'd consider surmountable, especially compared to the obstacles one must overcome in the hunt for a tenure-track academic position. If you really don't think that's true, then I fear that this may boil down to a fundamental disagreement about the breadth and marketability of the skills that philosophy PhDs possess.