Non-Traditional Paths into Philosophy (Guest post by Luke William Hunt)

This is the fifth entry in the Cocoon's series, Non-Traditional Paths into Philosophy, a series of guest posts by people who entered academic philosophy later in life or otherwise took a non-traditional path into the field. Today's post is by Luke William Hunt, Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Alabama. If you took a non-traditional path into philosophy and are interested in contributing to the series, feel free to email me at [email protected]!

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Don’t be an FBI Agent

Luke William Hunt

Here is one concrete piece of advice, for what it’s worth: Do not become an FBI agent as a way to break into academic philosophy. There are probably worse ideas (bank-robber-to-philosopher?), but surely FBI-agent-to-philosopher is near the top of the list of bad ones.    

My sense is that the best way to get a job in academic philosophy is to take a look at the Philosophical Gourmet Report rankings, and then be sure to do your doctoral work at a school that’s very close to the top of the list. Having an article or two in the Philosophical Review would be a good idea, too. I don’t think it’s particularly controversial to say this approach gives one the best shot at getting a job in academic philosophy, all things considered. 

Because FBI-agent-to-philosopher is a terrible idea—and because the surefire path may not be a realistic option for a lot of people—this post is for everyone in between: You’re not a bank robber, but neither are you traveling the NYU-by-way-of-Princeton route. (Of course, I welcome reformed bank robbers and Princetonians into the profession.)

My guess is that most people are simply trying to overcome the challenges of becoming a twenty-first-century-philosopher—a decidedly radical career choice. Even if the challenges are reserved for those who are privileged - as those of us who read, write, and teach philosophy surely are – they’re no less frustrating. Some of the challenges I faced were unusual, but I suspect others will sound familiar.

When I was preparing to go through the FBI’s lengthy application process—leading to a spot at Quantico for New Agent Training—I was also studying for the Graduate Record Examinations (GRE). So I was drawn to academia from the beginning: Four months “off” every summer? Sign me up. It was a close second to Quantico, but that scene in “Point Break” in which Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze fight Anthony Kiedis on the beach made it seem like the FBI would be more fun than academia.

After four months at Quantico, I posed for a picture shaking Director Mueller’s hand receiving my FBI credentials and was sent into the field as an FBI special agent. I was in the Bureau for seven years, working cases involving everything from crimes against children and, yes, bank robberies, to terrorism and foreign corruption. It was a unique and valuable experience for which I am grateful. 

But I had my doubts. After my wife gave birth to our first child, the prospect of fighting gangs of surfer-bank-robbers began to seem less appealing. Some of my misgivings about the job were more idiosyncratic, including those related to my introverted need for space and autonomy. The FBI was (for me) a bit suffocating; I felt like I was losing my sense of self, so to speak.

This is a long way of saying that I thought I could reclaim some of my autonomy by leaving the FBI for academia. For starters, in academia—unlike the FBI—one is not routinely interrogated by a polygrapher about whether one is the next Robert Hanssen because one failed to lock one’s computer before going to take a piss. True story. 

There were of course more substantive worries, such as misgivings about the way law enforcement officers must handle confidential informants (whom officers use to secretly gather information and evidence in support of investigations). Although I do not think that all use of informants is unjustified, the practice is inherently dishonest and deceptive (and potentially dangerous for the informant). 

Suppose, hypothetically, I had an informant who was in a position to gather information or evidence about criminal or national security matters in another country. Suppose further that engaging in such operational activity would be dangerous (for example, if targets in the other country learned that the informant was an informant). Finally, suppose the informant desperately did not want to engage in such operational activity, including because the informant had regular, domestic concerns regarding safety and family commitments (not unlike myself).

Why would such a person agree to operate for law enforcement and intelligence agencies? One reason is that such agencies often have leverage over informants—such as evidence that the informant committed a crime. In exchange for gathering evidence, the officer might agree to ask the prosecutor to consider reducing the informant’s criminal exposure. In other words, a bargain is reached between the informant and the officer, even if the bargain is steeped in deception and dishonesty. Did the informant have a “real choice” given the nature of the government’s leverage? Was the government justified in subjecting the informant to the risk of harm in order to acquire evidence?

The broader point is that these situations troubled me in part because I could identify with the criminal subjects and informants I handled. That may sound odd. But even if our lives appeared to have taken dramatically different paths (which wasn’t always the case), I could typically see how I (or anyone) could end up in the informant’s position had things been slightly different. I was especially uncomfortable with the institutional power—the power to compel one to engage in dangerous operations relying on deception and dishonesty—law enforcement officers had over people who weren’t much different from you and me (aside from a few chance twists and turns in life).

These are some of the topics that became research areas when I made the jump to academia for my doctoral work at the University of Virginia.  Some of the same themes became important in my first book, The Retrieval of Liberalism in Policing, as well my new book: Police Deception and Dishonesty – The Logic of Lying.

A word about that jump from FBI agent to graduate student at a relatively late stage (I began my doctoral work when I was 33 and finished it when I was 37). It was a bit jarring to turn in my badge and gun at the Hoover building one week, and then find myself in a seminar on Plato’s Metaphysics a few weeks later. But I was fortunate to land in what I found to be a very kind and supportive community at the University of Virginia, both in terms of my fellow graduate students and the faculty—especially my dissertation supervisor.

I certainly wasn’t as cool or smart as the other graduate students, but they were all welcoming and patient with me as I awkwardly tried to settle in and knock off the rust. I suspect my biggest challenge is a familiar one to many others: A general lack of confidence and a feeling that you’re the least knowledgeable person in the room. I do think this sort of thing can improve with time and experience, but it can be especially difficult for us introverts. 

One of the things that helped the most was that I think I was able to figure out the angles. This will of course be a bit different for everyone. But in my case, it involved trying to make sense of my unusual background instead of turning away from it altogether. I tried to write about things I knew from experience—things that were interesting and important to me—with an eye toward showing why those things might be interesting and important to others.  And I tried to stop worrying about looking, sounding, and acting smart, which can seem to be half the game in philosophy.

Another important point is that I quickly understood the need to discard perfectionistic goals. I finished my Ph.D. in four years (my wife and I had mouths to feed), and I didn’t send my work to journals with a 2% acceptance rate. That would have been unrealistic and inefficient in my case, so I looked at my relatively modest goals and worked backwards. The “best” philosophy journal in the world wasn’t in the cards, nor was being a famous philosopher who people discuss in 200 years. But, well, okay.

Being a pragmatist is not always easy in philosophy, where we are naturally driven by ideals. What I do think is important—almost a necessity—in the philosophy racket is a sort of gritted-teeth-optimism: A sense that one will figure out the angles (whether one remains in academia or leaves) in the face of ridiculously bad odds that might include unfairness (bias regarding class, race, gender, ideology, and so on) or simply poor luck.  What else can you do—rob a bank?  

I haven’t said anything new in this post, but I hope that sharing my non-traditional career path (which candidly involved a significant amount of underserved good fortune, along with a lot of support from family, friends, and colleagues) helps others in some small way. Just don’t be an FBI agent.

Comments

[Brad]

Luke
I think I got the wrong message from your post! I am left with the impression that the FBI might be an effective path to becoming a successful philosopher. You have done well, and it was not lost time at all. I enjoyed your story, very much. I also came to philosophy via an unconventional path ... I left a career in another field because job insecurity ... to become a philosopher!

[Current graduate student]

Those following the "traditional" route have a lot to learn from this post and story. It can be a difficult path for even some of those pursuing the "NYU-Princeton" route (or something similar) to come to appreciate and embody virtues such as stubborn optimism and intellectual humility.

[Robin Hood]

I'd sooner rob a bank than work at one!

[Greg Stoutenburg]

This is a thoughtful piece, and kudos for the Point Break reference.

[Helen De Cruz]

Thanks for this post. I enjoyed reading and it made me think about your two main points, namely that we should stop worrying about sounding smart. It makes philosophers insufferable and it also genuinely gets in the way of us doing good work (as I discuss in this post https://helendecruz.substack.com/p/shall-the-epistemically-meek-inherit)
But next to that, there's also the important recognition that we each have a path in life that helps us to see things that others don't, or rather, our skills/habits/experiences sort of make things stand out in our environment the way pointers in a museum guide the visitor (as Maurice Merleau-Ponty put it). Your past experience w FBI was very useful in that respect, and rather than thinking non-traditional paths are a disadvantage, seeing them in this way can further strengthen one.