The Philosophers' Cocoon

Using video-conferencing in a workshop: the case of Rethinking Formal Methods in Philosophy

I recently attended the workshop Rethinking formal methods in philosophy  (RFMP) at the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis. It was organized by Samuel Fletcher and Nathan Lackey. The topic of this conference was unusual and exciting, asking deep metaphilosophical questions about how formal methods might contribute to philosophy, and what place it has in graduate and undergraduate teaching. I came away from this conference feeling energized and with lots of new ideas, and I commend Samuel and Nathan for coming up with this topic and for their organization. 

Here I want to focus on one specific aspect of this conference, namely the extensive use of video conferencing technology and other forms of online augmentation. Three of the invited speakers, Branden Fitelson, Joshua Knobe, and Catarina Dutilh-Novaes, participated with video conferencing technology. The university has a specific room to facilitate this. It not only has the standard technology to stream Skype but also microphones in the ceiling that pick up whenever someone is speaking so the person skyping in can hear questions clearly. These talks worked very smoothly with (except one very minor occasion) no technical glitches. Moreover, the technology also permitted remote participants to sit in on other talks, for example, Joshua Knobe saw my presentation on teaching experimental philosophy for undergraduates.

To give you a sense of how it worked, the image shows Branden Fitelson, Skyping in from what appears to be deep space, and the image at the top (tiny) shows the workshop room. Image credit: Liam Kofi Bright on Twitter. 

In addition to this, Liam Kofi Bright live-tweeted the conference (see here and here), and I also contributed a few twitter threads on some papers (e.g., here).  Moreover, Liam took questions from the Daily Nous initial post on this blog during the roundtable discussion. Overall, technology helped to augment and supplement, and draw in a wider range of people to the discussion than would otherwise be able to participate. For example, following the workshop I asked on Twitter whether philosophy graduate programs should still have a logic requirement and it generated this fascinating discussion. 

In recent discussions I've had with academics, motivated by climate change and the role of flying in it, people have wondered whether we should just stop flying altogether for conferences, or at the very least drastically reduce how often we fly. This prompts the need for more possibilities for remote participation. As Catarina said, "to fly so far for a talk for two days, I can't really justify it anymore." 

Reader query: Making hiring as diversity-friendly as possible

I received the following request from a Cocoon Reader, and thought it would be a good idea to throw it in the group! 

"I am on a search committee this year. I (and at least most) on the search committee are really committed to increasing our attractiveness and odds for hiring a philosopher from an underrepresented group/identity/philosophic point of view. As I have been formulating our job ad and figuring out the process by which we will make it public and how we will assess/pare down/interview, multiple questions have come up, for which, frankly, we are not really well positioned to have answers. Certainly we can and have read about the usual issues (implicit bias, stereotype threat, among others and how to address these). But I still find a need for something more hand-on, in terms of guidance and mentoring.

Which got me thinking: I know you are working on the "supply side"... that is, helping underrepresented philosophers prepare for getting hired. Is there anything available, that you know of, on the demand side: that is, for departments that want to make their hiring as diversity-friendly as possible? I can imagine a consultant who, for example, reads and gives feedback on all of the materials for the ad, as well as for the process and rubric departments use... I could even imagine some departments that might want someone to be a larger part of the process. Does such a thing exist? Is it feasible?”

Easing Burden for Economically Disadvantaged Applicants

By Wesley Buckwalter

Applying to academic jobs can be prohibitively costly. The reality is that academics apply to hundreds of jobs throughout the long road to hiring and different stages of their career. It sounds small at first, but is incredibly wasteful, really adds up, and may prevent very good applicants from otherwise applying due to finances.

There have been several discussions about some very simple things that could improve the situation. Of course, many departments may not have the flexibility or freedom to alter their application procedures set in place at their university. But just in case there is some freedom, I thought I would summarize things searches can do to ease the financial burden for economically disadvantaged applicants:

Sara Protasi on ESL Philosophers

As I reported on the Cocoon before, Gabriele Contessa has been trying to raise awareness about the underrepresentation of non-native English speakers in Philosophy (or ESL philosophers). In an attempt to raise awareness about this issue, Contessa proposed what he calls the “Languaged Conference Campaign,” which is modeled on the Gendered Conference Campaign. To his surprise, his proposal met with resistance. Responding to Contessa’s LCC, Sara Protasi claims that the underrepresentation of ESL philosophers is "unfortunate" but not "unjust."

As far as I can tell, her reasons in support of this claim are the following:

1. "Being able to speak good English is essential to do good philosophy."
2. Discrimination against ESL philosophers “is not as widespread or harmful as other forms of discrimination."
3. Other "forms of discrimination are in more need of attention than" the discrimination against ESL philosophers.

Before I address (1), (2), and (3), I would like to emphasize that the issue is underrepresentation and discrimination, not a call to help non-native English speakers become fluent in English. Judging by the following quotation, I think this point is lost in Protasi’s piece:

This, as the fact that analytic philosophy journals and conferences and even Facebook discussions take place in English, is very unfortunate. But it doesn’t seem to me to be unjust. That it is not unjust doesn’t mean that we should not try to alleviate the difficulties of people like me, or people who fare much worse than me. We should help non-native speakers to achieve the level of fluency required to succeed at philosophy in the context in which they want to do philosophy (I am partially repeating points made by commenters at Feminist Philosophers, such as “louisechanary”). But it’s not an injustice in the same way that racial and sexist and ableist and homo/transphobic discrimination is.

Again, to make this about helping non-native English speakers become fluent in English is to miss the point. The complaint is about the fact that ESL philosophers are underrepresented in tenure-track jobs, in journal publications, in citations, and so on. In other words, the "goods" of philosophy are distributed unfairly and ESL philosophers are not getting their fair share. That's unjust!

 

 

Now, (1) is simply false. If (1), then many of the great philosophers (e.g., Spinoza) did not do "good philosophy" since they did not speak and write English. I take it we all want to deny the consequent of this conditional.

As for (2), if all forms of discrimination are unjust, then (2) is inconsistent with the claim that the underrepresentation of ESL philosophers is "unfortunate" but not "unjust." For to admit that there is such discrimination, and to accept that discrimination is unjust, is to be committed to the claim that discrimination against ESL philosophers is unjust.

Like (2), (3) is also inconsistent with the claim that the underrepresentation of ESL philosophers is "unfortunate" but not "unjust." Another problem with (3) is that it is difficult to evaluate for the following reasons. First, (3) assumes that forms of discrimination can somehow be ranked from bad to worse. I have no idea how to do that. Second, (3) assumes that forms of discrimination can be clearly separated from one another. But that is also very difficult (perhaps even impossible) to do. For example, a non-native English speaker with a foreign accent may be perceived as a foreigner, and then all sorts of racial/ethnic biases and prejudices kick in. Likewise, a non-native English speaker with a "foreign look" may be perceived as belonging to a lower socio-economic class, and then all sorts of biases and prejudices about class kick in.

In general, if the underrepresentation of members of group G is taken to be evidence for discrimination against members of G, then this inference applies to ESL philosophers just as much as it applies to members of other disadvantaged groups.

Professional online ethics: what do we owe each other online?

There have been a lot of discussion on the philosophy blogosphere recently on the effects that blogging has had on the profession. These discussions appear to stem from this Leiter poll, where apparently 42% of respondents voted that blogs have had a "positive" effect on the discipline and 46% a "negative" effect. So far, the discussions have been primarily on blogging's (and specific blogs') effects on the discipline. Another discussion is emerging, however, in this Smoker thread: namely, what do we owe to each other online as members of a common profession? 

I raise this question without hidden agenda or moral sanctimony. Although I started the Philosophers' Cocoon out of a sense that early-career people in the discipline might enjoy a safe and supportive place to share their work and discuss personal and professional issues affecting them, I did not start it under the belief that all blogs should be safe or supportive -- and indeed, as I'll now explain, when it comes to "online professional ethics", I find myself torn in opposing directions. I ask the question, "What do we owe each other online?", because (A) I want to be a good person and professional, (B) I want to know what this involves, and (C) because I'm not sure what it involves in this case. Allow me to explain.

On the one hand, I have always been attracted to the Millian view that complete freedom of expression (minus slander, harassment incitement to violence, etc.), no matter how offensive, etc., tends to benefit us all, at least in the longer run. When people speak their minds freely, truths -- kind, ugly, and eveything in between -- tend to manifest: we know what people's opinions and preferences are, and we can debate and criticize them head-on. Second, there are the considerable moral hazards of other- and self-censorship (which have been ever-present lately thanks to the Salaita case). Expecting people (including ourselves!) to behave "civilly" online lends itself to a kind of intolerance, and indeed, moral bullying. And I think there are very good reasons to fear, and avoid, these things.

On the other hand, I am also attracted to Jaded, PhD's view here in response to a comment by Fritz J. McDonald. Jaded writes:

I think we could de-escalate, commenters, bloggers, and tweeters alike by stepping back from the name-calling, calling people stupid, armchair psychologizing, divining true motives, etc. (I do love snarking though.)

Although Jaded isn't calling for censorship or muzzling one's opinions (neither of which I would ever advocate), Jaded is suggesting that it would be (morally) better for people to self-monitor their behavior and conform to certain standards of professionalism and collegiality. I find this position attractive, too. As I explained here (and as Jon Cogburn seconded here), the overall climate of our profession seems unusually aggressive as compared to many other academic professions. Because our profession has well-known climate issues, I'm inclined to think that we all share some obligation to contribute to improving things -- for instance, by behaving professionally, and indeed, kindly online. And indeed, I personally feel like I have duty to behave in such ways. I try to be kind, forgiving, and charitable online, and stay away from saying meanspirited things. 

That being said, I once again appreciate the considerable moral hazards of self- and other-censorship. So, what is the right way to think about these issues? What do we owe each other online?

I am going to open up this question for general discussion, as I think (or at least hope) that we can have a friendly, productive discussion about it. Before I do, however, I want to lay down some ground rules.

The question of how we should comport ourselves online is, obviously, a veritable minefield. Such a conversation could devolve into criticisms of particular blogs, bloggers, etc.--and the Cocoon is not the forum for that sort of thing. The Cocoon's mission is to be a safe and supportive for all. And so I am going to insist on a very high-level discussion. That is, I am going to require that we discuss these issues at the level of broad generalities -- generalities that do not single out particular blogs or bloggers, but concern issues (viz. "Do we have an obligation to be nice online, to avoid armchair psychologizing, etc?") that pertain to all of us. Because preserving the Cocoon's mission is my highest priority as blog moderator, I am going to moderate carefully to ensure that these questions are discussed in a manner consistent with our mission. Also, if I sense that we are unable to have a safe and respectful discussion -- if commenters are unable to abide by the "no slagging other blogs, bloggers, etc./focus on generalities" rule -- I may have to (reluctantly) choose to close down discussion. Obviously, I realize that these moderating standards might not appeal to everyone -- but, if there are people who would like a broader, even more open discussion, there are plenty of other online forums to pursue such discussions. :) 

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?

"By definition, philosophy is for white men"

I came across this interesting blog post by Alex Dunn, "By Definition, Philosophy is for White Men", which takes up a very different aspect of Peter Unger's now-notorious 3 quarks daily interview: namely, Unger's treating everything that has any clear connection to the empirical world as "not philosophy." Basically, Unger says that Bertrand Russell wasn't really doing philosophy when he was arguing for peace, that Tim Maudlin is doing "adulterated" philosophy in doing empirically-based philosophy of physics, etc. For Unger, philosophy proper (we might call it) is "what analytic philosophers do" (something which he considers empty).

Now, although Unger thinks analytic philosophy is empty, Dunn says, Unger is, whether he recognizes it or not, playing into a perniciously exclusionary conception of what counts "as philosophy." (I would also add, along with others, that Unger displays a problematic and exclusionary obsession with deeming "who's smart", but I digress). Anyway, what's the problem, according to Dunn? The problem, very roughly, is this: for Unger, philosophy is basically inquiry that has nothing to do with the concrete world--the world in which people suffer from war, poverty, injustice, discrimination, etc., the implication being it is a discipline by and for white men to talk about meaningless things rather than things that matter to non-whites, non-men, etc.

"But wait a minute", you say, "doesn't philosophy investigate those things? Hasn't there been a whole lot of theorizing about justice, injustice, morality, discrimination, etc.?" Well, of course there has, but let us take a deeper look.  

I was at a conference several months ago having a discussion with a very famous (and nice!) senior philosopher who, out of the blue, said the following to me (I paraphrase):

I can't help but be struck by the fact that the areas of analytic philosophy that carry the greatest prestige -- analytic metaphysics, epistemology, philosophical logic, metaethics, etc. -- are almost to a "t" fields that are about as far as one can get from being relevant to everyday life. Even in ethics, the most prestigious area--metaethics--is concerned with entirely abstract questions about "moral facts."

He then sort of went through different sub-fields of philosophy, and suggested that the more relevant to real life (particularly injustice!) the sub-field is, the less prestige the area seems to have. The most prestigious areas, he suggested, were something like the following:

• Metaphysics
• Epistemology
• Philosophy of Language
• Philosophy of Science (physics, etc.)
• Logic
• Meta-ethics

The next most prestigious areas, he implied, were probably:

• Normative ethics
• Social and political philosophy

Next, the least prestigious areas include:

• Applied ethics
• Feminist philosophy
• Critical race theory
• Etc.

Further, he said, it's really no wonder our field is dominated by white men. Our discipline has basically taken the areas of philosophy that are as far removed as possible from the daily experiences of injustice, exclusion, etc., that non-white/non-males experience and given those areas the greatest prestige, whereas the areas that speak most directly to the interests and experience of non-white/non-males are given far less prestige, and often derided publicly and privately.

Finally, I would add, if we look at areas that deal with justice, etc., the most prestigious figures--Rawls, Nozick, etc.--have tended to be those who focus on ideal theory (or describing perfectly just social-political systems), all but ignoring nonideal theory (the area of social-political philosophy that deals with injustice).

Are all of these trends simply accidents, or are they, more peniciously, reflections of discipline that favors the interests of a dominant majority? I leave it to you to think about and discuss!

On advice for grad students and other conference-goers

Daily Nous has posted a brief excerpt from this post on how to cultivate collegiality as a grad student. The excerpt reads:

I do… have something to say about the unwritten rules that accompany your forays into the Greater Academic World. Because when you attend conferences, colloquiums, workshops, or other group activities and events, there are many unwritten rules that apply, ones that I see broken with alarming frequency by students who otherwise seem perfectly fine, even kind and generous…. Because, you see, nobody really explains them to you–you’re just expected to know them intrinsically, or to pick them up along the way as growing pains, part of the unwritten curriculum of professionalizing. Unfortunately, the simple truth is that if you don’t curb these behaviors early on, they become habit-forming and can lead to your being known as “that grad student who…” and then, “that job candidate who.….”, and then, perhaps, “that professor at x who.….” [fill in the blank with a not-great behavior] Which, in turn, can color your career in all sorts of ways you might never have foreseen or intended when you originally made that choice or set of choices.

I think this would be a great topic to discuss here. I've seen some abysmal behavior at conferences -- bullying behavior in Q&A sessions, sexual predation, etc. -- not just by grad students but also by established scholars. I've also seem some wonderful behavior, as well -- and I think it could be really helpful to provide and discuss examples of each.

What behaviors at conference have you all witnessed that you think people should know to avoid? And which types of behaviors do you think are good, and that more people could engage in? Please share and discuss!

On how (not) to treat students

Jon Cogburn over at NewAPPS has drawn my attention to this story over at "Moontime Warrior" on how one philosophy professor responded to a grad student's confiding in her. In brief, the story is this:

Last term, I confided in a professor that I was struggling with anxiety attacks and depression. She seemed understanding.

A few weeks after the class ended, I learned that she had brought the issue up at an informal departmental gathering, telling grad students and professors that anxiety is often an “excuse” used by students who want an easy ride.

Cogburn also links to Carrie Ichikawa Jenkins' courageous and graceful discussion of her own struggles with anxiety, and discusses a number of important issues in his post.

I would like to chime in and say that I think there is an important -- and neglected -- issue here that goes well beyond issues of mental health and wellness (though these are very important issues). I've made no secret that I struggled mightily at times in graduate school. Long story short, at one point in my graduate career I think I faced a "perfect storm" of sorts: a rather long and painful of a long-term relationship that had more or less defined my personal life for several years, disappointment at having to move to a new graduate program (thanks to all of my favorite professors at Syracuse--John Hawthorne, Ted Sider, Dean Zimmerman, and Brian Weatherson--all being hired away), having to re-take classes at Arizona on things I had already studied, leaving close friends behind, etc. Suffice it to say, I didn't deal with all of the issues I was facing as well as I could have. I was young, distracted by personal issues I had never dealt with before, and finally, philosophically insecure for the first time as a result of my distraction (in all honesty, I didn't do the greatest work when I got to Arizona). And so I pulled away from my department. I wasn't as social or as friendly as I should have been, or indeed, as I would have been if there wasn't so much stuff bothering me.

Now, I ultimately made it through those issues, in large part because I finally swallowed my pride asked for help. Although I never really told anyone of the various issues I was dealing with, I finally approach a few professors in my graduate program and asked them what I should do to get back on track philosophically. And their help did wonders. Here, though, is the thing. I suspect that I could have dealt with things far better, and far earlier, if I had felt comfortable approaching faculty. The fact is, I didn't feel comfortable -- and so I avoided it for several years. I don't think this was anyone's fault at Arizona. In my experience, it's common practice in academia to seperate academic from personal matters, and faculty in general are kind of oblivious to how intimidating they are, and to the reasons why grad students may be afraid to approach them (our future professional prospects are, after all, very much in their hands). And, of course, the above story about the graduate student confiding in her professor doesn't help. If students cannot trust their concerns to be kept in confidence, or dealt with in a caring and respectful rather than a dismissive manner, students will be apt to do what I did: keep things a secret -- to their own detriment.

For these reasons, I would like to propose the following. I would like to propose that graduate departments draft official policies encouraging students to share their concerns with professors, and laying out clear guidelines for how faculty are expected to treat those concerns. Although I expect some may respond to this by saying, "We are professors, not friends, mental-health counselors, or baby-sitters", let me just say this. I think it is in the interest of professors, and graduate programs, to engage in such practices. No graduate program is well-served by its students failing, or struggling, as a result of fear of approaching faculty. Every program has an interest in its students' success, and as such, issues of human decency aside, every program -- and every professor -- has reasons to "be there" for their students, at least within certain bounds (note: I do think this final caveat is important. Surely there should be limits. It is not our place to respond to and/or "solve" every student problem. My point is merely that there should be some policies that encourage students to seek our professors when they feel some help or understanding is necessary).

Does making philosophy more inclusive require rethinking philosophical methods and standards?

Nathaniel Adam Tobias Coleman's piece in Times Higher Education, "Philosophy is dead white--and dead wrong", is receiving a lot of attention (see here and here), and, I think, deservably so. Coleman raises a lot of important questions about race and the sociology of our discipline -- questions the discussion of which, I agree with Coleman, are long, long overdue.

Rather than recapping Coleman's piece (which I think I could hardly do well), I would like to share some thoughts that it raised in my mind -- thoughts which Kristie Dotson's paper, "How is this philosophy?", also gave rise to in my mind a while back.

In her paper, Dotson argues that philosophy's "culture of justification" is not an attractive working environment for many diverse practitioners. According to Dotson, it is not the (legitimate) demand that philosophers justify their arguments that makes philosophy unattractive to people from diverse backgrounds. Rather, it is the illegitimate demand that people justify what they are doing as philosophy (a demand which, in practice, tends to exclude work done by diverse practitioners as "not philosophy").

I want to suggest that the problem is even deeper than Dotson believes. Again, Dotson doesn't think it is the way we require justification in arguments that excludes people. I want to suggest, to the contrary, that it is the manner in which our discipline requires justification in arguments that excludes people. That is, I want to suggest the very way we do professional philosophy today -- the manner in which our profession requires justification in arguments, and the dominant standards for what counts as a "good argument" or "good paper" -- may be exclusionary. Allow me to explain how. 

It is no secret that our discipline prizes "rigor." Roughly speaking, rigorous arguments are good arguments. Rigorous papers are good papers. Etc. But how is rigor defined? Here is a sketch. First, prevailing philosophical standards test arguments against "common sense" or "common intuitions." One must begin with premises your audience is liable to accept. Also, if the conclusion of your argument conflicts with "common sense", then your argument is considered "less plausible." But now how are "common sense" or "common intuitions" defined? Roughly speaking, in terms of the preexisting literature, and the intuitions of philosophers steeped in that literature. In my experience, as graduate students and professionals, we are constantly told that "a good paper makes a small, careful contribution" to whatever literature already exists. You must "situate your project" in the literature -- basically, working within prevailing paradigms -- and you cannot deny a premise in the literature that everyone accepts unless you can do so on the basis of some other premise(s) that people steeped in that very literature are apt to accept.

In this way -- and I am far from the first to note this -- professional philosophy today aspires to be like the sciences (or, at least, "normal" science, as Kuhn termed it), where each published result builds in some small way on "already accumulated knowledge."

Here, though, is I think the problem with this (well, one problem at least; I think there are others too -- for more, see here and here). Philosophy is not like science. In science, the objective world outside of us dictates the facts. The Sun is in the sky whether anyone likes it or not. In contrast, in philosophy, the "accumulated knowledge" that professional philosophy takes as given -- as the "jumping off" point for a "good paper or book" -- are simply the intuitions or judgments of persons. And yet the intuitions/judgments that comprise received wisdom in philosophy are primarily the intuitions/judgments of a privileged few. For instance, it is not as though professional philosophers today tend to, say, begin philosophy papers with Frederick Douglass' intuitions about justice. No, they tend to begin with "mainstream works" in philosophy -- which tend to be comprised by individuals from a very narrow array of backgrounds. If someone wants to challenge that mainstream body of work, one is expected to do it in a "careful, rigorous way", which, unfortunately, still means from within the perspective of the very intuitions (about, say, justice) that have comprised the dominant, non-diverse philosophy up to the present day.

What I am suggesting, in other words, is that the very focus on "small, rigorous arguments" -- the dominant conception of what counts as a "good argument" in professional philosophy today -- may itself exclude people from our profession. Our discipline's conception of what counts as a "good argument", however much we might like to consider it nonideological or "objective", is ideological, privileging an "established body of knowledge" arrived at primarily by a very narrow body of people.

Or so it seems to me. Moreover, I think I've seen these forces play themselves out in the classroom, in philosophy seminars, and in professional conferences. I've taught in classrooms, for instance, where -- after spending, say, an entire semester teaching "The Greats" on ethics, or epistemology, or whatever -- I'll assign something by a feminist, or a critical race theorist...and my students will seem so much more skeptical than they did about the "Greats". Why? Here again, my feeling is this: the students are skeptical because the things the feminist or critical race theorist are saying conflict with the received "body of wisdom" they have been steeped in. Similarly, I've sat in philosophy talks where someone -- often someone from a different background from the majority -- tries to raise an alternative point-of-view, and the "feel" in the room is something like, "Okay, can we get back to Kripke/Rawls -- the "real stuff" -- now?" Finally, I've sat in APA sessions on feminist philosophy or African philosophy, and here too a couple of things stood out to me. First, the audiences in the room were pretty homogenous, with few representatives of dominant backgrounds or philosophical viewpoints in attendance. People working within dominant traditions in philosophy, by and large, just didn't bother to even attend these sessions (at least the ones I have attended). Second, in these cases I was struck by just how unlikely it would be for many of the arguments given in these sessions to "fly" with, say, a journal referee or editor of a mainstream philosophy journal. The more I listened, the more it seemed to me that our disciplinary standards for what counts as a "good argument" would immediately rule out the arguments given as bad arguments. Why? In my view, very roughly: because the premises people were appealing to "conflicted with received wisdom." Few things could drive a person from a field more, I think, than saying to them, "Well, the premises you find attractive conflict with the premises we find attractive -- and our premises are the ones you must work with if you don't want to be an outsider."

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I think our discipline's obsession with "rigor" is bad. Not that rigor is bad -- but rather, a certain conception of it, and preoccupation with that conception, is bad. Philosophy is not science. In science, working with an established body of knowledge makes sense. For in science there is an established body of knowledge. But, philosophy is not like this. After thousands of years, there are precious few things that professional philosophers agree upon. Philosophy is driven my the intuitions and judgments of people (philosophers!), and insofar as the mainstream tradition has been dominated by white men, the unfortunate result is that the "received wisdom" professional philosophy builds upon is, by and large, the received wisdom of white men.

As an illustration, I was just reading this (otherwise great) paper by David Chalmers, and I couldn't help but be struck by the following sentence:

Despite this lack of convergence, it is hard to deny that the insights of Plato and Aristotle, Hume and Kant, Frege and Russell, Kripke and Lewis have involved significant philosophical progress.

Maybe these individuals' insights comprise "progress" (though, for my part, I am skeptical about several of the names listed). But notice anything about the list of individuals given? It is not exactly a very diverse list of people. Or consider the table of contents from The Great Conversation, a fantastic introduction to mainstream Western philosophy which, alas, reveals just how insular the tradition has been. Here's the table of contents, with each chapter's covered authors in parentheses:

1. Before Philosophy (Hesiod & Homer)
2. Philosophy Before Socrates (Thales, Anaximander, Xenophanes, Pythagoras, Hericlitus, Parmenides, Zeno)
3. The Sophists (Protagoras, Gorgias, Aristophanes)
4. Socrates (Socrates!)
5. The trial and death of Socrates (Plato)
6. Plato (Plato!)
7. Aristotle (Aristotle!)
8. The Epicureans, Stoics, and Skeptics (Epicurus, Leucippus, Democritus, Zeno from Citium, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Pyrrho, Sextus Empiricus)
9. The Christians (Jesus)
10. Augustine (Augustine!)
11. Anselm and Aquinas (Anselm and Aquinas!)
12. Medieval to Modern (Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo, da Vinci, Erasmus, Martin Luther, Montaigne)
13. Descartes (Descartes!)
14. Hobbes, Locke, Berkeley (H, L, & B!)
15. Hume (Hume!)
16. Kant (Kant!)
17. Hegel (Hegel!)
18. Kierkegaard & Marx
19. The Utilitarians (Bentham, Mill, Rousseau, Wollstonecraft)
20. Nietzsche
21. The Pragmatists (Pierce, Dewey, and James)
22. Wittgenstein (Russell, Wittgenstein)
23. Heidegger
24. Simone De Beauvoir
25. Postmodernism (Derrida, Rorty)

Not a very inclusive conversation! (55 white men, 2 women, and no one else)

So, then, have prevailing philosophical standards -- standards which are clearly conservative, requiring people to begin with "common sense" and make "small steps" in prexisting bodies of "received wisdom" -- themselves worked, by their very nature, to systematically exclude people, and diverse points of view? From my perspective, this is almost the wrong question to ask. The question isn't whether prevailing philosophical standards have systematically excluded people "from the conversation". The question is: how could they not?

Our discipline's standards of what counts as a good argument seem to me to be so conservative that they are systematically designed -- albeit, I think, probably unwittingly -- to exclude alternative points-of-view (or, at least, place such a high burden of proof on alternative points-of-view that proponents of those views can never, or almost never, meet the burden). After all, if you are told that one must work within a body of received knowledge, with premises the dominant tradition accepts, and you do not find those premises the least bit attractive yourself, the burden of proof you face in order to make a case for the premises you find attractive are almost impossible to meet. You will find yourself not being able to appeal to premises you find attractive. No, you will have to appeal to premises that the dominant majority finds attractive -- premises that you may not buy at all. But there you are: you have to work with their premises, not yours. (Or, of course, you can always set up a society of Philosophers-like-you -- but then your society will be seen as outsiders, outside of "the conversation").

And so, it seems to me, if you come from a different perspective, you will find yourself faced with a choice: you can either work within the received body of wisdom against your personal belief that the body of wisdom is backwards (thus going against your own feelings of personal integrity), or you can leave the profession. And which of the two options can seem like the more sensible choice: working within a tradition that seems systematically designed to marginalize your point-of-view, or leaving it altogether? Is it any real surprise, then, that philosophy has a diversity problem? What else can a discipline expect when its very method and disciplinary standards are stacked against minority points-of-view?

This post, obviously, has been very critical of our history and dominant standards. I do not mean to suggest that we should jettison all traditional methods or standards of what counts as a good argument. I do mean to suggest that we should have a conversation about our methods, the extent to which they may (or may not) marginalize people, and how we might revise our methods and standards to foster greater inclusion. My next post will be more positive. I will try to advance a more open-minded approach to doing philosophy -- one that I think may provide some concrete guidelines for making philosophy more open and inclusive, without jettisoning standards altogether.

On making philosophy more attractive to more people

I've written a couple of times recently about why I am reticent to discuss recent events in the profession concerning "climate", harrassment, etc. Again, the worry was it is very difficult if not impossible to discuss these issues here in a manner that is consistent with this blog's safe and supportive mission (particularly given the way discussion of these issues has gone on at other blogs). After soliciting your (the community's) feedback, the near-consensus of those who responded seemed to be that this blog should stay away from these issues, especially given that there are a number of other forums to discuss them. Because this is a community blog, I want to respect the community's majority opinion on the matter.

I do, however, think we can discuss a much broader issue about the profession in a safe and supportive way, and that is the issue of how to attract more people -- and a wider variety of people -- to philosophy. Notice that I did not say anything about climate or equity here. I mean to ask here only a very general question -- namely, how to attract more people to the discipline -- and suggest that this is an issue we can discuss here in a safe and supportive way.

Here is why I think it is an issue worth discussing. Allow me to tell a couple of quick stories. The first story is about a very talented former undergraduate major in my program, let's call him J. Here's how J ended up a philosophy major: he was interested in Chinese philosophy. J didn't have any interest in metaphysics or epistemology, but he was very interested in Chinese philosophy. Fortunately, our program offers courses in the area. So, J became a major. Then, in time, J came to have more interest in metaphysics, epistemology, ethics, etc. Here is my feeling: if we hadn't offered Chinese philosophy, J -- a very talented student -- probably would have been turned off by philosophy. At the very least, he probably wouldn't have majored in it.

Here's another story. A couple of years ago, I had several talented undergraduate students who were absolutely obsessed with Ayn Rand. Rather than cast her aside as unworthy of their/our time, I worked some of her material into a course on justice and then taught an independent study on her philosophy. I think it was time well-spent. In time, many of the students came to believe that Rand's philosophy is very poorly defended, and they became philosophy majors.  Here, again, is my feeling: if I hadn't encouraged their interest (despite my own misgivings about Rand), they might not have become majors.

Here's a third story. Several semesters ago I had a nursing student who had no antecedent interest in philosophy take my biomedical ethics class. She asked me if I would be willing to do an independent study on the ethics of cosmetic surgery. I said yes. The independent study went very well, and she became a philsoophy double-major. In job interviews this year, I had at least one person on a search committee look at me in disbelief when I discussed this independent study. The person basically asked me, "Is the ethics of cosmetics surgery a serious area of inquiry?" I didn't know what to say, but what I wanted to say was this: "The student was interested in it!" Anyway, as it turned out, I think there are a lot of important ethical questions regarding cosmetic surgery. But, more to the point, it arguably attracted another student to the discipline.

My department has attracted an unusually diverse body of majors. Among other things, well over 50% of our undergraduate majors are female (something which is way outside of disciplinary norms). I can, of course, only speculate as to why our majors are so diverse -- not only in terms of backgrounds, but also of interests. I cannot claim to take credit for our numbers (I am only one faculty member among many), and of course it may be a statistical anomaly. That being said, my feeling is that we attract many different types of people because, as a department, we are open to and encouraging of a diversity of interests. My feeling is that this is not only philosophically healthy, but a good policy for students and for the discipline. If we want philosophy to thrive (I do!), then -- it seems to me, particularly in today's economic/educational environment -- we should strive to make philosophy more inclusive in terms of methods, content, and questions we pursue and encourage students to pursue. Note that I am not suggesting that we "sell our souls" or lower our standards as philosophers. I am merely suggesting that -- as individuals, departments, and a discipline -- there are philosophical, prudential, and (I think) ethical advantages to "casting our philosophical nets" wider than some parties seem to prefer.  But these are just my thoughts.

What are yours?

Further reflections on discussing recent events

I'd like to thank those of you who responded to my previous post on the dilemma I've felt concerning whether to try to discuss recent events and issues in the discipline concerning "climate", gender equity, and sexual harassment on this blog, and whether it is possible to do so in a way that is consistent with this blog's safe and supportive mission. A couple of you (Elisa and Joshua) expressed the thought that it might be worthwhile and consistent with this blog's mission to discuss, in a safe and supportive way:

1. What conditions in the discipline contribute to problematic environment and actions, and
2. How we might act to improve those conditions as individuals and discipline.

On further thought, I am still not entirely sure how we might do this, or whether there are better forums for these things to be discussed ("What is it like to be a woman in philosophy?" and "What We're Doing About What It's Like" are dedicated to (1) and (2), respectively). One thought that I had -- which I have to admit that I am not sure would work -- would be to open up posts on these issues for discussion here, and enforce the strictest standards for safe and supportive discussion possible (taking extreme care -- and time, before approving comments -- to ensure that any comment carrying even the slightest "whiff" of not being safe and supportive is not approved). This idea occurred to me, in part, because I've seen a number of facebook threads in which people have said things like, "It would be really great if there were a blog where people could discuss these things in a safe and productive manner." To this end, if we could accomplish it, I think we would be doing something good and helpful.

But, can it be done? I'm just not sure. First, no matter how assiduous I might try to be as moderator, personal experience and my experience as an observer of what has gone on at other blogs both strongly suggest that mistakes will be made (it is surprisingly hard to determine antecedently what different people may regard as unsafe or unsupportive). Second, I fear that if I did moderate in such a way -- imposing my standards of what is "safe and supportive" on the conversation -- this itself might come across to many would-be participants as unsafe and unsupportive. For these reasons, as much as I would very much like to discuss these issues on this blog -- as they are obviously of great importance, both to the discipline and to countless individuals involved in or affected by it -- it remains unclear to me whether this is the right forum to attempt a discussion in.

 I am more than happy to reconsider my position, and hope to hear more feedback from all of you on what you think the best way to proceed is. I hope you've all had a good week (besides the obvious), and have a better weekend. :)

On the elephant in the room

Readers of this blog may (or may not) have noticed that this blog has remained silent on recent events in the profession related to climate, gender equity, sexually inappropriate behavior (up to and including allegations of criminal sexual assault against a senior member of the profession), etc. As owner and head moderator of the Cocoon, the question of whether to discuss these issues here (and if so, how) is something I have struggled with. On the one hand, I am inclined to think we all share a moral duty to contribute -- in ways large and small -- to help make our discipline a safer, more professional, more ethical place. I am also inclined to think that online discussions can play a role in this, by enabling people to debate the issues (though, of course, I also think online discussions have a tendency to devolve into counterproductive accusations, speculations, etc.). Finally, I am resolved in my personal and professional life to not remain a bystander to wrongs and injustices. Again, I think -- and yes, this is just my opinion -- that we all share moral duties not to simply sit by and let bad things happen, and that even if we can only help respond to injustices/etc. in small ways, we should do so.

While all of these considerations seem to me to point in favor of discussing recent events in the profession -- including all of the ethical questions people have been raising on other blogs -- it is unclear to me (A) how to do so in way that is consistent with the safe-and-supportive mission of this blog, and (B) how to properly weigh my sense of obligation to you all to maintain this blog's safe and supportive atmosphere against whatever obligations I/we have to help realize a more ethical, equitable profession (e.g. through discussion of recent issues). In other words, I find myself a bit stuck. Although I don't want to overdramatize the dilemma I feel here -- this is just a blog, after all -- it is nevertheless one I find myself facing.

Finally, given that this is not my blog -- I've always intended for it to be a community blog above all else -- it seems to me that the most appropriate thing to do in the situation is open the question up to you all: how do you, the Cocoon community and readership, think this blog could best approach the kinds of climate/gender/harrassment/etc. issues facing the profession (particularly in light of recent events)? Any and all thoughts (consistent with this blog's mission, of course) would be much appreciated (by me, at least:).

Some Thoughts on Kukla's Post on Social Norm Violations

Rebecca Kukla has a very interesting (and, I think, important) post over at Leiter's blog on the dangers of sanctioning social norm violations in philosophy. As she points out at the beginning of the post, philosophers sometimes (often?) seem to associate being a "real philosopher" with certain types of social-norm-violating behaviors. Among these norm-violating behaviors are seemingly innocuous behaviors -- such as certain styles of dress and overall grooming (e.g. looking like a hobo), and other quirky behaviors -- but also far less innocuous behaviors, such as social pressure to "to use profane language, push sexual boundaries, avoid the appearance of concern with their looks, etc., in order to earn their place in the philosophical community."

What I find so interesting about Kukla's discussion is the worry that while (A) questioning social norms is an important part of philosophy, (B) the entire practice of sanctioning social-norm violations in philosophy, including the seemingly innocuous kinds, is fraught with moral hazard.  She writes,

The problem with all of this (or one of the many problems) is, again, that it comes at the cost of the most vulnerable members of the profession - those likely to be the targets of the boundary-violations and judgmental expectations rather than their instigators. Likewise it leaves us with no recourse when we feel violated. If we complain, we are just not understanding how to be a cool philosopher, or we are not intellectual enough to get the joke. It also generally puts women, people of color, and other disciplinary minorities in a different kind of impossible position: we can’t get away with the hobo look without repercussions, but we also get dismissed if we look like we care about social conventions (please extend the synecdoche as needed).

Of course, as philosophers, our commitment to challenging and questioning norms is real, and important. Far be it from me to claim that we’d be better off if we all had to be more conventional or couldn’t play around with taboos. Doing so is essential to both the philosophical method and the high quality of life we enjoy as philosophers. It’s just a dangerous game, is all, and people get hurt, and the hurt is not evenly distributed, so serious collaborative reflection on the dynamics at play is in order. We also need to get better at distinguishing between random, thoughtless bits of ideology and convention that deserve critical challenge, and norms that are in place to protect people from damage.

Indeed, I am persuaded it is a dangerous game. Further, I am pursuaded that it is important to get better at distinguishing harmless quirks and legitimate questioning and even violation of social norms from violations of norms that are in place to protect people from damage. What I am not so sure of, though, is how to do this. So, for instance, not too long ago I wrote a post expressing my worry that prevailing trends toward hyperprofessionalization in philosophy -- and away from "quirkiness" -- have arguably led philosophy to become a less interesting, less subversive place. I've always loved people who are a bit strange because, well, it has always seemed to me that it goes along with a certain disposition to think originally, and differently. And I've always loved people who think differently, in large part because that's always what I've thought good philosophy is made of: seeing old things in new ways. Hyperprofessionalization has always seemed to me to produce people who think more alike -- which is not always bad, but can be, if it is taken too far.  

Anyway, Kukla's post seems to me to raise a very difficult, and important, question. If quirkiness and the kinds of norm violations which often follow quirkiness are sometimes important for generating good philosophy (as I think it plausible), but sanctioning norm violations is a dangerous game for the reasons Kukla raises (which, again, I find persuasive), how can we arrive at the right balance? I just don't know. The most obvious thing to say, perhaps, is: we should allow the harmless norm-violations but not the harmful ones -- but Kukla's very point is that this is very difficult to do. Even some (many?) seemingly innocuous norm-violations -- such as norm-violations regarding styles of dress -- are, upon further reflection, not so innocuous (insofar as the santioning of those violations systematically favors certain harmful power imbalances). So, where do we draw the line? I just don't know. Do you? 

I'm curious to see what you all think...