The Philosophers' Cocoon

On several occasions I've been asked, "What will happen to the Cocoon once you're no longer an early-career philosopher?" The short answer is that I plan to continue it as long as early-career people find it helpful. There wasn't much support out there for early-career philosophers when I was a grad student and job-marketeer, and there still isn't today. So as long as people who fit those descriptions seem to find the blog useful, I hope to continue it.

However, although I do my best, one thing I've worried about is that the further I progress through my career, the more out of touch I may become with respect to early-career realities. Perhaps that is inevitable, though I hope not. In any case, a recent encounter I had with a grad student at a conference suggested to me that, with respect to a number of things, not a lot of things have changed for early career folk. He asked me if I had any early-career advice, and I learned through our discussion that he was taught a lot of the same conventional wisdom that I was. So, we had a talk, I explained my doubts about some of that wisdom, and he seemed thankful.

That got me to thinking. When I started this blog six years ago in 2012, I was pretty lost and trying to find my way. I didn't know what to believe–about the profession, job-market, and so on. Today, I'm in a very different place. I somehow got a job, got tenure, and am now a department chair. Weird. Anyway, while I don't have "everything figured out" by any means (I'm still trying to find my way through this life like everyone else!) I feel like I've learned some surprising things about academic philosophy that it may be helpful to share. At any rate that's my hope for this series. We'll see how it goes.

Anyway, in today's post, I'm going to share my doubts about some things that still appear to be conventional wisdom for early-career people…

Conventional wisdom: You have to go to a highly ranked program to get a permanent, tenure-track job.

My doubts: while I've heard many people say that they teach this conventional wisdom to undergrads interested in grad school, the only evidence I know of speaks against it. First batch of evidence: as I explained here, the 2017 ADPA Placement Report indicates that, in terms of Leiter rankings, many lower-ranked and unranked programs have substantially better permanent academic-job placements rates than top-programs. In some cases low or unranked programs have placement rates upwards of 60-70%, compared to placement rates of 50% (or far less!) for more highly-ranked programs. Second batch of evidence: I have personally known a good number of people who came out of top-ranked programs who couldn't get permanent jobs, whereas I have good friends who came out of unranked programs who've told me "almost everyone who comes out of my program gets a job."

So, here's my suggestion: the conventional wisdom described above is dubious. The evidence suggests something much more nuanced. After all, the ADPA report does suggest that top-ranked programs do the best job placing candidates in R1 jobs–so if your primary endeavor is to secure a "research job", by all means attend a top-program. The key is that the evidence suggests if you would be happy with any full-time faculty job, the conventional wisdom is false.

Conventional wisdom: You have to publish in top-ranked journals to be competitive for jobs, and should avoid publishing in lower-ranked journals. Publishing in lower-ranked journals will be held against you by search committees, and more broadly no one will read or discuss your work.

My doubts: this piece of conventional wisdom was explicitly emphasized to me early in my career. I was told to stay away from publishing in low-ranked journals. Moreover, the grad student I mentioned speaking to earlier in this post said students in his program are still being told this. The only problem is, all of the evidence I have collected suggests it is false. First, several years ago, I collected data on the Leiter-rankings and publishing records of all new hires (across several years). What I found was surprising. The best predictors of being hired didn't appear to be Leiter-ranking or top-5, top-10, or top-20 journals: it was total number of publications–and a very large number of new hires had multiple publications in lower-ranked journals. Second, I set out to perform an experiment of my own to test this hypothesis: I tested it on myself. Because I was having trouble publishing in top-ranked journals, I started sending out my work to mostly low-ranked journals–journals that lack prestige–and published quite a lot of stuff there. And what do you know? The more publications I racked up, the more interviews and flyouts I got – not by a little, but by a lot. Third, my experience on three search committees at a teaching institution suggests that the conventional wisdom is false too. People at teaching institutions are not looking for publications in Mind, PPR, or Nous. They are looking for evidence that you can publish enough to get tenure at their institution. Finally, my experience also isn't that you need to publish in top-ranked journals to get your work read or engaged with. I know people who have published in top-ranked journals whose work has been mostly ignored, and people who have published mostly in lower-ranked journals whose work gets cited and engaged with.

So, here's my suggestion: this conventional wisdom is dubious too. If your highest priority is getting a job at an R1, by all means focus all of your energies on publishing in Mind, etc. However, if that isn't working out for you, the worst thing you can probably do is spend all of your energies trying and failing to publish in top-ranked journals: that will just make you look like someone who cannot publish. Far better to publish stuff somewhere, even if it's not in the "best journals." 

Conventional wisdom: don't get "distracted by teaching" in grad school – focus on your research!

My doubts: Oh goodness, I don't even know where to begin. I've heard this conventional wisdom so many times it feels like my ears are going to bleed. Here's why. Of course you shouldn't get so distracted by teaching in grad school that you never finish your dissertation or publish anything. The problem is, the conventional wisdom tends (in my experience) to be conveyed in a way that deters grad students from seeking out independent teaching experience (such as adjuncting at local community colleges). Here's why that's a bad thing. As I have explained on several occasions, there isn't one academic job-market. There are multiple markets–as a rough first approximation, a "research" market and a "teaching" market. And different things make one competitive on different markets. For the research market, yes, it's all about research. But this is not at all the case for teaching markets. I've served on three search committees now at a teaching institution, and one of the biggest problems I've seen candidates run into is they lack much independent teaching experience – one of the main things people at institutions like mine care about.

So, here's my suggestion: if your only priority is to get a job at an R1, focus all of your energy on research. However, if you just want a permanent job somewhere, this is a terrible mistake. You should go out of your way to get independent teaching experience – indeed, as much of it as you can while still getting your research done. People at schools like mine want to know that you can publish consistently while teaching courses independently. So get on it while still in grad school.

Conventional wisdom: don't blog publicly – it will reflect badly on you.

My doubts: every time I've asked the Cocoon readers why they don't blog, the #1 answer is fear – fear of what search committees will think, or people in their grad program, and so on. This wisdom bugs me for so many reasons. First, it seems to me to essentially accede to and perpetuate a kind of professional intimidation. Very early in my career, I got really frustrated with academic philosophy, and for one major reason: it seemed to me like an incredibly hostile place. For one reason or another, I began to fear everything I did. However, as I explain below, setting aside terribly controversial political matters (the kinds of things that dominate discussions at Daily Nous and elsewhere), I'm not at all sure the discipline is that hostile of a place. What I do know–and the fears people have about blogging–is that people perceive it that way, which I think is really unfortunate. A second reason the above conventional wisdom bugs me is that, damn, blogging has been a lot of fun, and a great way to meet lots of nice people in the profession. It bothers me that so many early-career people stay away from it out of fear. Before I started the Cocoon, I was quite frankly professionally lonely. I felt all alone in the profession. I didn't know anyone. Being professionally isolated was no fun at all. And blogging professionally changed that. Third, blogging can be a platform for making a positive difference in the discipline. I know so many early-career people who wish certain things about the profession would change – yet, all too often, discussions about the discipline tend to take place in anonymous forums that, from my perspective, amount to something like yelling at the wind. Finally, my own experience has been that, as long as one tries to forge a positive online persona, you do not have to live in fear. As someone who has blogged for a long time now–and has said a few ill-considered things I wish I could take back–my own sense is that people in the profession are all too willing to forgive mistakes, at least as long as you try better next time. 

So my suggestion is: come out of your self-dug holes. It may actually be good to develop a positive online presence. You may not only find you enjoy it. When it comes to the job-market, it may even help prevent you from being just another "name in a pile."

Anyway, these are just a few pieces of conventional wisdom I have come to doubt, and why I have come to doubt them. Maybe I am wrong. What do you all think? What, in your experience, does the evidence support? Are any other pieces of conventional wisdom dubious? What, and why?