The Philosophers' Cocoon

This is a guest post by Daisy Dixon, Lecturer in Philosophy at Cardiff University

Content warning:

This post includes discussion of abusive language, misogyny, body-shaming, and rape threats. The Cocoon’s mission is to be a safe and supportive forum that focuses on issues faced by early-career philosophers. We do not believe that this precludes all discussion of sensitive topics like these, and we are hosting this discussion in the belief that a safe and supportive discussion of the author’s story is both possible and a good use of this forum’s unique space in the profession, and for the author. Readers who may be sensitive to the above elements, please take note. Also please note that the blog moderators (Marcus and Helen) will moderate discussion carefully to ensure that discussion abides by the blog’s mission.

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Having recently secured my first permanent post in Philosophy at Cardiff University (something I still cannot quite believe), two weeks ago I excitedly posted on Twitter a familiar meme: ‘What People Think Philosophers Look Like/ What We Actually Look Like’. For the respective clauses, I posted a photo of David Hume – resplendent in lace and wig – and then a photo of myself, casually dressed wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses.

Not that this Tweet needs spelling out, but the point I was making is that philosophy looks different nowadays – basically a version of the hashtag ‘#thisiswhataphilosopherlookslike’ – and this is worth celebrating.

The Tweet was also a bid to dispel stubborn beliefs about who can do philosophy. As Helen Beebee’s and Jennifer Saul’s 2021 SWIP report shows, along with other under-represented groups in philosophy (e.g., people of colour, LGBTQIA+ and those with disabilities), we still have a way to go to reach equal gender representation in academia – with women comprising 30% of permanent staff in UK philosophy faculties. So, part of the Tweet was to raise awareness that the landscape is changing, albeit slowly.

However, within an hour, the Tweet blew up.

The first outcry was that I was supposedly comparing myself to David Hume – that I genuinely thought I was the better philosopher. Pure. Outrage. I found this willingly uncharitable misinterpretation of the Tweet rather funny. Many men frantically googled my academic work and shared screenshots of it, only to misinterpret it. The angry backlash resulted in my academia profile visits booming by 250%.

But as they say, you shouldn’t poke the bear – things turned more sinister.

I was then told countless times that women can’t be philosophers, that it’s against our nature, that women don’t even have new thoughts, that I merely dabbled in philosophy, and that I was a pure narcissist. Many said that I ‘could lose weight’, that I was horrendously ugly, riddled with STIs, had a ‘catastrophic’ body, bad knees, and terrible calves (one was just upset that I’d shown my legs). I was called a whore, a (failed) only fans model, a prostitute, j*zebel, harlot. I was rated a solid 4 out of 10. And then I was told that I’ll end up in a landfill, and that I’ll be easy to r*pe. I stopped reading responses.

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I could see familiar themes emerge from this outcry. The mantra that women cannot be philosophers (one Tweet even said that ‘woman-philosopher’ was an oxymoron) is not new, but clearly not jaded. It of course stems from the historic belief that women are weak-minded and passive creatures. Given that philosophy is one of the oldest disciplines in the world that champions rationality and abstract thought, it is still seen as too lofty a pursuit for the ‘irrational woman’.

As a philosopher of art working on aesthetic injustice, this reminds me of the classic White Male Genius Problem. As Linda Nochlin observes in her famous essay ‘Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?’, the lazy and yet pernicious answer to this question tends to take a syllogistic form: “If women had the golden nugget of artistic genius, it would reveal itself. But it has never revealed itself. Q.E.D. Women do not have the golden nugget of artistic genius” (1973: 8). And similarly, many of the Tweet responses challenged me, and the world, to simply name a woman philosopher (hopefully this will change with brilliant publications like Buxton and Whiting’s The Philosopher Queens).

As scholars and historians have shown though (as if it needed showing), the reasons there are fewer ‘big named’ woman artists and philosophers are obvious. In the West at least, until the late 19^th century women were refused entry into higher education, competitions, and important social circles, all while battling the societal norm that ‘real work’ for women was firmly within the domestic sphere. And for us to indulge in anything that would fall outside this servile realm was seen as selfish and egoistical. No wonder my own website header ‘Philosopher and Artist’ further fuelled the anger. But of course, when you deny people access to these resources on the grounds of gender, race, class, and ability, it is unsurprising that these groups are closed off from creating recognized great art or scholarship. It’s actually a miracle that oppressed groups have achieved such dazzling excellence in defiance of the white patriarchal monolith with its ivory towers.

A related familiar theme of the outcry was the relentless sexual objectification. Alongside the inability to see women as minds capable of philosophical reasoning, the vitriol descended into a total obsession with my body. Reminiscent of Rae Langton’s (2009) notion of ‘reduction to body’ in her extension of Martha Nussbaum’s (1995) concept of objectification, the Tweet responses fixated on every part of my body. My ankles, calves, knees, hips, torso, chest, face, hair. My weight, my shape. It felt like they were verbally dissembling my body and reducing me to mere ‘ugly’ appearance. This over-aestheticization comprises the other side of the misogyny-coin. As well as being without intellectual agency, my existence is seen as valuable only as an ornament for the straight male gaze.

The age-old hypocrisy of the male gaze also reared its head. I was condemned for seemingly enjoying my own appearance, daring to take up space on someone’s Twitter feed with my own image. Because I called myself a ‘philosopher’, thereby suggesting that I was somewhat successful, many labelled me a narcissist. Sure, ‘philosopher’ is sometimes considered an honorific title and not simply the name of a profession. But this isn’t about vanity, it’s about control. Again, I can’t resist drawing on the philosophy of art: “You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for your own pleasure” (Berger, 1972: 51).

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For so many of us, this abuse is not new.

Whether inside the academy or on the streets or in online spaces, people with protected characteristics are bombarded with hate so frequently that it almost feels normal. From the abuse of power and sexual assault suffered by so many in academia, to the student on my MPhil course who told me that the reason there weren’t many well-known women philosophers was because men were just “naturally better at philosophy”, we have felt all too often unwelcome in a space that we deserve to feel safe in. A space we have worked so damn hard to get into.

 

But this time, the hate emerged from outside academia. And many of the compassionate responses expressed horror at the sheer level of poison. Have things got worse, have we gone backwards?

Perhaps the difference is that now we’re in this new age of misogyny, characterised by the Matrix terminology of ‘The Red Pill’ (Dignam & Rohlinger, 2019). There is now a widespread ‘realisation’ that men do not hold systemic privilege and are in fact subjugated to women’s desires and power. Social media is dominated by misogyny-influencers and pick-up artists who have been charged with rape and human trafficking. They make misogyny look sexy, and seduce vulnerable boys and men into this irresistible story that women are really to blame for their misery. Children and young adults can instantly access this manosphere, a network of white supremacist sites hell-bent on dismantling feminism and anti-racism in the name of saving ‘dying white masculinity’. And the themes that emerged out the Hume Tweet still form an integral part of this tale.

I want to conclude on a happier note. The academic community has largely had my back and expressed kindness and solidarity, which thankfully drowned out the abuse. And I still think the Tweet did its job. A father in the replies said that it excited his young daughter about her future career. And that’s why I’ve not taken it down or locked my account. I’ve been extremely lucky to have been taught and guided by distinguished women philosophers, and we all know the powerful effect of role models. If a philosopher looks a bit like me, then maybe I can be one too.