A long time ago I had a post up on my blog Lemmings called "Should You Become a Professional Philosopher?" The main message of the post was that you probably should only go into a Ph.D. program in philosophy and attempt to get a job in academia if you cannot imagine yourself being happy in a different kind of job. Some of the reasons listed included the difficulties of getting a job and the relatively low salaries that philosophers receive.
Since I published the blog post, the prospects of getting a job in philosophy and a decent salary have only gotten worse. Budget cuts have forced colleges and departments to cut back on new hires and raises. I can use my own department as an example. For the first time since 2008 we got a very tiny raise this year. The other years our salaries were cut in various ways. In addition to that, four people have left, or are leaving, and budget cuts prevent replacement. To make up for the loss of four faculty members, the dean has given us permission to hire one person in a temporary position with a 4-4 course load and a salary that's about half of that of a tenure-track person (who is not getting all that much in the first place). Four courses is a lot, not least when you compare it to the regular course load in the college, which is a 2-2.
So should you become a professional philosopher? I am still tempted to say that if you can imagine yourself being happy doing something other than philosophy, don't pursue a career in philosophy. Of course, if your alternative career choices don't hold a whole lot of promise, pursuing a career in philosophy may still be a valid choice. But if you think you could be happy working in a private company, going to law school or becoming a medical doctor, don't pursue a career in philosophy. Why not? Because if you pursue a career in philosophy, you will be struggling to get a job. If you are lucky, you will land a tenure-track job, but you may not be that lucky. You may end up in a temporary position teaching 4 courses a semester. Still worse: You may end up with no job at all.
When I finished my dissertation and still waited to graduate officially and hadn't yet gone on the job market, I was offered two jobs. One was a temporary philosophy job in Rochester paying $40,000 a year, the other was a permanent job in an IT company in D.C. paying $90,000 a year. This is a no-brainer, right? Well, most people were convinced that it was. "Congratulations," my mom said one night when I was visiting, "I am so happy you have a permanent job now." For me, a job in a private company wasn't a live choice. I knew what my choice was going to be. But officially I was still deciding. I felt my mom was a bit presumptuous. "I haven't decided yet," I said. It was a half-way lie. My mom looked at me like I had just punched her in the stomach. She took a deep breath. And then one more. It felt like she was trying to counteract an anger fit. I started getting nervous. But then she spoke, sweet as an angle. "Well," she said. "there isn't really a choice here, is there?" "That's exactly how I feel" I said, happy that she finally saw my point of view, and at the same time feeling stupid and mean for thinking she wouldn't support me. We were both smiling for the rest of that day. We were even nodding to each other in secret agreement during dinner. I went home that night happy about my choice, happy about my place in this world. I made my choice official later that week. I was going to Rochester.
When I started telling people, I quickly realized how hard it was going to be to explain my decision. I don't know whether my mother was disappointed when I finally got around to telling her. But I did feel that the temporary bond that suddenly had formed between us had been broken.
I didn't know about philosophy as a career choice until I was in the middle of my neuroscience studies back in Copenhagen. Once I realized that you can actually study philosophy at a university, I immediately signed up for a couple of philosophy courses, but I thought of philosophy as a hobby. It never occurred to me that I would end up there. I did realize, though, that it took me a lot longer to learn to apply scientific theories in a lab than it did to learn the theories in the first place. Even in my theory courses, I often found myself spending much more time learning the practical applications of the theories than learning the theories themselves.
Though it took me a long time to figure out that I was going to pursue philosophy as a career, I can't imagine doing anything else today. I am quite involved in various neuroscience projects but what I enjoy most of all is thinking about the philosophical consequences of these projects. If I merely had to report on the data and none of the philosophical consequences, I wouldn't be all that interested in continuing with the empirical projects.
Perhaps you cannot imagine yourself pursuing a career very different from philosophy. If this is so, then go ahead and apply to a Ph.D. program in philosophy. But before you go, double check that your choice is grounded in love rather than fame or money. At this year's graduate student orientation, my colleague Gualtiero and I reiterated the importance of this. We also added that too many people aspire to become famous philosophers. That by itself isn't all bad. What's bad is if your main reason for going into philosophy is that you want to become a famous philosopher. Why? Well, because very few people will reach the level of fame. If you choose philosophy as a career, choose it for the right reasons. If you choose it because you believe you will become a famous philosopher, think hard about whether this profession is for you. If, on the other hand, you would be perfectly happy teaching at a small liberal arts college or community college in the middle of nowhere and do solid work that is not read by anyone, then pursuing a career in philosophy may be a good option for you.
A couple of years ago we had a student in our graduate program that we thought was not going to make it in philosophy. We noticed that he was great in class discussions and presented well but his term papers were usually incomprehensible. I worked with him on a daily basis to increase the chances of him graduating. He did pass the thesis requirement but only barely. Then he decided that he wanted to apply for tenure track jobs at community colleges. He asked me to be a letter writer. I was hesitating at first. However, once I realized I was only supposed to comment on his teaching and his class presentations, both of which were excellent, I no longer hesitated.
Within four or five months, our student -- who had been close to flunking -- had a tenure track job and a decent salary. It was a community college, the course load was a 4-4, there was some committee work but publications weren't required. This was a perfect job for our student. I had never thought that he would do better than many of the other students in our program. Our lucky student did have one advantage, though. He never aspired to become something he was not. He knew what he was good at. He was an excellent teacher, and that's exactly what he wanted to be.
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