Is There Such a Thing as a Good Academic-Activist?
The problem isn’t that some academics are activists. It’s that some academics do activism badly.
The first article I ever wrote for Quillette, in late 2019, was titled “How The Trans-Rights Movement Is Turning Philosophers Into Activists.” I noted the bizarrely un-academic behaviour of certain academic philosophers who’d contributed to an online symposium about transgender issues, and the extent to which their behaviour contradicted the values I associate with being a good philosopher.
Three contributing trans activists, two of them philosophers, had deplatformed themselves from the symposium while making a great fuss on social media about how their contributions had (to their horror) appeared alongside those of “TERFs” (a term of abuse, commonly used in these activist circles, indicating “Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists”). They also characterized the contributions of these “TERFs”—who more typically, and certainly less pejoratively, self-describe as gender-critical feminists—as “acts of violence.”
Good philosophers tend to value intellectual collaboration; avoid ad hominem attacks (which is to say, arguments that serve to insult your opponent rather than refute his or her ideas); and commit themselves to charitable readings of their opponents’ views, which in turn means avoiding hyperbolic or misleading characterizations. My article pointed out how the behaviour of these self-deplatforming philosophers violated these principles; and argued that these philosophers shouldn’t have been behaving as activists—or, at least, shouldn’t have let their activism overwrite their responsibilities as academics. The immediate aftermath of that symposium brought with it my first serious run-in with activist academics, although there would be more to come.
Coming to this issue from an entirely different angle is women’s rights activist Kellie-Jay Keen (aka Posie Parker), a de facto leader within the global movement of women fighting to reclaim (or retain) sex-based rights. Keen has suggested that feminist activism doesn’t need the support of academics at all; and even that the involvement of academics can only harm the movement.
It’s not always clear how seriously to take these comments—as, in some cases, they are perfectly well explained as defensiveness against political critique and character assassination directed at her by opponents who happen to be academics, or at least academic-adjacent. But let’s take this position (whether or not it fairly reflects Keen’s considered view) seriously. If nothing else, it channels the broader belief among many gender-critical voices that academic feminists (a category that now overlaps considerably with so-called intersectional feminists), are increasingly acting at cross purposes with the real sex-based needs of ordinary women and the activists who militate on their behalf. More formally stated, the general principle here is that academics shouldn’t be activists, not because (or, at least, not only because) activism is incompatible with their academic responsibilities, but because their involvement undermines the cause in which they enlist.
You might have noticed that I’m running two senses of “activism” together already: (a) one said with a sneer, an implicit pejorative describing someone doing politics in a domain where politics do not belong; and (b) one said with a bright, sunny expression—a neutral or even positive descriptor for someone whose feet rest firmly on the ground, and who is getting things done without need of theorists coming along and intimidating activist women into thinking they can’t make a useful contribution without first completing a degree in women’s studies.
In a recent livestream from Australia, where she is touring as part of her Let Women Speak event series (more on this in next month’s column), Keen said, “Don’t feel that you have to have read some feminists, or be aligned to feminism, or the Left—this is not about any of those things, those things are not relevant here.” This can be read as countering a narrative, which Keen presumes as being familiar to her intended audience, suggesting that one does have to have read certain feminists, and be self-avowedly aligned in some formal sense with feminism (being understood as a particular set of ideological commitments that are defined, in large part, by canonical texts written by esteemed academics) in order to fully participate in the movement that Keen champions.
Striking what may be interpreted as a populist tone, she is saying, in effect: This movement is for all women, and any men who want to support us—there are no course prerequisites to enrol. To which her (anticipated) campus detractors are expected to say: Sorry, but this movement is only for feminists, which means you have to read feminism, and know what feminism is. Conveniently, you need us academics for that.
If we take seriously the role of the academic in the university, and the role of the university in wider society, is it actually true that academics shouldn’t be activists? A separate but related inquiry: If we take seriously the needs of an activist movement, is it actually true that activists don’t need academics? Can a person wear both of these distinct hats at once? And, if so, are there better and worse ways of fitting them on one’s head?
A 2015 paper published in the journal Philosophical Psychology argues that those academics who work on politically relevant topics, at least, should stay out of politics. The author, Chapman University philosophy professor Bas van der Vossen, suggests the job of a political philosopher (which he takes to be “the archetype of the case with which I am concerned: those who are serious about thinking through political issues”) is to seek the truth about politics. Professional morality requires us to perform our professional roles well, he argues. And we imperil this performance when we engage in political activism, which is associated with a range of psychological biases that can distort our thinking. For example, one experiment he cites found that, in his words, “the most significant factor in determining people’s support or opposition” to a policy matter is the political party with which it’s associated.
Van der Vossen is targeting a narrow, rather politicized conception of activism in his paper, “things like being a member of a political party, campaigning during elections, making political donations, volunteering in advocacy groups, political community organizing, putting up yard signs or bumper stickers, promoting a political party at dinner parties, generally rooting for one side or another, and so on.” (In this regard, it’s probably worth noting that because the author works at an American university, his arguments may be specific to the uniquely polarized landscape of American politics.) So even if we accept his conclusion, we’re still left with the question of whether academics can be activists in the sense of raising their voice on behalf of a discrete issue that sits apart from partisan politics and the associated culture war, without violation of one’s professional responsibilities. For example, can a climate scientist be a climate-change activist? The biologist, an animal-welfare activist? The feminist philosopher, a women’s rights activist?
An alternative, and more cheerful, view comes from the philosopher Julinna Oxley, who argued in her 2020 paper ‘How to Be a (Good) Philosopher-Activist’ that it is possible for an academic to be an activist, at least when it comes to philosophers:
Philosophers have been taught how to make fallacy-free arguments and how to subject claims to rational scrutiny through critical thinking; they can take many data points and variables into account when they deliberate about complex issues; they think ‘outside the box’ in questioning assumptions and imagining alternate possibilities. They know how to articulate a wide range of arguments on a particular topic, and can articulate objections to an argument, even if they agree with it.
Her idea is that activist movements require a lot of different skills, and philosophers are well-suited to a particular subset of them. Movements need “dramatic emotional appeals,” certainly, but they also need “rational persuasion, community education, scientific research,” and “public engagement.” The good philosopher-activist uses “true, reliable, and trustworthy information and sources,” and knows the “important social or historical facts surrounding [her] views” (she is honest); is “careful, calm, insightful, and composed” (she is rational); makes sound arguments and avoids fallacies (she is logical); acknowledges the weaknesses in her own arguments, understands opposing arguments, and can explain disagreements rationally (she is deliberate); is “not annoying, misleading, dramatic or egotistical,” “can speak civilly with opponents,” and “do[es] not insult or attack them as persons” (she is respectful).
The corresponding vices are dishonesty, manipulation, obfuscation, thoughtlessness, and insult. A bad philosopher-activist will: make claims “grounded in false statements or untruths” (dishonesty); make “overly emotional appeals that aim to induce fear and anxiety,” “use rhetoric to fan emotional flames rather than prompt deliberation,” and generally be “predatory on emotions without an argument” (manipulation); make arguments using logical fallacies, and be misleading and confusing (obfuscation); argue in a way that makes rational discussion harder, such as focusing on the minutiae or on tangents rather than the central issue (thoughtlessness); fail to “clarify or contextualize a claim using historical facts and social or political history”; and, finally, fail to show respect for opponents, and denigrate them rather than engaging their ideas (insult).
This catalogue of the philosopher-activist’s virtues and vices helps show that the problem with the self-deplatformers described at the start of this essay wasn’t activism per se, but rather bad activism. Had they not been academics more generally, and philosophers in particular, their theatrics may not have been inappropriate. Theatrics can be effective. But as philosophers, their activism exhibited many of the vices that Oxley lists. In particular, their actions were manipulative, thoughtless, and insulting.
However, the existence of incidents of bad academic-activism isn’t sufficient to establish that there’s something wrong with academics being activists in general. At most, it just leads us to conclude that academics who want to also be activists should make sure to be good academic-activists. What that means may differ from discipline to discipline; philosophy is unique in its commitment to the pursuit of truth in accordance with specific principles of good reasoning.
Let’s come back to the question of whether activist movements would be better off without academics. We can make use of Oxley’s list of vices to establish when this may be the case. Academic work put forward on behalf of, or within, activist causes that is obfuscating—which is to say, deliberately impenetrable and confusing, and which makes self-confident people feel profound and self-doubting people feel small—is bad academic-activism. Academic work put forward on behalf of, or within, activist causes that is dishonest risks undermining the movement’s credibility in the public sphere, by means of disseminating falsehoods that others repeat and which are then called out. But these examples only show that activism doesn’t need bad academics (or bad academic-activists). As Oxley points out, an activist movement needs many things, and some are things that good academics—and good academic-activists—are well-positioned to provide.
In regard to philosophy, Oxley’s argument for the compatibility of academia and activism depends on the assumption (left undefended) that philosopher is the dominant or organizing role at issue when the two roles converge. Different roles can sometimes end up in conflict. Suppose you’re both a husband and a father, and the time you’d set aside to bake your wife’s birthday cake is now being contested by your youngest child, who needs help with his schoolwork. Which of the “husband” role and “father” role should take priority in this moment? Similarly, we may note that the academic-activist is also occupying two roles, or wearing two hats, and wonder what happens when a conflict arises—putting aside Oxley’s above-described implicit assumption that the academic role will be dominant.
Let’s return to our trans-activist philosophers for a moment. Suppose they conceive themselves as wearing two hats, but see the activist hat as the dominant or organizing one, and the philosopher hat as just the one they wear for those 35 hours or so per week when they’re earning a living. On that view, Oxley’s assumption of professional primacy would not apply, and so their activism would surely not be constrained by the requirement to be a good philosopher-activist; or, in fact, the requirement to be a philosopher at all. Indeed, it might be the other way around: Their role as a philosopher might be constrained by the imperatives associated with being an activist.
Suppose that latter proposition were true, and they were to see their teaching, research, and administrative roles as opportunities for activism—which, in this case, would mean evangelizing trans rights. Would they be doing anything wrong? Or would this just mean that they’d made a different (legitimate) choice—as compared to an academic philosopher such as me or Kathleen Stock (before she left the University of Sussex)—about which hat is the dominant one?
My view on this is that professional responsibilities unavoidably constrain the way we do our jobs as professors. It is a well-worn aphorism of study in the arts and humanities that we teach students how to think, and not what to think. And so it would be inappropriate to use teaching, in particular, as an opportunity for activism—at least if that would mean failing to give due consideration to alternative points of view, or penalizing students for not coming to the conclusions that the activist-teacher himself or herself supports. (For what it’s worth, Oxley appears to agree with this, mentioning the indoctrination of students as being inappropriate.)
But within those constraints, there’s still plenty of room for activism-inspired academic work, such as teaching on, and researching, topics related to one’s activist interests, and initiating programs within the university that instantiate one’s activist goals (providing that others can be persuaded to support them). Put another way: An activist-academic wouldn’t necessarily be doing anything wrong if the way he or she fulfilled his or her professional responsibilities were merely inflected by his or her activist commitments.
This concession of mine might be unsatisfying to those frustrated by the extent to which activism has crept ever further into universities. But all academics have academic freedom, and it’s not clear why it’s worse if one picks a research interest on the basis of one’s activist interests rather than on the basis of happenstance, curiosity, or careerism. The goal should not be to deny or suppress an academic’s activist ardour, but rather to ensure that the inevitable professional tensions that ensue are consciously and defensibly addressed.
