Rebeccah Leiby is the Hoffberger Ethics Fellow at the University of Baltimore’s Hoffberger Center for Ethical Engagement (previously, the Hoffberger Center for Professional Ethics). She completed her Ph.D. in 2022 at Boston University, where she defended a dissertation entitled “Towards a Contractualist Theory of Transitional Justice.”
What are you working on right now?
In addition to the standard post-defense work of reconfiguring my dissertation into a book proposal, I’m currently working on a handful of stand-alone articles that run the gamut of moral and political philosophy. Some of my current research, for example, involves the phenomenon of moral injury, while other research deals with problems posed by collective trauma for institutions such as truth commissions. Recently, I had the opportunity to attend a wonderful conference (Women and War: Feminist Approaches to War and Violence) in the “Challenging War” event series at Temple University, which has got me thinking especially about the intersection between feminist philosophy and issues surrounding transitional justice.
What do you like to do outside work?
When I’m not working, I enjoy playing video games of exactly two types: those that involve terrifying adventures (Tomb Raider, Assassin’s Creed) or those that involve wholesome tasks (Stardew Valley, Yonder, Minecraft). Exceptions can sometimes be made for games that involve terrifying tasks or wholesome adventures. In general, though, I’m a big fan of the narrative aspect of video games. Over the past several years, I’ve also really come to enjoy cooking, especially unfamiliar cuisines with unfamiliar ingredients. Mostly this has been the result of relocating from Boston to rural Pennsylvania, where the only bao to be found is the bao that one makes oneself. Speaking of, here’s a good recipe for bao!
Which books have changed your life? In what ways?
I hope it doesn’t come across as cheesy to say that every book I’ve read has changed my life in some way—every book adds a part (maybe a small or silly part) to my sense of self and how I see the world. But one book that absolutely changed my philosophical life is Elaine Scarry’s The Body in Pain. I bought it on a whim while browsing at the Harvard Bookstore, and it lit a fire in my heart a mile wide. I’m not sure that I had ever encountered that combination of incredible scholarship, beautiful writing, and philosophical depth in one package before. It’s one of the books that encouraged me to make the research shift during my Ph.D. from history of philosophy to social and political philosophy.
What would your childhood self say if someone told you that you would grow up to be a philosopher?
My childhood self would be disappointed, I think. I was exposed to a lot of Michael Crichton as a kid. I seem to have had it in my head that paleontology, viral biology, or nanotechnology afforded the greatest opportunities for adventure. It’s a shame that my STEM career was brought to a premature end by my deathly allergy to mathematics.
What advice do you wish someone had given you?
I wish someone had told me The Magic Spell for having philosophical conversations that don’t make you feel like garbage. Luckily, I have since discovered The Magic Spell, and I’ll share it with you here. If you ever find yourself in conversation with a colleague, and they reference an idea, a theory, a paper, a work, a thinker, etc., with which you are unfamiliar, it is 100% a viable course of action to say something like, “I don’t know what that is.” Just very plainly: I don’t know what that is. If you’re feeling curious, you can follow it up with: “can you tell me about it?” The sheer transformative power of letting go of ego and anxiety in conversations such as these is hard to overstate. What will happen, they’ll realize you don’t know about the thing? You just told them that! It’s not a secret, salacious discovery. It’s a radical act of self-kindness and it opens so many more opportunities for genuine learning than just pretending to go along to get along.
What was the first philosophical question you remember getting hung up on?
My mother was Ukrainian Byzantine Catholic and I attended a Ukrainian Byzantine Catholic parish school when I was a child. If you’re ever in Minersville, Pennsylvania (no, I’m not joking), you won’t be able to miss it: the church is an extravagantly beautiful gold-domed building that towers above the town. In any event, I was about as devout a believer as any small child can be. At the time, I thought it had to do with my relationship with God, but it turns out it mostly had to do with how great live Byzantine choral music is. In any event, I had some vague awareness at that time that my father was an atheist. Once, a teacher told me that he would certainly not go to heaven as a result, and I couldn’t help but feel sure that this wasn’t accurate. After all, heaven is supposed to be the place where you are supremely happy, and I, of course, was going to heaven, as a devout Catholic. But I knew I wouldn’t be even remotely happy there if my father wasn’t there as well. I obsessed about this paradox for months. This worry certainly wasn’t solely responsible for the loss of my faith, but it definitely prompted me to regard my own metaphysical commitments with some skepticism!
This section of the APA Blog is designed to get to know our fellow philosophers a little better. We’re including profiles of APA members that spotlight what captures their interest not only inside the office, but also outside of it. We’d love for you to be a part of it, so please contact us via the interview nomination form here to nominate yourself or a friend.
Dr. Sabrina D. MisirHiralall is an editor at the Blog of the APA who currently teaches philosophy, religion, and education courses solely online for Montclair State University, Three Rivers Community College, and St. John’s University.
