Those who pursue a professorial career typically follow a path from high school to college to graduate school to faculty membership. Rarely noted, however, is that along the way the attributes of academic success change.
To excel in high school calls for absorbing materials from various areas of inquiry, including mathematics, science, history, literature, and foreign languages. Those who master these tasks are likely to graduate with distinction and compete for admission to preferred colleges.
There they are again expected to absorb a variety of subjects. While college courses may be more demanding than high school offerings, the criteria for success at the two are similar.
After college, students seeking a career in academia proceed to graduate school, where they find a striking change in the criteria for success. The previous emphasis on breadth is replaced by a stress on depth. If, for example, you enroll in a graduate English department, then you are not required to grasp other subjects, such as mathematics, science, or history. Indeed, you may know little about any fields other than English literature yet be a standout in graduate school based on the high quality of your work in literary analysis.
This narrowing of focus intensifies during your faculty career. Suppose you are a professor of English, specializing in Chaucer. In that case, no one will be concerned with whether you have any knowledge of US foreign policy, Beethoven’s string quartets, or the mind-body problem. Of overriding concern, rather, is the originality and importance of your work on Chaucer as judged by Chaucer scholars. Even if you have written essays devoted to the writings of George Eliot or Thomas Wolfe, this accomplishment pales in comparison with the quality of your work on Chaucer.
Note that knowledge of secondary literature is not apt to suffice for an outstanding professional reputation. The key question remains: Have you produced a series of notable insights admired by specialists? If not, then you are unlikely to be held in the highest regard by the scholarly community.
Granted, mastery of two or more academic disciplines is an impressive achievement that may lead a scholar to develop an influential rethinking of at least one of those areas. The danger, however, is that someone claiming to be knowledgeable in more than one field may not be recognized by experts as proficient in any.
Consider, for example, the following situation that arose while I was serving as an administrator. (The name of the individual and the identity of the fields are masked.) Arthur, a candidate for a tenured position, presented himself as both an art historian and a philosopher. In view of his claim to dual mastery, I asked that he deliver two lectures, one to the art history department, and the other to the philosophy department. The results might have been predicted. The art historians were impressed by Arthur’s knowledge of philosophy but not by his grasp of art history. The philosophers were impressed by his knowledge of art history but not by his grasp of philosophy. Consequently, he was not invited to join the faculty.
In sum, the breadth of interests rewarded in high school and college is neither necessary nor sufficient for success in graduate school or a professional career. To use an analogy from the world of track and field, high school and college are like a decathlon, in which contestants need to display ability in ten different events. In graduate school and beyond, you choose your best event and are judged on it alone. Any weaknesses you may have in other fields are of little account.
Were you flummoxed by calculus? The experts in English don’t care. Did you have trouble with French idioms? The experts in English don’t care. Was macroeconomics a problem for you? Again, the experts in English don’t care. Nor are they interested in your SAT scores, your undergraduate GPA, any awards you may have received at college graduation or a postgraduate fellowship you may have won. Their only concern is the quality of work you produce in their field. Only if it is considered first-rate are you widely recognized as having achieved scholarly success.
No wonder those who receive the highest grades in high school or college do not always attain professional preeminence. Nor do leading scholars invariably look back on outstanding performances in high school and college. Thus, we should expect that changes in the criteria for success will result in some early standouts finding themselves in lagging careers, while others who begin with undistinguished records may discover a fitting field of specialization and eventually receive acclaim.
Awareness of such reversals of fortune should keep some from becoming overconfident and others from giving in to despair.
Steven M. Cahn
Steven M Cahn is Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the City University of New York Graduate Center. Among the recent books he has authored are Teaching Philosophy: A Guide (Routledge, 2018); Inside Academia: Professors, Politics, and Policies (Rutgers, 2019); Navigating Academic Life: How the System Works (Routledge, 2021); Professors as Teachers (Wipf and Stock, 2022), and, most recently, From Student to Scholar: A Candid Guide to Becoming a Professor, Second Edition (Wipf and Stock, 2024).
