What Is It Like to Be a Philosopher?

In this interview, Talia Mae Bettcher, professor and former chair of the department of philosophy at California State University, Los Angeles, talks about growing up born again in Canada, the Trinity, Tolkien, Asimov, socially blossoming at Glendon College, the ontological argument, existential psychoanalysis, feminism, Euripides, Rousseau, The Unconscious as Infinite Sets, Saussurian linguistics, the Berlin Wall, Kit Fine, going to UCLA for grad school, living a double life, a downward spiral, her new book, coming out to her department with the support of Barbra Herman, Sandra Harding, queer theory, Jake Hale, how John Carriero saved her, the self, early modern philosophy and ordinary language philosophy, the Smoker, landing a one year gig in a small town, her triumphant return to the Los Angeles area, what it’s like to be chair at Cal State LA, Caitlin Jenner, gender critical feminists, cottage industries, the LAPD, how she’s evolved as a philosopher, Hypatia, Daily Nous and philosophy on the internet, the future of philosophy, the 5, and her last meal…

[5/7/2020]

So, where did you grow up?

I grew up in Calgary, Alberta. And then Montreal, and then Parry Sound. My family moved around a lot! Plus, I was an exchange student to Belgium for a year.

What did your parents do for a living?

My mother was a traditional and amazing stay-at-home mom, my dad worked as an accountant for a Canadian company. We were middle class. I mean, we were middle-middle-middle class back then when there was such a thing.

As a kid, what did you do for fun?

As I kid, I read a lot. I loved science fiction, fantasy, and mystery. I also wrote poetry and short stories. I had a very rich “inner life” as I struggled with social interactions with other kids my age.

Any sign you'd grow up to be a philosopher?

Yes, there were definite signs. As I entered first grade I decided that I wanted to be either a writer, a professor, or a theologian (my family was born-again Christian). I had a habit of annoying my Sunday school teacher by asking astute questions about the doctrine of the Trinity. I really got into the subtleties of the religion. When I was twelve, I liked to draw pictures of reality - schematic representations, not pictures of a universe comprised of stars and planets, but rather, odd geometrical representations. I begin to hit my stride at the end of high school when writing essays became increasingly important. I found that I excelled at that form of writing. My poetry was actually pretty horrible, and I could never really successfully pull off a short story. But essays were my thing. And from the beginning they were quite philosophical.

So did you read any philosophy?

I never considered philosophy in high school. I don’t think I knew of its existence. The only “philosophizing” I knew of was with my dad – we’d get into this long-winded back-and-forth sometimes – about politics, religion, and human nature.

Also, one of the last papers I wrote in high school was about AI. I was really into that at the time – really before I knew about the existence of philosophy.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. I was exposed to Cicero and possibly Aristotle when I was an exchange student in Belgium during one of my last years of high school. I went to Catholic school in Visé - just outside of Liège. I don’t remember really anything about the philosophy I studied, however. I had other things on my mind, such as coping with the loneliness of being away from my family for the first time, trying to fit in, and travelling Europe on a Eurorail pass.

As a teenager, did you get into any trouble?

No. I was humiliatingly well-behaved.

Favorite books in high school?

I really liked Tolkien’s Silmarillion and the Foundation series by Asimov (sigh, I know). I also liked David Gerrold’s The Man Who Folded Himself.

Music?

I played in both the symphonic and jazz bands. Being in the band really upped my “coolness factor,” of course. At least I played the sax rather than the French horn, which was my original choice.

Politics?

I liked to follow Canadian politics.

Sports?

I wasn’t into playing sports at all. I was terrible at it.

What would your high school self think of the current you?

I think that if my high school met my current self she would be as gobsmacked as the caterpillar visited by her future butterfly-self.

Were you thinking about gender issues in high school?

“Thinking” isn’t the right word – I wasn’t reflectively thinking about it. But, yes, something like that.

Where did you end up going to college?

I went to Glendon College, which was part of York University in Toronto. Glendon was a small, bilingual campus of around 2000 students. I lived on campus with around 400 other students. My intention was to become a high school teacher. I started by double-majoring in English and French.

Was college what you expected?

University changed my life. I finally felt like I had arrived. My social life exploded. I finally found myself in an “in crowd.” Or at least a partying crowd. I did a lot of experimentation with mind altering substances – from alcohol to acid. I finally felt included among my peers. It’s actually pretty amazing that I managed to continue succeeding in my studies. There were two rivers that never intersected. Most of my friends didn’t know who I was intellectually until the final years of Glendon. I don’t think I wanted them to know. It was almost like having a split personality.

Inspirational teachers? How did you end up majoring in philosophy?

My first year I took a year-long GE class in critical thinking. Not only did I learn how to name the different ways I was thinking, we were given the opportunity to apply our critical thinking skills to questions about God. This was cathartic. I finally had the opportunity to think through all of this stuff about religion. I earned an A+ by writing a paper on the problem of evil (which, for me, was also the problem of gender – I kept that secret).

I was trying to develop what I called a “nontological” argument that basically inverted Anselm’s classic. Unfortunately, I had to rely on an empirical claim (the existence of evil), so I couldn’t make any a priori moves. Instead, I resorted to the performative gesture of announcing one’s disbelief in God as sufficient to disprove the existence of God (or, at least, a certain conception thereof).

Did you talk to your parents about your religious doubts?

Yes. Well, “talking” isn’t the right word. I got a little obnoxious about it in undergrad. I’d go out of my way just to provoke them. I guess as a young person, it was my job to act that way. But, in retrospect, I regret it. Christianity outlines the meaning of my parents’ lives. Why attack the meaning of my parents’ lives? They had never been anything but good to me.

Who taught the critical thinking class?

The instructor, Ann MacKenzie, was also my academic advisor. She strongly encouraged me to major in philosophy “You have a nose for it,” she said. This was baffling to me. I had no sense of philosophy as a major. And I didn’t see how it would help me get a job. So I politely declined. “You’ll come back to it,” Ann announced. And she was right, of course. My final year, I ended up dropping my pursuit of a B.Ed. currently with my B.A. I dropped French and English as my majors, and ended up double-majoring in Philosophy and Linguistics. When I “walked the stage,” it was Ann who gave me my diploma. We hugged. It was quite emotional. That’s probably why I still get teary-eyed at commencement ceremonies.

Any other interesting courses? How did you get back into philosophy?

Ironically, it wasn’t really philosophy courses that convinced me to major in philosophy. I struggled a bit in French. I was just okay, not great. Meanwhile, I was taking these courses to fulfill my GE requirements. Most of them weren’t philosophy courses, but they were philosophical or at least highly theoretical in content.

One of the most influential courses I took was with Donald Carveth, a practicing psychoanalyst. It was ostensibly a sociology course. But the topic of the course was human nature. A lot of it was on Freud. We ended up even looking a bit at existential psychoanalysis as well as Lacan. He was a notoriously tough instructor, so it was quite something to earn an A+ in the course. But the content got me so excited. I explored it on my own. I felt like I was finally home.

I still remember the first graded essay I received back from him. It was doused in red. I mean, it was saturated with comments and corrections. I was devastated. I had worked so hard on this paper. I had actually lost myself in it. When I finally saw that the paper had actually earned an A from him (something he was apparently quite stingy about), I learned a valuable lesson. The harsh criticism I had received from him was a reward. I had earned his time and attention.

How did you get into feminism and stuff?

The second influential course was “Feminism in a Cultural Context” – taught by Fran Wilson. Feminism blew my mind. It immediately resonated with me at a very deep level. I wrote a fun essay arguing that Euripides was actually feminist. The class also ended up being awkward, unfortunately. I was the only “guy” in the class. For the first semester, that was fine, as all the other women were also newly being introduced to feminism. However, the course had recently been converted to a full-year course, so several women who had taken the first part a year earlier, returned for the last part in spring. They were hard core feminists, and they scared me to death. They told me that I couldn’t be a feminist because I was a guy. Only women could be feminists, they said. I could only be a “pro-feminist”…so I transitioned!

[rim shot]

While I tell it as a joke, there is a kind of truth to it. I wouldn’t actually go on to transition until midway through my grad program. Later on in the course, I had to give a presentation on Rousseau’s horribly misogynist views about education. I was so worried about getting attacked by the hard-core feminists that I decided to perform Rousseau. I said that I couldn’t make it because I was sick home in bed. So Rousseau came to do it himself. This was very clever on my part. It allowed everybody to take their shots at Rousseau, while I remained carefully hidden away. Fran loved this move. She kept reminiscing about it years afterwards.

Ha! Do you think that’s true, only women can be feminists?

On the contrary, I think the more feminists the better. But it’s gotta be the real deal.

So when exactly did you decide to major in philosophy?

The straw that finally broke the camel’s back was an outright philosophy course that I took one summer. It was taught by Claudio Duran – a truly amazing teacher. It was in social and political philosophy. So we looked at Marx and Engels. Even Hitler. Claudio was also really into psychoanalysis – so I got to further pursue that interest with him. He was particularly interested in the work of Ignacio Matte-Blanco a Chilean psychoanalyst who had developed this idea of “bi-logic.” The enormous book, The Unconscious as Infinite Sets, was delicious to me. I ended up doing an independent study with Claudio on Matte-Blanco’s work. I even travelled to the U.K. to present my work there at a little conference on ‘bi-logic.’ It was my first experience of being in a more professionalized setting. Anyway, I finally saw the light. I ended up majoring in Philosophy.

Did you just major in philosophy?

I also majored in Linguistics. I had the chance to pursue linguistics in both my French and English classes. I liked it a lot. So I got a bit of a background in Saussurian linguistics. I didn’t get much into Chomsky. Most of the English linguists were into something called “systemic-functionalism” (Michael Halliday, being one of the leading advocates). I studied with Michael Gregory, who was actually quite renowned.

Any major world events--political, technological, cultural changes or trends, etc.--that had a significant impact on your life and worldview during this time (before grad school)?

The fall of the Berlin wall. And then the demise of the Soviet Union. I still remember sitting in the common room with my roommate and another friend watching the wall fall on TV. It hit home to me, in part, because I had travelled to Berlin when I was an exchange student. I took a train through East Germany (a porter scared the hell out of me by telling me my ticket wasn’t valid – I thought I was going to be dropped in East Germany). I saw “Checkpoint Charlie.” Anyway, I had this sense that we were being flung into an incomprehensible newness. I didn’t know what it meant. But we talked about it a lot. I’m not sure it had an impact on my world view. However, Gorbachev did make a very deep impression on me.

How did you decide where to apply to grad school? Who helped you with the application process?

I worked with Ann and Claudio. And I was torn. I had very broad philosophical interests. I liked stuff like psychoanalysis. And I resonated to the interdisciplinary. For a while I considered going into York’s SPT (Social and Political Thought Program). Ultimately, I realized that in order to be employable, I needed a strong disciplinary background. Given my strong analytic tendencies, I applied to a bunch of prestigious analytic programs. I was accepted at Cornell (rejected by MIT, San Diego, and Pittsburgh). But then, UCLA reached out to me. I hadn’t even applied to them (I don’t know why).

Kit Fine reached out to me, I think, because I had earned a Mellon Fellowship that covered my first couple years of school. I think I was only one of a handful of students who won the award in Canada. It was a big deal. Anyway, I made my first “faux-pas” by retracting my acceptance at Cornell and accepting at UCLA. Truthfully, I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge. Ithaca was too small and too close. I needed to go far away to a really big city. And Los Angeles had spoken to me since the first time I ever visited it, back when I was twelve on the canonical trip to Disneyland. I jumped at the opportunity. I couldn’t help myself.

What was your writing sample on?

My initial writing sample was horrible. It was based loosely on a course that I had taken on early analytic philosophy. My instructor encouraged me not to send it. By this point, unfortunately, I had become captivated by my own “brilliance.” And the nutty paper I sent was inspired by several of my mind-altering experiences – particularly those that involved staring at a line on a piece of paper for several hours. When Kit Fine politely asked for a new one, I sent him a competent paper on some philosophical paradox. I can’t remember which one. The reason I got in had much more to do with the Mellon Fellowship and my letters than it did my writing sample.

Was grad school what you expected?

Grad school was not at all what I expected. But I guess I wasn’t sure what to expect. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by super smart, highly ambitious students. That was very intimidating. My friends back home in Canada begged me to regale them with stories about “very stupid Americans” (we Canadians do enjoy these tales). But I had to tell them that I was surrounded by Ph.D. students at UCLA in the philosophy program. ‘Stupid’ is not the first word that came to mind.

Favorite classes?

One of my first classes was with Kit Fine on mereology. Jesus. That @$% was %##&. It was so far removed from the philosophy I had grown up with. It was jolt to the system. I didn’t do very well in his seminar. However, he did teach me how spotty my philosophical background was. That’s what you get for cramming an entire major into your senior year! I also learned from him that I was “quirky.”

I tended to enjoy seminars that took everyday ways of speaking seriously. I disliked the overly mathematical approach to philosophical questions. Andrew Hsu made a very big impact on me. He’s such an extraordinary philosopher and also such a gentle man. His subtlety is exquisite: You gotta pay really close attention to him, or you’ll miss the magic he’s performing. I also really enjoyed the few classes I had with Keith Donnellan for largely similar reasons.

It’s funny, although I didn’t set out to do it at the time, a lot of the classes I enjoyed had kind of a Wittgensteinian bent to them. I feel like I got a lot of Wittgenstein and ordinary language philosophy by osmosis – certainly, my formal instruction in Wittgenstein is woefully incomplete.

This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy logic. In fact, I took my first “meta-logic” class with Andrew. I just didn’t like mixing it up too much with philosophy. A bunch of my cohort went off on this whole logic tangent. We ate up all of the logic classes in the department and then went on to do some really intense stuff through the mathematics department. At some point during this time I drank the “analytic Kool Aid” and forgot all about my broader philosophical interests.

What do you mean?

When I lost myself entirely to analytic philosophy, I lost part of myself. In being exposed to thinkers such as Gayle Rubin, Bo Laurent (as Cheryl Chase), Kate Bornstein, Susan Stryker, and so forth, my world opened up again. I returned to my sense that I wanted to be part of a bigger intellectual world.

Did you start thinking about what you were going to write your dissertation on?

My life changed when I started working with Rogers Albritton. I caught his attention with some work on Aristotle’s notion of “in a subject” and G.E.L. Owen’s controversial interpretation of it. I was really into that stuff for a while. And the seminar that had Kit and Rogers going at it over Aristotelian metaphysics was truly a thing to behold.

Now I had to write something called a “proposition” over the course of a couple of quarters. So I started working with Rogers on first-person self-reference (and the mysterious, elusive ‘I”). Wittgenstein’s cryptic remarks in the Blue Book, along with Anscombe’s enraging “The First Person” got me going. Rogers had given some really brilliant lectures on this topic. I became particularly familiar with them when I began working with him part time (typing up his notes).

This was one of the most challenging periods of my life. I discuss this in detail in the book I’m writing. I’m trying to blend some autobiographical content with the development and defense of my philosophical views. I really got obsessed with stuff I was feeling about “the I.” I tried to translate this into thinking. But I failed spectacularly. I maxed out on “quirky” – possibly re-defining it altogether. Rogers didn’t appear to mind. He just kept giving me these super-detailed comments and hand-written notes that I was unfortunately at the time not fully equipped to appreciate. I also spent long hours with him discussing the issues – sometimes into the wee hours. Nobody compared to Rogers in running the Socratic marathon.

Title of the book?

Intimacy, Illusion, and Personhood: An Essay in Trans Philosophy.

So, what was going on in your personal life? Earlier you mentioned transitioning…

‘Transition’ issues were coming to a head. When I started working with Rogers, I also started living off-campus “as a woman” while continuing to present on-campus “as a man.” My social life did not include grad students. Instead, I began hanging out with people I had met in trans community. I couldn’t let these worlds collide. Philosophy was my one source of confidence and respectability. I was convinced that transitioning would destroy my academic future. And that future was the only one I could imagine.

I actually can’t stress this enough – the only thing that held be back from transitioning was philosophy. I was far more terrified about coming out at school than I was to my born-again family. In fact, for a while, I couldn’t even properly envision what such a coming out process would be like.

I don’t think I was ever “absolutely sure” until after I transitioned. For me, it was more like an existential leap. And not of faith. It was just like just closing my eyes and falling off a cliff. Sometimes I don’t even recall making a “decision” until the deed was already done. Sometimes it seems that I watched from a distance, paralyzed with indecision, while the person I would become went ahead without me, impatient with my fear.

I officially came out to the chair, Barbara Herman, in an official meeting during which we discussed these issues officially. Officially, there were neither laws nor policy to protect me. But Barbara was overwhelmingly supportive. And so were most of the professors and my peers when I sent the official letter to everyone. I showed up at the beginning of my fifth year of the program a whole new woman.

That’s great. Any advice for chairs in a similar position?

Be human. Be humane. Be willing to learn. Put aside any preconceptions you have. Give the student space. Transition is a super confusing, exciting, scary time. They’re probably still figuring stuff out. Respect privacy. Get ready to deal with colleagues and their “personalities.”

Was that fear of coming out trans just because you were worried there was a possibility you would be compromising your relationship with your friends and teachers in philosophy, or was there something about philosophy that struck you as transphobic?

Well, it was more than fears about relationships with friends and teachers. But I don’t think this fear was about philosophy specifically. I think it was more about academia in general and what it represented to me. It represented respectability, achievement, honor, and so forth. And those things just seemed entirely incompatible with being a trans. I mean, I really couldn’t find a way to reconcile them in my mind.

Reaction to the transition?

I suspect that for some my transition came as a relief. I had struggled keeping “my woman” and “my man” separate. She kept insinuating herself into his life. The guy started to seem more than a little bit weird. And it didn’t help that my work with Rogers had turned into a kind of death-spiral. There was no way out. I couldn’t seem to let it go and Rogers couldn’t stop engaging with me and pointing out my numerous confusions. I’m sure that people were worried about me. I seemed to be losing it. Transition came as both a clarification and a resolution.

Transition as clarification…such a philosopher! So no uncomfortable moments?

I should mention that the only exception to the “overwhelmingly supportive” thing concerned one visiting prof for whom I had TA-d. He had developed an “interest” in me. He made a pass and I declined. I was very naïve. I had had no exposure to such things. I had no idea he was interested until he actually made the pass. Then about a week later, I transitioned. And all of the academic attention that had come my way from him magically disappeared. I suspect it was more the transition than the rejection that threw him off. I suspect it was just too much for him. At any rate, for me, this made this period of time even more disorienting.

So what was your academic life like once pulled out of the nose dive?

I worked with Andrew mostly and also with David Pears, who was visiting UCLA. At this point, it was simply about writing something decent, bringing that chapter to a close so that I could finally move on. For a period after that, I was a bit lost. Cut loose. I did an independent study with Sandra Harding who was in the department for about a year (afterwards, she moved to a different department). I felt like a stranger in the department now, and she seemed like one too. I gravitated to her “otherness” and for the prospects of something beyond what I was doing. Even though she did not stay in the department, I continued to be close with her.

What was Harding like?

Aside from brilliant? Strong. Kind. Great sense of humor. I was so lucky to have studied with her! As a philosopher, she has the knack of putting deep insights in a way that come off as frank and sensible. She has a philosophical attitude that inclines her towards the truth, or at least away from nonsense and falsehood. And I don’t mean this just in a standard “analytic” sense. I mean it in the sense that she’ll go off the prescribed path when she knows it’s the wrong way, even when it’s difficult.

Did you get a chance to talk about the philosophical dimensions of this stuff with anybody?

A lot was happening outside of mainstream philosophy. Queer Theory was really taking off, trans studies was being invented. It was a really exciting time “out there.” On the other side of UCLA, I got the chance to listen to Gayle Rubin. I had lunch with Bo Laurent (as Cheryl Chase. I got to hang out with Kate Bornstein. The effects of the analytic kool-aid began to wear off.

I became close friends with Jake Hale – we both transitioned at the same time, we were kinda like “transition buddies.” He was beginning to write on trans issues. In fact, he was really the first openly trans person to do so in philosophy. He dealt with a lot of stress because he had decided to transition and then proceeded to do trans studies (something highly radical at the time) before even coming up for tenure. Anyway, he became kind of like an informal teacher. I learned so much about feminist theory, queer theory, emerging trans theory as he talked through his work with me and as I struggled to keep up. Strangely, then, I continued to live a double-life. Before I transitioned, it was this “living as” both a woman and man. Afterwards, it was this split in intellectual pursuits – both my formal studies in the philosophy department, and my informal studies under the radar. But I had stalled out in my formal studies.

Could you describe Hale a bit?

I don’t know how to describe Jake. I think we’re too close for me to be able to do that. I love the guy. He’s really sweet and really smart!

Did Jake give you good advice?

Well what I really learned from Jake was how to do trans philosophy at all. Specifically, I learned the importance of trans subcultures and of philosophizing from there, from these resistant spaces, rather than from an armchair.

So, you finished your dissertation. But it wasn’t on trans philosophy. How did you get back on track?

John Carriero rescued me. In all honesty, I do not believe I would have finished the program were it not for him. I began to work with him in early modern philosophy. My interest in the self was now historically focused. I began with Descartes and Hume, and then ended up focusing mostly on Berkeley. I was very interested in the shifting conception of self-awareness through this period, the way in which changing views about ontology influenced that. In my dissertation, I argued that Berkeley’s frequently criticized conception of mind was more interesting than usually supposed. Not only was it actually coherent, appearances to the contrary, it played a crucial background role in understanding what Hume was up to in his most notorious remarks about finding only perceptions when he “turned inward.” Funny enough, my interest in the whole Aristotelian inherence stuff I had explored earlier found a place here. I argued that it was, in part, the rejection of this older model of metaphysics that led Berkeley to a rather different conception of self-awareness.

What was John like?

John, like Andrew, is one of those philosophers you don’t see coming. He’s very subtle. And also very gentle. And also very good at gentle, subtle, guidance. The most important thing I learned from John was how to approach philosophy historically. There’s this really challenging target to hit. On the one hand, it is so easy to rely on historical figures for philosophical purposes without really digging into their actual views, without getting into the historical muck with them. On the other hand, once one abandons oneself to the painstaking work of historical scholarship, one can easily find oneself slipping away from anything of philosophical interest. The trick is to thread the needle.

Because of my work with John, I now find it very difficult to approach any current philosophical topic without wanting to situate it within a historical context. How and why did the topic come to philosophical importance? How did these philosophical concepts become salient? What are the unchallenged philosophical assumptions that underlie the entire discussion? There’s a whole dimension of philosophical investigation that can all too easily be elided. The historical dimension adds more complexity, it makes philosophy more difficult still. But without taking it seriously, I think one is philosophizing with blinders on.

Right. So you mentioned earlier coming out to your born again family. How did that go?

It was bumpy at first. But then our relationship deepened. I’m really fortunate to have such a closeness with my parents. I adore them.

Any job market guidance after you wrapped up the dissertation?

I got some important professional guidance, some grooming, from John, as I started to go on the job market. At the time the department was not especially good at this. Almost all emphasis was placed on the slow, tough work of philosophizing. In fact, we were actively discouraged from trying to publish back then. It was a very different mind-set. Especially now, in light of the increased professionalization, the corporatization of academia, the pressure to churn out stuff, the integrity of this commitment to pure philosophy is remarkable. That said, we did need some preparation for the profession. And the preparation I got, I got from John.

What was the job market like?

The job market was, of course, a complete nightmare. Terrifying. The infamous “smoker” was just horrible for introverts like me. But let’s be clear that this can be so much more horrible for trans people – especially trans women. In addition to everything, I had to worry about how I was being read. Was I ‘passing’? Was I not ‘passing’? And if the latter, then what were the unspoken consequences? That said, there was never any specifically nightmarish event or incident. And I’m grateful for that. It was mostly just that additional dimension – that dread of an impending catastrophe. I can still remember interviewing for Furman University in Greenville, South Carolina, of all places. I can’t begin to articulate the anxiety I experienced in that interview.

Greenville’s a nice place, but I hear you! Where’d you land your first gig?

My first year on the market, I landed a one-year visiting position at the University of Victoria.

Good? Bad?

It was nice to get back to Canada. But Victoria is also a very small place, and I was cut off from my trans community in LA. What made things even more difficult is that I never expressly said to anybody that I was trans. But at some point it did become an open secret. This made things unnecessarily awkward. Needless to say, this was a very stressful time.

Anxiety is apparently quite a pronounced theme in my life!

While I had TA-d before, and even taught my own courses, I had a lot of feelings of inadequacy, incompetence, lack of preparedness. I spent the year devoting ALL of my off-time preparing for class. I mean, that’s pretty much all I did. I guess the biggest difference in my teaching then and my teaching now is that I know much more, am far more confident, am less controlling and stressed. I really like being able to follow the flow, to be able to meet students where they are on the fly, in the spontaneity of the moment. I’m not saying that I don’t have a plan when I walk into the classroom. But I’m not bound to it and I can be much more present to my students because of that.

How did you find people you could be yourself with at Victoria?

I never did. I remember going once to the one queer bar there. And it was so abject, so not a place I wanted to be. I just rode out the year to the best of my ability.

Next stop?

My second year on the market, I got a job offer from both Cal State LA and University of Toronto. And I made the fateful decision of choosing the former over the latter (to the bafflement of many). But I wanted to stay in LA. That’s where my community was. And I was already “out” at Cal State LA. I had met Ann Garry a couple of years before when she was teaching at UCLA. And I ended up even teaching a couple of courses at Cal State when I was finished up my degree. So I knew my being trans wasn’t a thing. Also, the department was deeply pluralistic, deeply feminist. It had really become what it was under the long and steady stewardship of Sharon and Ann. Plus everybody was just so friendly and nice. Anyway, for me this was ultimately about choosing happiness. And it was perhaps the first time I made a serious decision that even took happiness into consideration. So that was some good progress.

I’ll never forget the summer I returned to LA. I went to one of the first Trans Prides at the LGBT Center. It was a beautiful day. There was loud music – everyone was dancing. Damn, I thought. I’m home.

What was Ann like?

Ann was and is the most influent mentor I have ever had – with respect to teaching, feminist scholarship, departmental leadership, university service and professional service. I wouldn’t be the philosopher I am today without Ann. I still go to her for advice. She’s like my Yoda. She’s practical, focused, strong AF, with an unwavering commitment to doing what’s right. She’s a natural born leader. She knows so much. She can think eighteen steps ahead. She’s the kind of person who can do it all and make it look easy. Truthfully, I want to be like Ann if I ever grow up.

In general, I have to say that women like Sandra Harding and Ann Garry inspire me: The grey-haired powerhouses of the profession. I have a hard time naming role-models, whenever someone asks. They’re really the closest I can get. I mean, they did it in seventies when second wave feminism was just breaking. They had to be far more intelligent, better philosophers, than everybody else. By far. They had to be tough as nails. They had to absorb such crap, and still persist. They leave me in awe.

So, when I think and read about this stuff… I don't know what it means to desire to be a woman—if that is even the right way to put it I’m sure it isn’t—because I guess I don't know what a woman is? I know it's complicated, but could you explain what you mean by that for someone who might not get it?

Nope. I can’t. It’s hard to find the language to describe it to myself, let alone to someone else. I mean, there’s an issue even with the phenomenological description, never mind any further explanation or illumination of the phenomena. I suppose the best that I could say is this: “Feeling like a woman” is like having a piano removed from my chest. Seriously, I think that within this particular context, my attempting to answer your question would demonstrate some lack of political and philosophical integrity on my part. It can’t be done well and therefore shouldn’t be done at all. The good news is that one of the major aims of my book is to answer some of these questions.

Looking forward to it! Highlights of your time at Cal State LA?

Too many to count. So much has happened in these past twenty years.

If you could save three things you've published since you started at Cal State LA, what would they be?

That’s easy: “Evil Deceivers and Make-Believers,” “Trapped in the Wrong Theory,” and “When Selves Have Sex.” I think they’re the best essays I’ve written.

How have you become a better philosopher?

I’ve definitely become a better writer. There’s more of a terseness but also a fluidity to my writing. If you read some of my earlier stuff (including “Evil Deceivers”) you’ll find my writing somewhat tortured. I’m also more confident and bold. I have a better sense of “who I am” as a philosopher and what I want to accomplish. That means, I’m much better at receiving good criticism. I have less patience for philosophical nonsense. I don’t want to waste my time with tangents and cottage industries.

Such as?

“You know who you are.”

I also want to add that working on this book project has really changed me as a philosopher. I’ve never undertaken such an ambitious project. So much of the process has been about taking something I “felt in my bones” – something I couldn’t articulate in words - and bringing it to life on paper. I’ve had to develop new philosophical tactics to do this. Before, when I came across a wrinkle or a problem, my response was to just go at it – beat my head against the wall until I felt that some answer plopped out. Failing that, I would take a break, put a bandage on my head, and go back to wailing on the wall with my head. Now I talk to my work. I listen attentively to what it has to say. And sometimes I have to wait patiently for the guidance. I zoom in and out. I walk around problems, check them out. Take notes. Draw pictures. Look for smoke signals. Gloria Anzaldúa – through her own extraordinary work – has really helped me with this.

You worked with the LAPD?

Not really. But I was part of the working group that developed policy recommendations on how LAPD should interact with trans people. In addition to guidelines for general interactions, the recommendations included issues around strip searches and housing. I was then part of the group that worked with PD in trying to get them to actually change their policy. The whole process took many years. My philosophical views were relevant however, in that almost everything I had to contribute was based on my own community experienced, filtered through my philosophical views. I also found that in interacting with some of these officers, my own views were being more deeply confirmed. My views helped me understand what was going on.

What was going on?

Short answer: Transphobia and racism. Long answer: Read my book.

How has your worldview evolved overall?

Sadly, I’ve become far more jaded. I’ve had my eyes opened to ways in which people can get in close and then manipulate you. Gaslight. Lie. Everything’s fair game. I’m far more pessimistic than I used to be.

I hear you. How have students’ attitudes towards trans issues, or social issues in general, changed? How has society changed? What has stayed the same?

This is a tough question to answer briefly. Yes, certainly most of the students are “more accepting” than they were twenty years ago. There has definitely been movement. But in other respects, I feel like we’re just spinning around in a circle. In a sense, “trans” is always new – it’s “just coming out.” When Caitlin Jenner was the topic of conversation, I couldn’t help thinking of Christine Jorgensen. With the increasing visibility of nonbinary folk, I can’t help remembering how the emergent trans theory of the nineties was so much about attacking the binary. With all of the controversy with the “gender critical” feminists, I can’t help but think of lesbian separatism, Janice Raymond, and Robin Morgan.

Nothing ever ends. Hey you were chair at Cal State! Advice for chairs?

I served as chair for six years. It was one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done. But I’m glad I did it because I learned a lot about the university and about myself. The advice I would give new chairs is to be almost absurdly proactive. In the end, nobody really knows what’s going on, so the more you can figure out for yourself, the better. It’ll give you an edge.

What do you do in your free time?

“Free time”? Je ne comprends pas. Qu’est ce que ça veut dire? I became a mom in 2012. I adopted two girls, Lexi and Alyssa. They were five and six at the time. Now they’re twelve and thirteen. They’re a handful!

Do your kids change your philosophical views? Do your philosophical views influence your approach to raising kids? Do you talk about philosophy? Would you encourage them to go into philosophy?

Well, they stimulated some rather profound reflections on the nature of power and authority. Yes, my approach to raising kids is influenced by my political views and my political views are philosophical ones. I tried talking about philosophy, I even bought philosophy books for kids. Sadly, they just weren’t interested. Funny story, though. A year or so ago, my youngest had to write a little argumentative essay for English. She decided to write on the question whether God exists. At first, she was frustrated and astonished by the fact that she couldn’t get the answer by simply Googling it. (This freaked me out). Then I did a little Socratic method with her and lo and behold she came up with a version of the Cosmological Argument. That thrilled me to no end.

Nice. Thoughts on philosophical activity, and philosophers, on the internet? Good parts? Bad parts?

John Carriero once advised me that in criticizing some philosopher in writing, I should always consider the fact that I may have to face this person at a conference. Unfortunately, it seems that social media, already a toxic environment, is perfect for philosophers who want to get nasty.

I’m really sad about what’s happening to the profession through social media. I think that twitter is a horrible way to do philosophy. Even blogs have severe limitations. At least one can take a little time on the latter. But philosophy is really challenging. It’s requires lots of reflection, time, hard work. Careful thinking. Careful engagement with the work of others. And I do think that philosophizing on social media is no substitute for a well-written, peer-reviewed scholarly article. It certainly doesn’t come close to the back-and-forth one might have in a face-to-face philosophical discussion that drags on to the wee hours of the morning.

What did you make of the Hypatia Controversy and social media? Missteps?

I shared my thoughts on the Hypatia Controversy here. And I say a little bit in an article that is published in Hypatia called “What is Trans Philosophy?”

Do you feel bad for Tuvel?

I don’t think it’s my place to feel bad for her – or at least to have “feeling bad for Tuvel” be an important reaction attributed to me. I’m sure she has those who do. I feel bad for the young trans and nonbinary philosophers who simply don’t have the professional support they need and who must continually witness the escalating hostilities in the profession. It’s not right. I mean, none of these scholars have, against explicit advice to the contrary from their mentors, published work like that of Tuvel’s. On the contrary, they must deal with biases in the profession, deal with the fact that probably their voices will be drowned out, while transphobic voices in the profession are amplified. I think it’s my job to feel bad for these trans and non-binary philosophers and to express this “feeling bad” to others.

Thoughts about the Stock stuff you talked about on Daily Nous?

One of the things that frustrates me the most about philosophizing through social media is the way that particular topics, like trans issues, become trivialized. There’s little thought that these issues might be very difficult and that it might be important to take one’s time. And there seems to be no regard for the existing literature. I find that especially frustrating because I have been doing this work for a long time. And I have been trying to good philosophy – deep and careful philosophy. Whether or not I’ve succeeded is another matter. But I can’t be charged with not giving it my best shot. It really bothers me to see philosophers who have thought about this stuff for about a minute or two, begin to pontificate as if they knew it all, as if they didn’t have to do any work. It’s so arrogant. And it’s really not a philosophical virtue. It’s a philosophical failure, in my opinion. I guess I don’t see how saying something is crap was a good philosophical objection. Also, it’s not a very nice.

Any regrets?

One regret I have about the piece I wrote for Daily Nous was my comparison of Stock to my students - students taking a course on trans feminism. I suggested she wouldn’t have done very well in my course. Some of the response suggested that I was being mean – engaged in insult-hurling. I didn’t mean to hurl insults. And I didn’t mean to contribute more toxicity to an already toxic environment. So, I feel badly for doing something that did or that could be construed as having done something that makes the profession worse, rather than better.

Interesting projects on the horizon?

After I finally finish this book? Does sleeping count?

Ha! How do you see the future of philosophy?

By looking into a crystal ball? I don’t know. But I’m fearful. I think professional philosophers have become too isolated. And I think that many of the discussions have become needlessly abstract, baroque – the little cottage industries I mentioned earlier. If philosophy is going to have a future, it had better become engaged with the crazy stuff that’s going on in the world. It had better speak to people, become more accessible. In this respect, I’m a little bit optimistic. Engaged philosophy and public philosophy are becoming more recognized in the profession than they had been.

Music recommendations? Books? Movies?

I listen a lot to cool jazz – Miles, Stan, and John. They keep me calm and centered. I also like the blues. When I was younger, I listened to rock mostly. But then it occurred to me: Why bother, when I can just listen to B.B. King?

If you could as an omniscient being one question, what would it be?

Why is the 5 freeway jammed-up even at three in the morning on a Tuesday? Seriously. WTF?

Queen of the world, what's your first move?

Abolish the monarchy? Actually, I abdicate to a young powerhouse, preferably a differently-abled trans woman of color from the global south.

Last meal?

No longer hypothetical, eh? Enchiladas with mole.

Ha! How are you dealing with this pandemic?

I’m doing okay. I mean, the social distancing and the staying at home is no problem for me. It would be like a dream come true, were it not for the fact that people are suffering and dying from this. In terms of work, I thought at first, it would be easier to do the remote teaching. But it’s far more time-consuming. And it’s even tougher given the challenges of “home-schooling.” The lock down is really, really, hard for kids.

Let me level with you, though. The worst is the fear. I mean, if I let myself go, I would really become consumed by it. I’m worried about what things will look like once this subsides – if it subsides. I’m worried about the social fall out - higher education, of course. What frightens me the most however, even more than the current administration and its handling of the pandemic, are the people who support the current administration – those who are still congregating and waving Confederate flags. These people scare the fuck out of me. I’m terrified that they represent the future, rather than just the past.

So I’ve been turning to philosophy. I work on my stuff in the morning. I tinker with my manuscript, explore ideas, write, read. Folks say that now is not the time to succumb to a pressure for productivity. I agree with that. But for me doing philosophy isn’t about productivity. It’s about being able to enter “my zone” so that I can keep debilitating feelings at bay. It may sound corny, but philosophy is my rock. So that’s me. I’m trying to ground myself, find a sense of internal peace, shore myself up, as I get ready for the struggles to come.

Thanks Talia! Stay safe!

[interviewer: Cliff Sosis]