From Scholar to Skeptic
Why Doing a PhD Is the Biggest Regret of My Life
Doing a PhD is one of the biggest regrets of my life. There. I said it.
I know why I started it, and I know damn well why I left the academic world despite dedicating nine years of my life to it.
In most respects, my story is as cliché as cliché could be, but I’ll go ahead and share it anyway. As is usually the case with gigantic-sized regrets in one’s life, it’s a topic that I keep coming back to from time to time, so I thought to myself, “Why don’t I gather all these ideas floating around in my head and put them into a coherent narrative? Maybe it will help me deal with all that self-directed rage if I just let it out.” (Spoiler alert: it did not.) Plus, this is my own Substack, which means I can write whatever the fuck I want.
So here it is.
I wanted to do a PhD because it looked like the most obvious career path for someone with a background like mine.
As I’ve already told you before, I was a bookish kid who absolutely loved reading and doing research (although I obviously wouldn’t label it as such back then).
In high school, for instance, I delved into the history of ancient Egypt to the point that I taught myself how to read hieroglyphics, using a book I bought in London.
Later, in one of my visits to the British Museum with a friend of mine from high school (this must be in 2001 or 2002), I remember being the target of astounded glances from people around us when I, a skinny kid who looked even younger than his age, started reading some of the phrases that were carved on the side of a sarcophagus, pointing to the hieroglyphics as I went.
At the time, I even contacted an American Egyptologist, Kent Weeks, and told him that I wanted to become an Egyptologist in the future. He was kind enough to take me seriously and respond. He suggested that I should study archeology first and then move on to Egyptology, which sounded like a pretty good plan as I was planning to go to college in a couple of years. My parents, on the other hand, were not impressed. But I digress.
In addition to becoming an Egyptologist, I also wanted to become an author. Although at that time, what I had in mind was to become a novelist since I also loved reading novels, especially novels about (you guessed it) ancient Egypt. Deluded by these dreams, I chose “writing a book” as my assignment for a term project in an English literature class during high school. Not surprisingly, it led nowhere, although my desire to produce a book with my name on it remained. Which brings me to the other major reason why I decided to do a PhD.
As I’ve also written about before, doing a PhD was a way for me to feed that narcissistically grandiose image of myself. By this time, my passion for ancient Egypt was long gone. What replaced it was an interest in the history of the Ottoman Empire. I had this belief that if I worked hard enough, I could become the best Ottoman historian of my generation, whatever the fuck that meant. It meant that I would receive respect and admiration from everyone. Looking at it now, I can see clearly that these were obviously futile attempts to fill in that hole in my soul, but it would be years before I realized that.
Coming at it from this warped perspective, it naturally didn’t take long for disillusionment to set in. Doing a PhD was obviously hard work, but I didn’t mind that. In fact, I took an almost perverse pleasure from pushing myself to the limits and even trying to go beyond them. The problem was, no matter how much I worked, the glorious results that I expected to reap from the effort I put in failed to materialize. Nobody praised me; nobody implied that I was destined to be the next Inalcik (one of the best Ottoman historians ever). I could barely get my dissertation research funded, let alone receive any prestigious grants. It was very obvious that I wasn’t going to become the gifted historian I believed I was destined to be. Yes, I could outwork anyone if I put my mind to it, but that didn’t change the fact that I was just an average grad student, producing average work. My dream of being a pioneer in the field was just that. A fucking dream.
As I was trying to come to grips with the recognition of my mediocrity and not let the depression caused by it cripple me, while simultaneously working on my dissertation, the time to apply for faculty positions was fast approaching. By that time, I could see the writing on the wall: the chances of me getting a tenure-tracked position in the United States were as slim as winning the goddamn lottery. I had no future in academia. Not only I sucked as an academic, but my project was also no good either. Add to that the abysmal job market conditions, with fewer than ten jobs advertised each year and nearly 100 applications per position, and there was no way in hell I was getting hired as a tenure-track faculty.
Plus, even if a miracle happened and I was offered a position, the chances of it being in a place where I would actually want to live were very low. What it meant was that if I decided to stay in academia, I would have absolutely no say in where I would be living for the next five to ten years of my life. Depending on where a position opened up, I could end up in a big city, like New York or Chicago, which would be great, or I could suddenly find myself in Bumfuckville, Alabama (okay, I just made that up). If it were the latter, I’d better suck it up and deal with it, and I absolutely had no intention of doing that.
So I left. It wasn’t a clean break, but more of a gradual process. Even in my last year, when I was already mentally out of the door, I applied for a couple of jobs, although I half-assed most of the applications, knowing that even if I put my heart and soul into them, nothing would change.
The problem was, I had no idea what I would do next. Pretty much the only thing a PhD in Humanities really prepares you for is a career in academia, and if you decide not to follow that path, then good fucking luck because you are on your own. At least that’s what I felt like while I defended my PhD and graduated, facing a future full of uncertainties.
Nowadays, whenever somebody tells me they are thinking about doing a PhD in humanities or social sciences, I tell them that they should think twice (or more) before embarking on that road unless they (or their family) are independently wealthy. If that is not the case, then pursuing a PhD amounts to nothing less than “financial suicide,” as Terence Renaud aptly defined it in one of his tweets.
So if you are reading this and entertaining the idea of pursuing a PhD, do yourself a huge favor and go and do something else. Literally anything would do.
Remember: There are always better and less painful ways to ruin your life.
Until next time!
Doga, this is insightful! I am at such a crossroad in my life. For me too, a PhD seems like the only option given my background (bachelor's, master's in history). I also love the subject so its difficult to give up on that dream. I am however aware of the challenges. Academia is so competitive and kind of depressing. Also, politics! But for now, I don't see an alternative for me. But i am increasingly considering other options as well.
I concur with your advice. I write about my own career fantasy in my new book and how to beautifully explicates the dark side of individualism in the U.S. Universities and companies exist to monetize individual fantasies without displaying any communal responsibility for the consequences. PhD programs are perfect laboratories in the abdication of adult responsibility.