American Philosophical Association

American Philosophical Association

I first attended the APA in 1977 and have attended it many times since, in various capacities. I found it quite enjoyable. I would go to papers, look at new books, hang out with old friends. I thought it was a good thing. But I haven’t been in twenty years, and it has been really impossible for the last twelve years. You know why; it begins with the letter C. No doubt there have been earnest meetings devoted to the subject, peopled by strident zealots and weak-kneed enablers—I would not expect to receive any invitations from this institution these days. Do you think I was ever contacted to offer my point of view? Of course not. Par for the course, you might say. But that isn’t really the problem: what would it be like for me to attend an APA meeting? Socially, personally—what would it be like? Some would feel it their duty to shun me; others would be sheepish. What would people say? What would I say? There’s the rub: I would float in a haze of hatred. I would look at people with ill-disguised contempt, utter disdain. If anyone spoke to me, I would be cool at best, furious at worst. It would be awkward beyond belief. What if I spoke up at a paper? How would that be received? What if I ran into old friends I haven’t heard from in years? How would the conversation go? It is unimaginable. I see myself walking into a crowded room and the chatter quieting to a hush, with some people walking out. Or would people just pretend I wasn’t there? Do you think I would try to make myself agreeable? I would not. It’s fortunate that I live in Miami where the APA never travels, or else this thought experiment might become actualized.