摘要：Like so many who have survived American post-graduate education in philosophy, I entered the academy having neither formal training in teaching nor writing. (Oh, as I see it, taking a few college courses on composition and literature does not count as a means to avoiding dull prose.) I became a teacher by imitating my professors and through trial and error; I developed as a scholar, and only secondarily as a writer, through countless comments given to me during seminars and office visits, as well as in the margins of my papers. Yes, marginalia, the holy grail of insight! Helping me to become a stylish writer never was part of my education, however. What I was told as an “apprentice” was no doubt repeated time and time again: publish or perish; that is the bottom-line to achieving tenure (which I was told I must attain to be regarded as “successful”). Published I am, but stylish I am not. I know I have come a long way in both my teaching and scholarship, but I fear my academic writing is as unstylish as that of most academics, including philosophers. Like many, I struggle to forge shapely and elegant sentences, hoping not to overwhelm the reader with prose that is too impersonal and jargon-laden, and bristling with syntax that makes my writing ever so impenetrable.
