Instead of asking “Is university good?”, ask “Do I have something more compelling to do?”
This essay collects thoughts I’ve had over several years, and doesn’t attempt to address present changes in whether it makes sense to attend university due to COVID.
I’ve been somewhat successful as a researcher without an undergraduate degree or PhD. As a result, I often have people ask me about whether it’s possible to be successful without going to university, whether they personally should, or whether I can help them persuade their parents. At this point, I’ve probably received around a hundred emails on this topic. It’s still hard to know how to respond.
I’m reluctant to encourage people I don’t know well to take non-traditional paths, because I think they’re riskier and depend a lot on the person. In fact, I suspect that many of the people who write to me would be well served by going to university. At the same time, I think alternative paths can be a great choice for some people -- in some cases, significantly better than going to university.
Unfortunately, society isn’t very well set up to support and validate young people for whom this is the better choice. So, if you’re considering doing such a thing, you not only need to reason about whether it’s a good decision, but may also need to navigate tricky emotional and social challenges.
I suspect that some people who write to me are really looking for validation and support of their preference to not go to university. Unfortunately, I’m not well positioned to give that support, because I don’t know them well.
What I can give, and what this essay aims to do, is to share thoughts on ways to think about the decision, navigating the social and emotional challenges, and resources you may find helpful.
My first suggestion is to compare university to concrete alternatives. Instead of asking “Is university good?”, ask “Do I have something more compelling to do?”. Instead of “Should I do a PhD?”, ask “Where can I find the best environment to grow as a researcher?”. And so forth.
Spending a year doing something else is almost always reversible: if you end up wanting to go back to university, it was just a gap year. As a result, the most important question is whether it will be time well spent and that requires you to think about what specifically you’ll be doing.
If your plan is to learn or work on projects independently, it’s worth thinking especially carefully. This can be great – I did it for three years and grew a lot as a result – but it can also very easily fail. Some important questions to ask yourself are:
Some of these questions are tempting to just say yes to without engaging: “ Of course I can work self-directed without structure.” But these are actually difficult things, and switching to having no structure is jumping into the deep end. Many of the people I’ve seen successfully work independently in their late teens / early twenties had a history of independent study or projects before doing so. For example, many Thiel Fellows had either self studied to the point where they were they largely knew the undergraduate curriculum in some topic, or had significant applied expertise in programming.
Doing an internship, residency, or startup can be easier -- at least in some regards – than working independently. There’s more structure (especially in the first two) and a clearer path to supporting yourself. For these, I would mostly focus on how valuable you think the experience will be. Do you feel like you’ll learn? Does it feel like a good community? Does it feel important? If it feels urgent, is the urgency for good reasons?
It’s important to be aware that not having a degree can have several negative long-term consequences.
University degrees have a lot of signaling and credentialing value. They cheaply communicate to other individuals and organizations that you have some baseline skills, at least in theory. In some fields, you can succeed without a degree by demonstrating skill in other ways (publications, open source projects, portfolios, talks, awards, work history, referrals, etc). Other fields are less accepting. How can you tell which type of field you’re in? One useful test can be to look for examples of people who are successful without degrees in your field. Even if your field is very good about this, you may wish to move into another field at some later point and run into challenges where your previous successes aren’t legible to the new field, or the new field is more credential focused.
Unfortunately, traditional credentials may be more important for demographics than others. As a white male, I suspect that it’s easier for me to be taken seriously without a degree that it would be for others. If you are part of a group that society is less likely to perceive as skilled by default, it may be harder to do without the validation of a degree. This is obviously really unfair, but I don’t feel qualified to give advice on it or comment on how big an issue it is.
There’s also a weird flip side to all these downsides. Once you establish yourself as competent there is this kind of threshold effect where not having a university degree can suddenly start causing people to actually take you more seriously. This kind of countersignalling effect seems to be common when you do non-traditional things.
In addition to the direct career consequences, not having a degree can be a source of major immigration challenges. The version of this I’ve seen most often is people wanting to move to the US (usually the Bay Area) but being ineligible for most visas due to the lack of a degree. If you think you may have this problem, try to do a short consultation with an immigration lawyer early: there may be things you can do to start building a case. (For those immigrating to the US, the solution to this is usually to get an “alien of extraordinary ability” O-1 visa, which doesn’t require a degree but does require a lot of evidence of your accomplishments.)
Unfortunately, even if you feel confident that you would be best served by taking a non-traditional path, many young people face significant social and emotional barriers to doing so, particularly from adults. While some people are lucky enough to have a family that will support them doing something unusual, many are not. This can manifest in ways ranging from gentle skepticism, to lack of support, all the way up to coercive measures. It can also involve hurtful accusations or gossiping (eg. someone isn’t going to university because they’re lazy or failed).
Skepticism or lack of support from family often comes from a good place. People around you are, naturally, worried about what will happen to you if you do something unusual. They may also face other pressures. For example, they may worry that their peers will think they are being irresponsible by “allowing” their child to do this. They may even worry how it will influence legal proceedings like a divorce, if such a thing is relevant. It can feel especially hurtful when these other pressures are clearly major factors. It’s a difficult and emotionally stressful situation on both sides.
The situation is often complicated by deeply asymmetric power dynamics. Depending on the situation, your parents may have direct legal power, you may depend on them for financial support, you may depend on them for housing, and even if you are self-sufficient they may have legal control of your assets. They also have, independent of their hard power, a great deal of emotional power from the role and authority they’ve exercised throughout your life. This can make the situation scary, volatile, and in some cases potentially dangerous for you.
The most common resolution I’ve seen or heard of is external validation: someone gets a Thiel Fellowship, or their startup gets funded, etc, and people around them become much more supportive. This can be a somewhat disappointing resolution for the “validated” party (“why couldn’t they believe in me before I was endorsed?”). It may help to try and picture things from the perspective of someone who is scared for you and doesn’t understand the situation very well.
In many cases, communicating with your family may be helpful. There’s a lot of general advice on how to have difficult conversations (non-violent communication, difficult conversations, etc.) that might be useful in having an effective conversation. There’s also more specific advice on how to have particular kinds of difficult conversations with your parents (eg. telling them that you’re gay, or an atheist, or other things they may not respond to well) that may have some transferable advice. Unfortunately, there are also cases where communicating might make things worse, because of the asymmetric power adults may have over you.
While it won’t solve the fundamental issues, it can be extremely emotionally helpful to have an aligned support network. Having people who were proud of me for good reasons and could recognize my successes and failures was deeply affirming and motivating for me. This is something you can deliberately build by seeking out people who share your interests and values.
(In truly extreme cases, such as abusive families, there may be ways to get support from a family court, get yourself emancipated or have your custody transferred. There may be softer courses of action, like living with family or friends for a bit without legal action. These are extreme courses of action that may sometimes be the best of many terrible options in rare cases. I’ve also heard stories where they made things worse. I don’t feel qualified to give advice on this; if you are considering it, please seek specialized advice and be careful. You may be able to go to a legal clinic or get a pro-bono consultation with a family lawyer. You may wish to confirm confidentiality rules before speaking, in case they are different for someone underage. There may be specialized non-profits in your area that can give you advice, hotlines, or useful resources online. I am not the right person to ask for advice on this.)
For many people, university is a period of social development. They learn social skills, make long-term friends, and form romantic relationships. For some people, especially readers of this essay, it seems possible this is the biggest benefit of university.
It seems like many precocious young adults who leave university have less friends their own age. Does that mean that not going to university stunts social development? It seems hard to tell to what extent going to university actually causally effects social outcomes rather than just being correlated with them. After all, it seems like many of us also didn’t connect that much with our peers in grade school. For example, I was intensely bullied in elementary school, and while I had friends in high school, I wasn’t that close to anyone. In fact, until recently, the vast majority of my friends have been 5-10 years older than me. Conversely, I have friends I’d put in the “precocious teenager” category who went to university but didn’t seem to really make friends their own age, especially during their freshman year.
My guess is that correlated issues – like not fitting in with one’s age group and maybe being a bit shy – are the bigger effect, but that there’s also a direct causal effect from not going to university. Either way, I suspect some readers may find it hard to make friends among peers, regardless of their decision on university. So it seems good to talk about a little bit.
Firstly, I think it’s okay to have your friends be older than you. Teenage- Chris had lots of deeply meaningful connections with older friends and I think that was fine. They were often more emotionally mature, thoughtful, and principled than my teenage peers, and sometimes felt like older siblings. Over time, the age gap became less significant and by my mid 20s it was gone.
I do think there’s a lot to be said for investing in being social if it doesn’t come naturally for you. University might make being social easier, but I think committing yourself to investing it it is much more important. For me, I’ve always disliked bars and parties, but I deeply cherish having close friends, which requires me to meet people. What should I do? Partly I’ve found it important to push to go to parties even if I find them stressful. But I’ve found it more helpful to just really deliberately seek out social contexts that I do like, and to create new ones if I can’t find them. For example, last year I held lots of small tea parties, and it was lovely!
Another concern is the effect of not going to university on romantic relationships. Many people have their first serious relationship in university, and I’ve seen friends, both male and female, worry about having missed this. For me, there was a point when it seemed like most of my peers had found a partner in undergrad, and younger-Chris was dramatically worried that he’d lost his chance and would be alone forever. In retrospect, I was more worried than I needed to be. Most of those relationships didn’t last and, at least in my social circles, most people find their long-term partner outside university. I’m now inclined towards a middle view: going to university is helpful for finding your life partner, and missing out on that is perhaps the biggest cost of not going, but it’s also only one factor. It’s cliche, but the thing that really does matter is putting yourself out there, meeting people you might connect with, and waiting for the micromarriages to add up.
There’s one final subtle issue I want to mention, which intersects with all of the above: not going to university can create a professional gap between you and your age group. I became a full time researcher at Google Brain when I was
Many of these opportunities don’t have a formal application process. You need to reach out to people. This is a skill, but the basic recipe is to invest in figuring out who it makes sense to reach out to, understanding them, and writing a thoughtful email.
My life would be in a very different position, were it not for that fact that many people intervened positively and greatly helped me. Michael Nielsen, Yoshua Bengio, Jeff Dean, and Greg Corrado all took significant actions to support my career: Michael mentored me when I was just beginning to do deep learning research and walked me through writing my first paper. Yoshua invited and paid for me to visit MILA in 2013, and managed to get me admitted as a graduate student without an undergrad degree (then I turned him down, which he was very kind about). Jeff took me on as an intern. Greg continued managing me as an intern, and helped me convert to a full-time researcher at Google. This chain of events was possible because the Thiel Fellowship initially gave me two years to work on whatever I wanted.
Equally critical were the many people who supported me outside the context of deep learning research. The hacklab.to community was an incredibly positive part of my life as a teenager, especially Leigh Honeywell, Rob Gilson, Nicholas Dodds, Kate Murphy, Jade Bilkey, Eric Boyd, Madison Kelly, Alex Leitch, Paul Wouters, Sen Nordstrom and Alaina Hardie. I’m also grateful to many professors at the University of Toronto for allowing me to audit courses as a high school student, and then giving me permission to take advanced courses in my one year there. Related to this, I’m lucky that Brad Bass gave me a summer job doing programming at his lab in grade 10 and 11 – I think I wasn’t very useful, but spending months programming full time was great. Too many other people supported me for me to really have any hope of mentioning everyone, but to list some of them: Jen Dodd, Peter Salus, Yomna Nasser, Shai Maharaj, Danielle Strachman, Dario Amodei, Tamsyn Waterhouse, Daniela Amodei, Alex Dingle, Tim Telleen-Lawton, Taren Stinebrickner-Kauffman, and Laura Ball.
Thanks as well to all those who commented on drafts of this essay including Zan Armstrong, Anja Boskovic, Erin McCloskey, Tom Reid, Deborah Raji, Ria Cheruvu, Emil Wallner, Ali Zaidi, and Danielle Strachman.