In Which I Make Liberal Use of Blockquotes

Mark C. Taylor recently(ish) wrote an Op-Ed in the NY Times titled "End the University as We Know It," claiming that American graduate education creates "a product for which there is no market and develops skills for which there is diminishing demand, all at a rapidly rising cost." Awesome! But never fear--Taylor has six suggestions for thoroughly restructuring the university, to benefit not only grad students but all of society.

Before getting there, he explains that the model of academic research is all about division of labor, leading to endless specialization: "research and publication become more and more about less and less." Graduate students are trained in this ever-narrowing scholarship, forming the core of the university's teaching and research force. But all good things must come to an end, and, on an unrelated note, all students eventually graduate. (Or quit. A not unpopular option!) Newly minted PhDs are then treated to the pleasure of finding that the only jobs they're qualified for are already taken by their (better-qualified) advisors.

So, what the heck, grad school? Why is this situation not remedied? Basically, says Taylor, because the entrenched academics like it that way:

[An] obstacle to change is that colleges and universities are self-regulating or, in academic parlance, governed by peer review. While trustees and administrations theoretically have some oversight responsibility, in practice, departments operate independently. To complicate matters further, once a faculty member has been granted tenure he is functionally autonomous. Many academics who cry out for the regulation of financial markets vehemently oppose it in their own departments.

Hmm! That sounded kind of familiar. Here's another academic writing about academia, Stephen Quake in "Letting Scientists Off the Leash". He's grinding a different axe, but the sentiment is surprisingly similar:

It strikes me as one of the ironies of modern life that professorial faculty members, who by and large lean to the left politically, accept such a brutal free-market approach to their livelihood. If they can't raise grants to support their research every year, they won't get paid. So not only do they have to worry about publish or perish, it's also funding or famine, in the very real sense that without a grant there might not be food on the family dinner table!

I couldn't have responded with more appropriate snark than Aurelie Thiele offered in a review: "Quake's post doesn't enhance the image of academics, unless whiny is the new cool."

Of course, Quake and Taylor are opining on the granting system and the modern university, respectively, which are distinct (though related) topics. They're also coming from different fields. Taylor is the chair of the religion department at Columbia, while Quake is a professor of bioengineering at Stanford.

In my very limited experience, humanities grad students tend to be woefully underpaid in comparison to the sciences (not that grad school in any field is a particularly lucrative profession) and to have virtually no non-academic career options. While science grads are often ill-informed about non-academic career options, they're definitely out there: plenty of science PhDs holds jobs in government, non-profit, and for-profit sectors. (Quake himself is, in addition to a professor, an investigator at the Howard Hughes Medical Institute.) All this is to say: it might make sense for a humanities academic to be more concerned about the plight of graduate students.

Meanwhile, science is a lot more expensive than humanities, and the need and competition for grants is correspondingly fiercer. So this might explain Quake's (over-dramatic) attention to the granting situation.

Getting back to Taylor's piece, let's take a look at his six-fold path towards an enlightened university model:

1. Restructure the curriculum, beginning with graduate programs and proceeding as quickly as possible to undergraduate programs. The division-of-labor model of separate departments is obsolete and must be replaced with a curriculum structured like a web or complex adaptive network. Responsible teaching and scholarship must become cross-disciplinary and cross-cultural.

As a recent grad from my program put it, "Interdisciplinary studies are great, but c'mon, welcome to 10 years ago." At least in the sciences I know, we're fairly well inundated with interdisciplinary classes, organizations, workshops, degrees, etc. But not every class can be interdisciplinary, either. If you want to learn calculus, there's no way around taking a plain old calculus class.

2. Abolish permanent departments, even for undergraduate education, and create problem-focused programs. These constantly evolving programs would have sunset clauses, and every seven years each one should be evaluated and either abolished, continued or significantly changed. It is possible to imagine a broad range of topics around which such zones of inquiry could be organized: Mind, Body, Law, Information, Networks, Language, Space, Time, Media, Money, Life and Water.

Okay, this is . . . a little spacey. I'm all for considering unusual, unexpected solutions to problems, but I'm considering this one, and . . . no. Again with the calculus: maybe you could offer calculus in the Space zone of inquiry, as a precursor to learning Physics, and then Astrophysics. And then when you abolish the Space zone, you can start offering calculus in the Water zone . . . but really, why not just keep a nice Math department where you can offer calculus year after year?

3. Increase collaboration among institutions. All institutions do not need to do all things and technology makes it possible for schools to form partnerships to share students and faculty. Institutions will be able to expand while contracting. Let one college have a strong department in French, for example, and the other a strong department in German; through teleconferencing and the Internet both subjects can be taught at both places with half the staff. With these tools, I have already team-taught semester-long seminars in real time at the Universities of Helsinki and Melbourne.

This is a pretty cool idea. We've got a new local thingy that's trying to get all courses offered at all local institutions cross-listed and opened to all local students, regardless of student affiliation. When the institutions are in close physical proximity, this is great, but I'm not sure remote classes are quite there yet, as far as providing the same level of intellectual engagement. (Incidentally, the idea of specializing educational institutions reminds me of the idea of specializing news organizations.)

4. Transform the traditional dissertation. In the arts and humanities, where looming cutbacks will be most devastating, there is no longer a market for books modeled on the medieval dissertation, with more footnotes than text. . . For many years, I have taught undergraduate courses in which students do not write traditional papers but develop analytic treatments in formats from hypertext and Web sites to films and video games. Graduate students should likewise be encouraged to produce "theses" in alternative formats.

As a student who has been producing school assignments in "alternative formats" since grade school*, I'm theoretically delighted by this suggestion. But I really don't think this will cut it in the sciences.

5. Expand the range of professional options for graduate students. Most graduate students will never hold the kind of job for which they are being trained. It is, therefore, necessary to help them prepare for work in fields other than higher education. The exposure to new approaches and different cultures and the consideration of real-life issues will prepare students for jobs at businesses and nonprofit organizations. Moreover, the knowledge and skills they will cultivate in the new universities will enable them to adapt to a constantly changing world.

All I can say is: Yes, oh yes!

6. Impose mandatory retirement and abolish tenure. Initially intended to protect academic freedom, tenure has resulted in institutions with little turnover and professors impervious to change. After all, once tenure has been granted, there is no leverage to encourage a professor to continue to develop professionally or to require him or her to assume responsibilities like administration and student advising. Tenure should be replaced with seven-year contracts, which, like the programs in which faculty teach, can be terminated or renewed. This policy would enable colleges and universities to reward researchers, scholars and teachers who continue to evolve and remain productive while also making room for young people with new ideas and skills.

Ah, the tenure debate! I'm not sure where I stand on this anymore. My initial reaction to the tenure system is impatience and disappointment--but I've heard some decent arguments for its continued relevance and importance. I keep thinking: why can't academic jobs be like other normal jobs? The impression I have of normal jobs (which is just an impression, since I have, um, never had one) is that most people live neither in constant fear of losing their job nor in smug satisfaction that it can never be taken away from them. I guess part of the big difference is that an academic department is a network of peers, not a hierarchy of bosses and subordinates. And when your peers are the ones evaluating you and deciding your job security, everything is just a bit trickier.

I'll have to think more about tenure, and give it a post of its own later . . . any thoughts to contribute?


* When we studied Greece in elementary school, I wrote a series of letters from various Greek soldiers, reporting home to their friends and families about the Trojan war. But these were not ordinary letters. Oh, no. I wrote them on tiny pieces of paper, packaged them in tiny envelopes with tiny addresses and stamps, put all of them into a tiny mailbag that I cut and sewed out of scrap fabric, and then put this tiny mailbag on the arm of an OCTOPUS POSTMAN that I cut out of CARDBOARD. Yes. I managed to work an octopus into an assignment about Ancient Greece. Hi, I'm a dork! And apparently have been since I was ten!

Dear Academia,

We both know this isn't really working out. But even so, I've been looking at you lately and thinking of all the things I love about you. There are so many little things I often take for granted, like being able to walk over to the tuna research center on any given morning and borrow a few thawed squid. Free access to almost any journal online, and a librarian who'll find anything I can't. The opportunity to mess about in boats. Somewhere to store my dive gear. I'm grateful for these small conveniences you've given me. And for the big gifts, too, like the trip to Ecuador and the new computer. Academia, even if I leave you, I want to remember the good times.

I just have my doubts whether it can ever work out between us. You've got so much baggage, and yes, you've acknowledged some of it, and you're in therapy, and I'm proud of you. But I still have to look out for myself. I don't want to get sucked into your issues and messed up for the rest of my life.

Academia, maybe we can take a break? I need a little time to see other careers before I commit. I think I got involved with you too young: I just rushed into this without taking any time to explore all the options. I can hear you now, asking if I've met someone else. Well, yes and no. I haven't been cheating on you, academia, I haven't gotten paid to do anything else. But you know I've been friends with writing for years, since before I met you. Even when you've been at your neediest, sapping all my energy and attention, I still made time for writing. And when you and I had our big fights, writing was there for me. I'd always thought of writing as a hobby, but lately I've been wondering if I could make it a career. You can't blame me for wondering! I need to give it a try, at least.

Even if I leave you for writing, academia, I want to stay friends. After all, I'd be a science writer! We could still see quite a lot of each other. And maybe it would be a better relationship, with less pressure. We could just relax and have fun whenever we get together.

You've probably seen this coming for a while. I haven't always been kind in the things I've said about you. But I wasn't sure how to break it to you. Now I'm writing this letter to let you know how I'm feeling, but that I'm not going to end it just yet. You still have a shot at keeping me, if you want. I'm applying for a fellowship that will fund my last two years of grad school, and comes packaged with a recruiting program for the professoriate. Workshops, training, mentoring, that sort of thing. So here's my offer: If I get the funding, I'll go into it with an open mind. I'll let them try to recruit me. Make yourself tempting, academia, and I'll seriously consider a commitment. Deal?

Oh, and don't be mad at writing. Sometimes it's all I've got to keep me sane.

Love,
Danna

It is rife with witty, obscure conversations like this one, which will make me grin (groan?) for the rest of my life:

SP: We'd better get started. The sponges won't wait, will they, Jim?
JW: No, they get testy.
DS: That's sea urchins who get testy.
SP: Actually, flatworms are the most primitive things that get testes.

I am giggling right now with the memory of it. So awesome. See, urchin skeletons are called tests. And if you're willing to organize animals in a biased way (for the sake of argument) from primitive to advanced and go marching up the ladder, past sponges and jellies, flatworms are the first animal you'll come to that develops true gonads (testes and ovaries).

The subject is graduate school, not marriage.

I've been auditing a Philosophy of Science course, and it is awesome. Our assigned reading, apart from numerous handouts and articles, consists of two books. Pay close attention to the titles!

Theory and Reality by Peter Godfrey-Smith
Academic Duty by Donald Kennedy

The first is about science, the second about academia. Scientists and academics are, of course, not the same thing, although there is significant overlap in the Venn diagram. To be explicit: scientists may work for government agencies or for NGOs, for private industry or for an academic institution. That final employer, however, they share with a variety of non-scientist academics: notably, those who work in the humanities, but there are also academic doctors, lawyers, and engineers. (At a later point, I do wish to delve into the curious break between engineers and scientists, but not now.)

Now look at those titles! The first one seems like it ought to be the only book you'll ever need to read, right? I mean, what else is there? It is a great book (if not truly all-encompassing) about how we know what we know (or what we think we know) about the world. Put another way, it's about scientific inquiry and the nature of human understanding. Being a philosophy book, the language gets weighty at times, but Godfrey-Smith does an admirable job with it, and reading this book can be downright fun. (After all, who doesn't love the concept of grue?)

Scientists are people who work in an unusual kind of local community. This community is characterized by high prestige, lengthy training and initiation, notoriously bad fashion choices, and expensive toys.

--Peter Godfrey-Smith, Theory and Reality

As for the second title, it probably isn't a phrase you've heard too often. And that's too bad, Kennedy argues in the opening pages. He presents academic duty as the counterpoint to the oft-touted academic freedom--academic duty covers the responsibilities and ethical conduct of academics towards each other, their students, their institutions, and to society at large. Our philosophy professor calls it an "owner's manual" for an academic career, but I believe it can serve (as it is intended to) a broader audience as well. Families and friends of academics will find it a true aid to understanding their dear absent-minded professors. And for anyone who cares about the destination of their tax dollars, it is an educational, lively, at times troubling, but in the end inspiring explanation of the institutions that are funded in very large part by those dollars--and thus, ought to be a source of pride for us all.

Of course, all this praise doesn't mean I necessarily agree with everything these authors say--in fact, I have a few significant quibbles with each of them, and I haven't (to be perfectly honest) finished either book. But they are excellent food for thought and discussion.

Here is the passage from Academic Duty which prompted me to write this entire entry, essentially as an excuse to share the most accurate and succinct description of graduate study I've ever seen:

Before briefly considering the recent history of doctoral work in American universities, it is worth emphasizing what a deep and often frustrating commitment it is. The graduate student's experience depends heavily on the good will and conscientiousness of a single mentor. It requires total immersion in a demanding scholarly discipline, yet often involves the distraction of fulfilling a research assistantship, in which the student works not necessarily on his or her own project but on the professor's, or a teaching assistantship, in which the student is responsible for undergraduate instruction with varying degrees of help and guidance. It takes a long time to complete graduate work (even in the Golden Age of the late 1960s, when support for graduate study was at its zenith, the average was more than five years), and the chances of failure are dauntingly high. Nationally, only about a quarter of the students who embark on the Ph.D. actually finish one. The experience is often lonely and may be profoundly alienating. Yet at its best, with an inspiring and compassionate mentor, it can be positive and even transforming.

--Donald Kennedy, Academic Duty

There is a long-standing tradition of separating the biology department at institutions of higher learning in twain. Insiders generally refer to the two halves as mole/cell and eco/evo. The former has nothing to do with moles, star-nosed or naked; the abbreviations stand for Molecular/Cellular and Ecology/Evolution, respectively.

Of course, the distinction is not precisely the same at all universities. The departments at my undergraduate institution were Molecular, Cellular, and Developmental Biology and Ecology, Evolution, and Marine Biology. The six biological disciplines thus represented could be lined up for a child's game of "which does not belong?" and many biologists would probably pick Marine Biology as the odd one out. None of the other five disciplines specify a study system--there is no Alpine Biology, or Interstitial* Biology.

My current institution appears to be equally poor at basic kindergarden skills, for their Biosciences department is separated into Cell, Molecular, Developmental, and Plant Biology and Ecology and Evolutionary Biology. Plants are an excellent and admirable system in which to address all kinds of biological questions, from the cellular to the evolutionary, but I fail to see how they merit explicit mention in the titles here given.

But I digress. I wish to address the existence of this dichotomy at all, and discuss its merits and abuses. First, some web-surfing has provided additional substance to my argument for its existence:

Harvard - Molecular and Cellular Biology + Organismic and Evolutionary Biology
Yale - Molecular, Cellular and Developmental Biology + Ecology and Evolutionary Biology
UC Berkeley - Molecular and Cell Biology + Integrative Biology

(Said web-surfing has also, I confess, provided several somewhat more complex divisions, which are equally interesting to me and which I hope to explore further at a later time.)

This division is played out on the academic stage with more or less animosity, depending on the players, but there can be no doubt that there are two strongly separated camps of biology. They tend to have different mailing lists, different seminars, different funding, and often very different outlooks on science and life. The stereotypes: Mole/cell biologists are narrow-minded, technique-obsessed fly-counters and yeast-spreaders**, driven by medical funding, with no interest in the big picture and no grasp of how life works in the real world. Meanwhile, eco/evo biologists are tree-hugging, touchy-feely, pot-smoking hippies who failed chemistry and use science as an excuse to hike in the rainforest and dive the tropics.

The truth? Well, there's a reason we know much more about the ecology of tropical than polar regions. Biologists are not stupid.

Seriously, though, there are unquestionable differences in technique and perspective due to differences in training. If you want to study cells but haven't been exposed to the enormous variety of techniques available, it's a lot of work to play catch-up and learn what the cellular biologists mean when they suggest you try polyclonal antibody staining or FISH. Conversely, if you haven't taken a full Evolution course and done reading on evolutionary theory, it's difficult to make accurate statements about evolution even in the simplest context.

These differences cannot be avoided, nor need they be. The lamentable aspect of the schism lies in the not infrequent refusal of parties on either side to show any appreciation for the work done by their colleagues in the Other Half of Biology. That you may not understand it, is to be expected. That it may not even interest you, can be forgiven. But that you may despise and ridicule it, for shame! Have we no common decency nor respect?

Saddest of all, I feel, is that by closing their eyes to developments in fields other than their own, a number of excellent scientists lose the potential for excellent collaborations, for new insights into their own work based on a completely different perspective. Sometimes questions can be answered with techniques you never knew existed. This is why I'm so excited when I see people working on the ecology and evolution of Drosophila, or examining on a cellular level just which proteins allow mussels to live where they do.

And thus, returning to my home institution, I must applaud their relatively recent introduction of a third track within the Biosciences Department: Integrative/Organismal/Marine Biology. (Although I must also point out once again that One Of These Is Not Like The Others). Integrating biological studies from the very small (molecules and cells) to the very large (populations and ecosystems) lands us necessarily in the middle ground of whole organisms--the whole reason that most people, including myself, get interested in biology in the first place. We like critters! This "medium scale" has the added advantage of being on a human scale, making biology much more accesible to the layperson even as it serves as the bridge between the two academic disciplines into which biology has been split.

At least, that's the idea. It turns out that this track is having an identity crisis, and isn't really sure what it means to be Integrative/Organismal. Consequently the few students it contains seem to go back to allying themselves with Mole/Cell or Eco/Evo, thereby propagating the split.

To be continued.

Which group of scientists presents more quantitative data? Which do you think uses more statistics to back it up? Tune in next time to find out the (maybe) surprising answers!


* Interstitial refers to the space between sediment grains. The organisms living in this space are referred to as the meiofauna. Included in the meiofauna are the ever-adorable water bears.

** Drosophila (fruit flies) and Saccharomyces (baker's yeast) are popular model organisms for molecular and cellular studies.