What is the "end" of biological research?
One of the questions that brought an end to my time as a professor
I was recently pointed to a fascinating article about “the ends” of academic disciplines. The authors, Rachael Scarborough King and Seth Rudy, use the word “end” in two ways—to convey the ends of our work (the goals or purpose) AND the end of our work (completion). They have recently edited an anthology on the topic, titled “The Ends of Knowledge: Outcomes and Endpoints across the Arts and Sciences.” There are so many interesting ideas in this article! I had never really thought about the ends of a discipline as a thing apart, something that could be discussed and decided on rather than a characteristic intrinsic to each discipline.
I was especially struck by this statement:
“We continue, fairly or unfairly, to associate the natural and applied sciences with specific and comprehensible ends, while the search for humanistic knowledge seems endless.”
It seemed counterintuitive to me at first. My first instinct was to think “the search for scientific knowledge IS endless, and I don’t necessarily believe it has specific and comprehensible ends.” Of course, I quickly realized that most scientists and certainly most funding agencies would NOT agree, especially with the second part of that sentence. And I think this disconnect—between my internal motivations and those more generally held—is part of what led me down the path to resigning my faculty position.
Curiosity-driven biological research.
I have always done biological research out of curiosity. How and why do transcription factors bend DNA? How is the structure of chromatin used in gene regulation? What do plants use mechanosensitive ion channels for? I never really tried to find a more applied line of research, even though I knew I would likely have access to more funding and recruit more students and postdocs if I did. In fact, the more applied a particular problem, the less interested I was in solving it. I’m not proud of this! Nor am I ashamed of it. It’s just a personal preference, like cats versus dogs.
So I was surprised when, in late 2020, I found myself waking in the middle of the night full of dread, wondering what the POINT of my lab’s research was. Not just wondering, but actually worrying that there truly was no point. I was suddenly terrified that I’d spent my life scurrying about, writing papers that only a few people would ever read, giving seminars about proteins that only a few would ever study, training students to know minute details about a research system that meant nothing to anyone else. And I’d given up rest and relaxation and time with family to do so. It had never mattered to me that our work wasn’t revolutionary, that it wasn’t going to solve any human problems, that it wasn’t going to make a big splash. Up until then, I’d been satisfied with the “end” of my work just being to learn a bit more about how plants work (and, of course, the “end” of furthering my own career).
But satisfying my scientific curiosity now didn’t feel like enough.
I’m not sure what changed. Maybe it was a normal mid-life crisis that could have been solved by buying a new confocal microscope—the red convertible of cell biology. Maybe, like so many others, I gained some perspective during the COVID pandemic. Or perhaps a temporary loss of purpose is to be expected after finally reaching the selfish goal of getting tenure. Maybe part of it was seeing how it was getting harder and harder to attract students and postdocs increasingly motivated to do work that addresses global challenges.
I know many who weathered similar experiences in the past few years, but did so without resigning. They changed their research focus, or got very clear about their commitment to equitable teaching. Some “quiet quitted”, refusing to use so much of their own energy or vitality on what now felt like selfish endeavors, but holding on to the job. For whatever reason, I wasn’t able to do any of these things. I felt like I’d researched myself into a corner, working on an area of basic plant biology (mechanobiology) where there was little to study that was relevant to human health or crops or climate. (This also is creating a problem for me as I look for a new way to contribute, since I don’t have any topic-specific skills!).
An issue of scale.
Now that I have some distance, I think about the ends of biological research a little differently. There is no doubt that scientists ARE finding solutions to big problems, just as they have for centuries. But very few scientists can say that they contributed to an impactful discovery in a concrete, discrete way. Yes, you can feel assured that you are creating a bit of knowledge or understanding where previously there wasn’t one, but whether that bit of knowledge will become anything of importance to the world, or sit in your lab notebook for all of eternity, isn’t clear.
The thing is, how you as an individual could impact the course of science isn’t really the point. It’s called “the ends of a discipline” for a reason. Concrete and discrete steps forward are made by disciplines or fields of study, not by individuals or lab groups or even collaborations.
If I could go back in time about 7 years and tell myself this, would it change my decision to quit? Probably not—in part because the decision had so many other aspects to it. But also: while I loved curiosity-driven research, I got more and more cynical about translational research and what it’s true motivations are. More on that in later posts.
Next week—a deep dive into one of my favorite questions: “why study plants?”.
Discussion Section
If you are a researcher, how do you justify your work, to yourself and to others, and to funding agencies. Are the justifications the same, or different?
I relate to much of what you say here, as an academic in my 21st year. I work at a small liberal arts college where research is expected but definitely not at the R1 level, and instead teaching is the main aspect of our jobs (5 four credit classes a year). Your concerns about whether our work matters have been on my mind for most of my career -- even before tenure! While I don't have an ongoing program of research, I have to ask myself: Do the little one-off student-focused studies matter at all? Does teaching about my discipline (Cognitive and Developmental Psychology) make the world a better place? Over the years I have tried to make my work answer these questions in a positive frame.
There have been times when I've felt like the answers are "no" and "no" and have seriously considered leaving academics (indeed, have even applied for a handful of non-academic jobs). But then I will come up with an idea of how to change what I am doing and I stay (note: I haven't ever gotten a job interview query either though, so kinda have to stay).
I believe that doubt about my effectiveness and my constant challenging of the discipline for how to make the work "authentic" is key to remaining motivated and satisfied. About my research -- I try to make sure that if I am going to invest the time to do a study or a series of studies that there is some clear applied purpose to them, but honestly I find that overall my sense of purpose is satisfied more in my teaching. Before covid I started changing what the course goals were for all my classes, where I selected content to teach that has the most clear application value, and I changed my approach to assignments as well, where each assignment has an application to aspect too. Changing from "literature review" to "literature application" makes the work harder for students [and for me, truthfully] but it also gives us all a clear sense of purpose that feeds motivation. I keep my eye on what the "business trends" are for entry level skills as well, and I make sure to incorporate those into assignments too, within reason. I challenge students (and myself) to get creative while staying true to the content they are applying, which is also really hard but very valuable.
Despite all the critiques about higher ed in the media right now (much of them warranted) I do still believe in the value of higher ed when it's done in a thoughtful manner. But I do still think about leaving on a pretty regular basis, even though I am really good at it, at this point! But I stay because I feel like what I do is mattering. Rather than making a direct impact on the world's problems, I am preparing others to do that work. It's a weird space to be in, but it's also an important one! And even if the research I do is relatively inconsequential for promoting / advancing Cognitive or Developmental Science, when I involve students in the process, they are acquiring important and transferable skills, so it does still matter.
This, in a nutshell, is how I see it. About those "21st century skills" -- I find that my students are generally *not* adept at using a variety of software tools (i.e., the "digital native" idea is a myth -- GenZ has grown up with tech, but they have not learned about how it works behind the screen, nor have they been challenged to use it to create) so rather than *just* fine tune their writing with essays and research reports, I am challenging them to utilize software and digital publishing tools to disseminate what they are learning about and how to apply it online. I started a digital catalogue of student works - every "project" is public. If you are curious, here's a link: https://sites.google.com/pacificu.edu/authentic-learning-with-prf-k/home
Thank you for this wonderful article! It is very brave to give voice to that unspeakable anxiety many STEM researchers have but never admit: "Does what I do *matter*???
I think one of the only ways around it, and one funding agencies seem to endorse (at least tacitly), is the notion that basic science research CAN lead to breakthroughs in the applied sciences; the rub is it is difficult, if not impossible, to predict WHICH of those will be useful in advance. It is only by casting a wide net of research questions that we can stumble our ways in the dark towards those groundbreaking "Eureka!" lightbulb moments. What seems obviously genius in hindsight never is in real time.
The revolutionary gene editing system CRISPR was discovered by yogurt scientists at Danisco! Green fluorescent protein (GFP) was purified from jellyfish by a grad-student in the 1960s who thought it looked cool, and it has gone from footnote of history to Nobel-prize winner and integral tool of molecular biology. The NASA jet propulsion laboratory generated the work that led to camera phones, scratch resistant lenses, CT scans, memory foam, LED lights, and countless other gadgets, all secondary to their core mission of exploring the vast and empty galaxy. Katalin Karikó's basic research understanding mRNA insertion into cells become the basis of life-saving vaccines that got us out of the covid-19 pandemic years ahead of schedule, but was unrecognized and under-funded to the point where she couldn't find success in academia.
We all cling to the hope that our data, no matter how niche or obscure, matters, to someone, somewhere. Perhaps years in the future it will be the key to something revolutionary. It's a nice thought, and even if a bit self-protective fantasy, it's not wrong.