C. Russell Y. Cruz, MD, PhD
Senior Editor, ISCT Telegraft
Associate Professor, Children's National Hospital
United States
“If I seem to see further,” Isaac Newton once famously said, “it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” For centuries, scientific advances depended on people building upon the achievements and hard work of others, some eventually becoming giants themselves. We took it for granted that there will always be giants among us to stand on.
But what if the giant mill just … stops?
This is not a critique of the (hopefully temporary) waning support for scientific funding—though, in many ways, it is related to it. Rather, this is a reflection for the scientific community, and, I suppose, a plea.
We need more selfless giants.
What Counts as a Giant?
I’ve always thought of scientific giants not as bright lights screaming for attention, but as sturdy trees whose foundations lifting others up to the sun. Mighty oaks capable of withstanding the elements, while supporting the many leaves and branches sprouting from it. Garden trees capable of supporting the full weight of the knowledge of good and evil.
In Central America, there is this large, buttressed monocarpic tree, with one of the densest and strongest woods. Tachigali versicolor spends its formative years outside the limelight and in the shade (in many ways, built for it). At its peak, it grows to over a hundred feet, and as it matures, this giant resembles the fibers of a muscle. As it matures and flowers, it releases tens of thousands of seedlings.
And then dies.
Decades in the dark, one moment in the sun. The lifelong investment, growing, struggling, braving the wild, all to die soon after its seeds are dispersed. Scientists found the unusual strategy was actually a creatively adaptive one. By dying, the tree provides a break in the dense canopy, allowing light to shine on its progeny.
Strength indeed. Giants. Giants from which future generations can stand on.
Anecdotally, and sadly, there seems to be a trend towards less of these giants with this mentorship drive and this eye towards the future. More of a trend towards smaller individual goals, of shameless career-building. And it seemingly works. Non-giants are holding more positions, resisting more layoffs, and growing the academic administrative bloat while on-the-ground scientists are losing jobs by the minute. This is the example that more and more young scientists see as successful. It is no wonder many young scientists wish to become consultants and never hold a pipet again after they graduate.
We all know the type. They value the fancy titles more than the scientific work. The advanced degree is a stepping stone towards getting “Supreme Commander of Scientific Missions and Business Engagements” on their resumes. They love the buzzwords. “Strategic partners.” “Finance liaisons.” “Synergizing translational excellence.” They love being a buzzword themselves. “KOL.” “SME.” So far removed from the science but still managing to be in every board and panel and talk. They have managed to remake scientific job descriptions and convinced institutions to invest in their bespoke definitions of what they need to do in this role. Travel. Become the face of the field. Organize events.
Let me be clear: I am not talking about the traditional academic ladders and leaders here. Most principal investigators, department chairs, and academic chiefs are busier than ever. Remaining giants. I personally know of their remarkable sacrifices, their continued quest to keep their teams employed, their research funded. They light up when they talk of the advances in the field. And despite their busy schedules, they remain, to the end, mentors first and foremost. They continue to guide careers and guide the science.
But this invented new class of thought leaders, seemingly adored by institutions all over, will be damaging in the long run. The sole focus on career advancement means we are reneging on the social contract we all had with our communities: support our science, and we will work to bring you new knowledge and new discoveries.
This promise to the public will not be possible if we hire more bureaucrats than scientists.
Social media will only exacerbate the divide. Scientists on the bench, already swamped with actual experiments, buried with writing grants, occupied with mentoring responsibilities, will hardly have the time to like, comment, or subscribe. Social media science will eventually be populated by lay “experts” with ideologies on the one hand, and degreed, non-practicing “experts” seeking celebrity status on another.
Something has to change.
Growing Together
Administrative thought leaders cost the equivalent of two to ten staff scientists and require teams reporting to them to handle the actual tedious work. Structurally, organizations that are too top-heavy are likely unsustainable. How this scenario came about is multifactorial, of course, but the emphasis on the individual and on accolades in academia is a critical cause. There is only so much scientific achievement to go around, and often when faced with stagnating career advancements, the easy solution is to create a new position to keep people around. They then inadvertently morph and add to the bloat.
Here’s a quiz. If describing one’s job is “complicated,” it may be too contrived. If people can consistently predict the questions one asks (“What is the translational significance of this approach?”), one is not likely contributing to the discussion. Like most bureaucracies, administrative bloat expands not because it serves a need, but because it becomes a comfortable niche. People (naturally) need to justify their lofty positions, so inevitably, forms and policies and meetings proliferate. People to navigate these forms and policies and meetings then need to be hired, leaving the research environment with an ever-growing number of non-scientist managers, with actual scientists never advancing beyond the wet work, which then gets viewed by the next generation as not dignified. We value people who spend a large amount of time counting the number of things they do and mistake the quantities for achievement. We hardly question whether the output is actually valuable. Hosting meetings is hard work, but I’m not necessarily sold on the fact that the number of meetings one organizes is a reliable indicator of one’s contributions to science.
So instead of reimagining scientific roles while keeping traditional incentive structures, we should keep scientific roles intact and rethink traditional incentives.
This critique isn’t new; people have called on academia to move away from rewarding individual achievements and to genuinely prioritize team science for decades. However, there appears to be an issue of trust: if we stop making individual accolades the main path to advancement, productivity will decline.
This lack of trust is misplaced. We apparently do not trust individual scientists to stay productive without the “carrots” of personal rewards, even though we already see more team-based approaches in action. Yet we are willing to trust individual thought leaders to continually redefine job descriptions, convinced that their ineffable skills are essential to keep them on the payroll.
People who grow together in teams will likely have better job satisfactions and better productivity. Rather than seeing some random thought leader receive all the resources, everyone sees the whole team receive resources.
If we truly start valuing the team more than the individual, we just might encourage the advent of cheerleaders and support personnel, instead of thought leaders. People whose jobs are to fill the gaps that others with more predefined roles need to fill (and not need costly fame and fortune).
If we truly start valuing the team more than the individual, we just might redistribute all the work that needs to be done. Science is notoriously slow and tedious, and this slog gets exacerbated when fewer people are there to do the actual work. If we truly start valuing the team more than the individual, we just might make a composite giant in the process. Alone, we may not be enough to be strong foundations. But as multitudes, we just might make good shoulders to stand on.
Growing the Future
The greatest achievements of scientists throughout history, indeed, one that made them valuable to communities, is the ability to see what happens next. To predict the future with a reasonable amount of certainty, which helps societies plan and be ready.
The future of science is not that difficult to predict. It relies on the continued practice of science. The continued thinking in scientific terms. The continued mentorship and encouragement of young scientists.
It requires re-engaging the public, not in a vain quest for clicks and views and recognition, but in a genuine desire to encourage interest in science. In renewing this social contract. In advancing science by joining scientists in the quest to make more unknowns known. In medical school, we have rotations in the community where we learn their health practices and bring our knowledge where they are. It won’t be a bad idea if something similar were required for advancing in academic careers. “Scientists in Residence,” if you will. Instead of business class flights to gorgeous locales to network, maybe spending time in community colleges and rural high schools, particularly those without access to experts. Training the public so that some of them become the next generation of scientists.
Tachigali versicolor never sees the forest its death creates. Mentors rarely see their value to their mentees far in the future. But it doesn’t prevent them from being giants. And that ensures the next generation’s success. These “pay it forward” success models are vital to the scientific enterprise.
Instead of spending resources on proliferating the administrative class, institutions should instead invest in mentorship-based career advancement. Instead of counting how many rules we were able to draft, or how many social gatherings we were able to organize, we should count how many peers we managed to help get on track, how many students we inspired.
If we can somehow transform accountability so we ask ourselves demonstrable investment in the next generation, then perhaps we can ensure that giants remain roaming.
To grow the future, we do as Tachigali versicolor does.
Ensure that sunlight shines on as many others as possible.
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