Is having it all impossible?

One of the things I’m liking a lot about this new community at Scientopia is the fact that it has helped me find some cool new blogs that I might not have found in the vastness of the blogosphere. (It’s not the blogosphere’s fault — it’s just that there’s so much out there, and there are all these other things people keep wanting me to do besides just reading blogs.)

For example, check out Sanitized for Your Protection, a blog about “academic life and all the adventures that accompany it” by Rebecca Montague. In a post today, On being Superwoman, she writes about the challenges of the work-life balance thing, and notes that some of the advice one gets from eminent scientists is just not that encouraging. Specifically, an essay by Lynn Margulis struck her as more of a kick in the pants than a helping hand. Rebecca writes:

In the essay, Margulis discusses her roles as a mother and wife, and how they’ve conflicted with her scientific career. She relates this to the movie “The Red Shoes”, where a prima ballerina feels forced to choose between her life as a dancer and the man she loves. Margulis opined:

At age 15 I was certain that the ballerina died because of a silly antiquated convention that insisted that it is impossible for any woman to maintain both family and career. I am equally sure now that the people of her generation who insisted on either marriage or career were correct, just as those of our generation who perpetuate the myth of the superwoman who simultaneously can do it all–husband, children, and professional career–are wrong.

I disagree with her blanket statement that no one can “do it all”—plenty of scientists can and do combine success in their career with very happy home lives, raising well-adjusted children within supportive partnerships. Are they the exceptions that prove the rule? … But there are definitely days when I feel like I can’t handle it, and that despite knowing intellectually that it’s impossible to be a SuperEverything all the time and something’s gotta give…and I wonder sometimes, amongst the stress couched in chocolate wrappers and stacks of papers, if she wasn’t on to something.

While I don’t want to pretend that balance is brutally hard, I can’t help but wonder if part of our problem is setting the definition of “success” too high. The thing that’s done the most to reduce my parenting-partnering-work stress is to become comfortable with the idea that “good enough” (rather than perfect) really is good enough for most contexts. Sure, this means Casa Free-Ride has more dust bunnies than it might otherwise, but I’m comfortable letting that go if I can spend more time with my kids and my better half, and if I can get papers graded without staying up until 3 AM.

At the same time, I don’t think the burden of lowering standards ought to rest solely on the people trying to combine career, partner, family, and whatever else. It’s really hard to assert, “This is sufficiently good parenting/housekeeping/devotion to my relationships,” in the face of a whole society that sets the bar several notches higher (or in the face of a differing view of what would be sufficient, for example, from the people with whom you are in those relationships). It’s even harder to confidently assert, “This is sufficiently good teaching/research productivity/service,” when your retention-tenure-promotions committees have the final say on what’s sufficient (and where they may care not a whit that you are concerned to have a life outside of work).

Sometimes having multiple facets to our lives becomes impossible because we insist on trying to live up to unrealistic standards for each of those facets. Sometimes it becomes impossible because other people, or organizations, or societal structures, impose those unrealistic standards upon us. Working on the problem from both ends seems to me like the only hope if we want to make progress here.

Although judicious use of chocolate might help, too.

Anyway, go say hi to Rebecca and jump into the conversation on her blog.

Science prerequisites for medical school: (uh!) what are they good for?

Last week, in response to a New York Times article about a medical school with a program to admit students who have not taken physics, organic chemistry, or the MCAT, Chad Orzel expressed some qualms:

On the one hand, I tend to think that anyone who is going to be allowed to prescribe drugs ought to know enough organic chemistry to have some idea how they work. On the other hand, though, I would shed no tears if the pre-med physics class disappeared entirely– most of the students resent having to take physics, and I’m not wild about being used as a weed-out course for somebody else’s major program, which is a combination that easily turns into a thoroughly miserable experience for everyone. …

Still, I’m a little uneasy about people getting to be doctors without taking science in college at all … I suspect Mount Sinai has good results from this program because it’s just about the only one going, and they get their pick of the very best students, who are able to pick up what they need from “summer boot camp.” I’m less comfortable with the idea of making this a general policy– a lot of the students I see struggling in pre-med physics are struggling because of things that would not be positive features in a doctor.

Nowadays, in my capacity as a philosophy professor, I’m actually teaching more chemistry and physics and biology majors, and fewer pre-meds, than I did back in the days when I was a chemistry graduate student. If I recall correctly, all but one of the undergraduate courses for which I was a teaching assistant in my chemistry program were part of the pre-med sequence, including not only first term organic chemistry and the qualitative analysis laboratory course, but also physical chemistry for pre-meds.

I think it’s safe to say that the pre-meds were not always enthusiastic about the material we were trying to teach them.

Indeed, “What am I ever going to use this for?” was an oft heard question in those courses:

“When am I ever going to need to balance a redox reaction when I’m performing brain surgery?”

“How is knowing the difference between SN1 and SN2 reactions going to help me deliver babies?”

“What the hell does understanding how a refrigerator works have to do with orthopedics?”

I’m not that kind of doctor (nor do I play one on TV), so I’d probably refer these questions to people like PalMD or Orac or Pascale. (I will note that I recognized some nice chemical content in Pascale’s post on salt and bloat, so I’m guessing that she wouldn’t be writing any pre-meds a doctor’s note to excuse them from chemistry altogether.)

The course prerequisites for medical school, however, have been set by the medical schools. One would hope that they have some good reason for setting them — whether because they impart information and skills directly applicable in the work of being a physician, or because they impart information and skills that will be assumed in the coursework to be completed in medical school, or because they expose students to patterns of thought and problem-solving strategies that are expected to be useful to them in tackling the medical problems they will be tasked to address.

It’s also possible, I suppose, that medical schools have selected the slate of courses required for admission in order to thin out the numbers of applicants that they will have to sift through to build a class. If that’s the case, though, one wonders why they would choose just the hard-enough-to-get-rid-of-the-chaff courses that they did. Why Newtonian physics and not quantum mechanics (or hell, even E&M)? Why organic chemistry or “baby P-chem” rather than the thermodynamics course the chemistry majors have to take (followed by the quantum chemistry course those chemistry majors need to take)?

If you really want to weed them out, why not a serious first order logic course?

I, personally, think the whole philosophy of the “weeder” course is problematic. Moreover, I suspect that setting up intro science courses to “weed out” some large proportion of the students taking them from moving on to the next course in sequence (or to the professional program for which these courses are prerequisites) probably does as much to undermine students’ understanding of the course material, or enthusiasm to engage with it, as the objective difficulty of the material itself.

Maybe if medical schools have more people interested in applying to them than they know how to handle, they should do their own dirty work as far as screening applicants goes. The alternative is to create legions of physics and chemistry professors who would be just as happy not to have to deal with premeds at all.

Myself, I feel more comfortable with a doctor whose brain is hungry for knowledge, someone who wants to learn not only because it means picking up useful information about our world and how it works, but also because it’s fun. I have no idea if this kind of attitude tends to lead to better physicians or more successful medical students, but my hunch is that it may lead to human beings who are better prepared for life in the fullest sense.

That seems like an important thing even for premeds.

College kids and their plagiarism (or college professors and their quaint insistence on proper citation of sources).

Today, The New York Times has an article about students and plagiarism that I could have sworn I’ve read at least a dozen times before, at least in its general gist.

As an exercise, before you click through to read the article, grab some paper and a pencil and jot down two or three reasons you think will be offered that the current generation of college students does not grasp the wrongness of using the words and ideas of others without attribution.

Is your list ready?
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Book review: The Evolution of Everything.

In The Evolution of Everything: How Selection Shapes Culture, Commerce, and Nature, Mark Sumner prefaces his exploration of Darwin’s theory of evolution – and of the power of selection to explain phenomena as diverse as the economic downturn, the “success” of patent medicines that don’t do much to cure what ails you, and the shape of the new TV season – with the reminder that what you think you know could well be wrong. Sumner argues that the set of erroneous beliefs to which most of us cling includes our sense of what Darwin’s own Darwinism actually asserts.

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Research methods and primary literature.

At Uncertain Principles, Chad opines that “research methods” look different on the science-y side of campus than they do for his colleagues in the humanities and social sciences:

When the college revised the general education requirements a few years ago, one of the new courses created had as one of its key goals to teach students the difference between primary and secondary sources. Which, again, left me feeling like it didn’t really fit our program– as far as I’m concerned, the “primary source” in physics is the universe. If you did the experiment yourself, then your data constitute a primary source. Anything you can find in the library is necessarily a secondary source, whether it’s the original research paper, a review article summarizing the findings in some field, or a textbook writing about it years later.

In many cases, students are much better off reading newer textbook descriptions of key results than going all the way back to the “primary source” in the literature. Lots of important results in science were initially presented in a form much different than the fuller modern understanding. Going back to the original research articles often requires deciphering cumbersome and outdated notation, when the same ideas are presented much more clearly in newer textbooks.

That’s not really what they’re looking for in the course in question, though– they don’t want it to be a lab course. But then it doesn’t feel like a “research methods” class at all– while we do occasional literature searches, for the most part that’s accomplished by tracing back direct citations from recent articles. When I think about teaching students “research methods,” I think of things like teaching basic electronics, learning to work an oscilloscope, basic laser safety and operation, and so on. The library is a tiny, tiny part of what I do when I do research, and the vast majority of the literature searching I do these days can be done from my office computer.

I’m going to share some observations which maybe complicate Chad’s “two cultures” framing of research (and of what sorts of research methods one might reasonably impart to undergraduates in a course focused on research methods in a particular discipline).

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Friday Sprog Blogging: climate change and ecosystems.

Driving home with the Free-Ride offspring yesterday, we heard a story on the radio that caught out attention. (The radio story discusses newly published research that’s featured on the cover of Nature this week.) When we got home, we had a chat about it.

Dr. Free-Ride: What did you guys learn from that story on the radio about the yellow-bellied marmot?

Elder offspring: That, in the short term, climate change is good for some species.

Dr. Free-Ride: Tell me more about that.
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Save us from the armchair philosopher with a blog.

In what is surely a contender for the photo next to the “business as usual in the blogosphere” entry in the Wiktionary, a (male) blogger has posted a list of the sexiest (all-but-one female) scientists (using photos of those scientists obtained from the web without any indication that he had also obtained proper permission to use those photos in his post), and now the blogger says he wants to know what could possibly be wrong about making such a post.

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