Self-Marketing Ensures That Good Scientists Get Credit They Deserve

In the July 20, 1992, issue of The Scientist (page 20), an article by scientific consultant Liane Reif-Lehrer discussed ways in which young academic researchers can bring their scientific expertise and abilities to the attention of potential mentors and employers. Reif-Lehrer, a former senior scientist at the Eye Research Institute of Retina Foundation in Boston and a former associate professor at Harvard Medical School who leads workshops on such topics as proposal writing and time management, noted in her article that "certain superficial cultural mores of the scientific community . . . dictate a kind of false modesty that makes even the most benign self-promotion appear unseemly." However, she wrote, "calling attention to your needs is often the only way to fulfill them and can serve to alleviate the frustrations that many junior researchers experience as they try to forge ahead in their careers." In his essay below, Robin W. Briehl, a reader of The Scientist who is a professor in the departments of physiology and biophysics and of biochemistry at Albert Einstein College of Medicine, Yeshiva University, Bronx, N.Y., states why he objects to Reif-Lehrer's career-advancement tips, which he claims emphasize style over substance. "We abhor doctors whose motivation to study medicine was to make money," Briehl writes. "Why shouldn't we abhor scientists whose motivation is self-promotion and climbing the `academic ladder'?" In a response to Briehl's essay, Reif-Lehrer counters that her goal is "not . . . to help advance bad scientists or poor science, but rather to help good scientists, who do good science, get credit for what they do." --Barbara Spector Robin W. Briehl apparently misconstrued the intended message in my article about helping oneself up the academic career ladder. Written on the front cover of the outline I provide to people who come to my workshops on "How to Write a Good Grant Proposal" is this motto: "The best writing can't turn a bad idea into a good grant proposal, but bad writing can turn a good idea into an unfunded proposal!" At the start of the workshop, I tell the audience that everything I will say is predicated on the assumption that they all have superb research ideas. It was with the same kind of assumption that I wrote the article that was published in The Scientist, (July 20, 1992, page 20) under the publication's headline "Promoting Yourself Is Key To Climbing Academic Ladder." I was not trying to help advance bad scientists or poor science, but rather to help good scientists, who do good science, get credit for what they do. In my workshops, I also caution the audience--with regard to several topics--about the importance of integrity and honesty in science and about the need to reverse the unfortunate reputation that a small number of researchers have foisted on the community of ethical scientists. I think that many scientists are in science for the "right" reasons, and I hope they did not have to be told in my article that to get ahead in science, doing good work takes precedence over all -and by "getting ahead," I mean attaining a position that allows one to do the work that one wishes to do in a reasonable way. For those in the scientific community who lack integrity, dispersing disclaimers about the priority of doing good science throughout my article probably would have made no difference. For the most part, I take no issue with what Briehl writes. His letter reminds me, however, of the na9ve and idealistic young person I was at age 25. I was under the erroneous impression that academics--and especially scientists--were all good, honest, fair, hardworking people who had no interest in fame or fortune. I even once asked my Ph.D. thesis adviser why he cared whether or not he got his name on a paper. At my first job (it was in industry), I told my new boss that I considered it vain to use my newly acquired title. A few weeks later he taught me one of my early lessons in "Real World 101" when a light bulb in my lab burned out. He told me to call the maintenance department to get a new bulb. A week and three request calls later, I still had no bulb. He asked me what I had said on the phone. I replied that I had said simply, "This is Liane Reif. May I please have a new bulb?" He told me stern-ly, "Now call again and say, `This is Dr. Reif. I need a new bulb.' " An hour later, I had a new bulb! This same mentor insisted that I be a coauthor on three papers that he published during my two years at the company. I objected because the papers dealt with work he began before I got there. "But you did a lot of the work," he protested, "and it's important for you to have publications." Of course, he was right; the papers helped me get my next position. Some years later, when I was a postdoctoral fellow at Harvard Medical School, I shared a lab and a mentor with another postdoc--a man with an M.D. degree. He routinely and matter-of-factly used his "Doctor" title. At the time, I thought him egotistical. (Today, we are good friends.) In our department, weekly invited seminar speakers were taken to dinner with a small group of scientists from the department. These dinners were reputed to provide a good opportunity to learn about the most up-to-date developments in the speaker's field. By the end of my second year in the department, the male postdoc had been invited to seven of these dinners, while I had not been invited to any. I felt that I was losing out scientifically--and on the collegiality that I thought would come with my entry into the profession. I took my inner shyness in hand and very gingerly mentioned my situation to my adviser. He was extremely apologetic and arranged for me to go to one of the dinners that very evening. For me, it was the demonstration of the lesson that has been formulated by others as "If you don't ask, you don't get." I agree that in the best of all possible worlds, science should be pursued for love and fun. But modern science cannot be done only with a test tube and Bunsen burner. It requires appropriate facilities and a great deal of money. With a less than 25 percent funding rate at the National Institutes of Health, the competition for funds is fierce indeed. I hope that those who get funded do good science. But I also know that the idealist I was at age 25 would never stand a chance of getting funded. My work would have been published without my name on it. No one would have known me, because I was too shy to speak in front of a group. It took a long time and many bruised feelings before I learned that one needs to squeak at least a little to get a bit of oil. Now that I am more experienced in both life and the workings of academia, I like to teach others what I have learned--sometimes at great emotional expense. If Briehl missed all my allusions to the importance of good-quality science--which underlies all that I wrote in my article--then he is not a very careful reader. My text--"make people aware of your productivity"; "starting a high-quality journal club"; "a positive review of a grant proposal or manuscript"; the need to "have good preliminary data"; giving "good talks"; "having publications in prestigious journals" (bad science does not often make it into such journals!); "exchange ideas with the best minds in your field"; "contribute to the thinking of others"; "putting together a stable, effective work team"; and "ultimately benefit your field"--can hardly be considered condoning poor science. I am sad that Briehl misconstrued so much of the advice that I provided in good faith to those who, I hope, will use it in good faith. Although he is correct in pointing out that in the real world a "highly regarded" scientist is not necessarily a "good" scientist, I took the journalistic license of equating these terms. I was not suggesting that anyone pad a r‚sum‚ or brown-nose anyone. I find Briehl's comment about a junior female faculty member dressing to "please" a male mentor especially offensive. I would consider such an action both unethical and despicable. It may interest Briehl to hear, however, that Anne Bernays, whose latest book, Professor Romeo (about a womanizing Harvard University professor), was published in 1989 by Weidenfeld and Nicolson of New York, has told me that she has been asked many times whether she used one or another particular--and always different--professor as a model. She made up the character, but these questions have led her to believe that Harvard may have its share of not-so-pristine academics--and has led me to think that the real world is a far cry from what either Briehl or I would like it to be. The one thing in Briehl's letter with which I must disagree is his advice to "Be yourself." During my years as a researcher, I have met enough egotistical, unpleasant, and unreasonable scientists--people who yell, put their fists through laboratory walls, and make no effort to consider the feelings of others--to say without qualm that I do not want those people to be themselves. I want--and expect--them to hold their tongues and their tempers and to learn to be more sensitive toward the people around them. I have neither patience nor respect for even the best scientist if he or she does not first consider the human element. If Briehl can show me a way to help make the world of science into what I once thought it would be and what I suspect both he and I would like it to be, I might feel remorseful for what I wrote in my article and for making the assumption that it would be perceived as I intended: advice to people who do good, honest science. In the real world, I think I have given good, honest advice to--I hope--good, honest, but perhaps inexperienced scientists. Liane Reif-Lehrer is president of Erimon Associates, a consulting firm based in the Boston area. Author: ROBIN W. BRIEHL In mathematics, science, and logic, when premises lead to patently false conclusions, the premises must be wrong. In human relations, society, and moral behavior, when the premises unavoidably reduce to an absurd, untenable, or repugnant con- clusion, the premises cannot be acceptable. I have just read Liane Reif-Lehrer's article entitled "Promoting Yourself Is Key To Climbing Academic Ladder" (The Scientist, July 20, 1992, page 20). The title states the purpose: "Get ahead," not "Do good science." Reif-Lehrer writes, "Although many scientists depreciate salesmanship . . . if one analyzes the actions of some of the most highly regarded scientists, one finds that quite a few of them have superb marketing skills." What does this mean? It seems to say that to be "highly regarded," one should develop marketing skills--that there is a causal relation. It implies something more, and something more questionable, as well. It says either that one's aim should be to be "highly regarded" or that being "highly regarded" is the same as being a good scientist. High regard is not the same thing as being a first-rate scientist. Image depends on promotion, as well (that, after all, is the purpose of the essay). Apart from a somewhat repugnant perspective on science, the statement merely says: If you want to sell well, sell. This is not very enlightening; it is tautological, circular. Looked at narrowly and pragmatically, much of what Reif-Lehrer says is undoubtedly true: Get yourself "invited" to lecture when you are not really invited, and it looks good on your résumé. That is, it does to someone who can't tell the difference between a padded r‚sum‚ and real contributions to science. She advises readers to "attract the attention of a potential mentor who can help you make your way up the career ladder." According to this reasoning, getting invited to "exclusive" meetings signifies that you are "important." She also suggests that readers take on "administrative tasks that allow you to rub shoulders..." Regarding teaching, she advises "clever planning of such activities," and suggests that readers "be aware of the ratio of time spent to benefit derived." What's a good ratio? Where should the line be drawn with respect to being "clever" and efforts to "rub shoulders"? If flattery is useful, should it be employed? If a male mentor or potential supporter has an eye for pretty women, shall a female student, postdoc, or junior faculty member dress to please him? It may smooth the way up the "academic ladder." Is there a list of acceptable and unacceptable stratagems? Is that why we became scientists? We abhor doctors whose motivation to study medicine was to make money. Why shouldn't we abhor scientists whose motivation is self-promotion and climbing the "academic ladder"? Where does the ladder go? When you are aged, retired, and reviewing your life, will having climbed some fictitious ladder be a source of gratification? Or will you be dismayed for having been a shadow of the real self you might have been? Of course, the whole thesis and the tone of the article might be rationalized by saying that false modesty is undesirable. It is necessary to step forth and not be shy; to have confidence in one's ability; to be outgoing and cordial. Unquestionably true. But that is not what the article says. The article puts it backward: form before substance. There is no mention of substance--the advice is just to work on the form, the advertising. Be like many of our politicians. Create a desirable image. No problem, until a banking scandal or some other revelation of truth creeps out and reveals the shoddy core beneath the preened image. We have scientists like that, too, including highly regarded ones. Much self-promotion; many publications on the same subject; a little plagiarism here or there; perhaps some half-conscious twist on the data or some other form of unethical conduct. Isn't there a connection between the theme of self-promotion and bending truth, done consciously or unconsciously, and the tragic perversions of science about which we now read in news reports? Most of the cases we read about were driven by ambition in an increasingly competitive milieu: competition for promotion, recognition, and grants; competition to "get ahead." One might reply by saying that young scientists need to promote themselves, or they will not find jobs in this difficult world, and life will be truly unfulfilling. That is true, and it is also why the logic of reducing events to their inescapable absurdity is pertinent. If the perspective of a self-promoted scientist is both antithetical to the aims of a life's work in science (to learn, to have fun, to discover, to think, to contribute to society, to earn respect and be well regarded, to create, to be curious and inquire) and at the same time necessary, then the premises and the context must be wrong. They are wrong in that science has become overly competitive because obtaining jobs and funds has become increasingly difficult. In a modern technological world, where business and political leaders emphasize "competitiveness," that is a paradox. Our future national "competitiveness"--I prefer to say "well-being"--depends precisely on research and technology and, in the long run, on basic research above all. In biomedical science, the United States is still preeminent, even as it has deteriorated visávis Germany and Japan and other nations in other areas of production. The issue is support of science, not self-promotion. The contradiction, the absurdity, to which we are reduced is that we sell out the truth and beauty of science to crass self-promotion. We fight individually to beat out others who are as worthy as we are, but perhaps less good at creating and selling images. Is that how we wish to climb the "academic ladder," by clever stratagems that defeat those who do not or cannot or will not use them? This is not the real problem. The problem is, first, that science needs proper support and emphasis. Science is more important, for human beings and for the national interest, than bombs and Star Wars in a world that is no longer confrontational. And, second, the problem is that when we accept the perspective in the article, we destroy the good, the ethical, the intellectual, the moral, the humanistic, the truth, and the beauty--all of which science is--within us, in the name of seeking something that does not even exist. It is better to make common cause to nurture what we love than to advertise ourselves "cleverly" and become what we do not wish to be, never intended to be, never dreamed of being, and ought not be. Having said the above, I feel as though I have not said all. I have not been personal enough. What would I do if I fathomed that a student or postdoc were flattering me, buttering me up--students I know use less genteel phrases--creating situations in which to look good rather than thinking to the limit of his or her scientific ability? One impulse would be to chastise the student for trying to use me. But why chastise? The practice of currying favor is ubiquitous. I would sit down with the student and try to talk about what is and what is not important, about his or her own good qualities, about things to work on. I would explain that the best students are those who ask thoughtful questions that I cannot answer or those who have thought through a problem more clearly or imaginatively than I have, not those who manipulate me. I would try to communicate the importance of being oneself: that it is important not to be shy or reticent, and it is important to be properly aware of one's real merits. I would tell the student that these should be communicated to others in a straightforward way, largely through work and certainly not by stratagems and quasi-deceitful plans; and that it is important to be real rather than an image of what one imagines one's elders desire. Don't promote yourself. Be yourself. Reif-Lehrer's article says the opposite. It says that one ought to create an image, because you live in a tough world and you have to, if you want to get ahead of the next fellow who is doing the same. Suppose everyone took the advice in the article and devised clever gambits to impress people of influence. What person who loves science would wish to work in such an atmosphere? We would spend too much time learning how to distinguish between sincerity and contrived self-promotion. In the final analysis, when I see someone whose focus is on self-promotion, I know that that is a person who sees himself as inadequate, and I am impelled, willingly or not, to judge him as he judges himself. It is not that Reif-Lehrer has no foundation for her viewpoint. The realities are as they are. The problem is that she takes a constricted, a local, point of view; one that says that to survive, you must claw your way to the top over those who lack the advertising skills that you should develop. Others--I hope most--see success and survival differently: as a matter of common action in the interests of proper support for science, as a matter of the gratification that science pursued for its own sake and for its social value provides in life, and as a matter of personal dignity. I say ladders for painters, publicity for publicists, science for scientists, and image for magicians. Science needs imagination to fathom the secrets of nature, not for creating illusions. In this election year, when politicians are finally receiving the disrepute they have earned by creating false personas through clever advertising and image makers, do we as scientists have to do the same? Robin W. Briehl is a professor in the departments of physiology and biophysics and of biochemistry at Albert Einstein College of Medicine, Yeshiva University, Bronx, N.Y.

Self-Marketing Ensures That Good Scientists Get Credit They Deserve

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