To an Aspiring Researcher: Twelve Pieces of Advice
Remarks delivered, Sunday, April 11, 2021 at the Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association (on the occasion of receipt of the Distinguished Contributions to Research in Education Award)
Thanks for this wonderful honor—it means a great deal of me. In cases like this, the honoree typically reflects on the work that he or she has carried out over many years. And that’s fine.
But in these days of websites, search engines, and YouTube, information on my research is available on demand. And so I thought—and I hope it’s OK with you—that I’d use this occasion to proceed in a different direction.
I’ve been involved in research for a long time. If you start with my NSF-sponsored research on the pig heart in high school, for over 60 years; if you include my college research in sociology, 60 years; and if you focus on my sponsored work as a recently minted doctorate 50 years. During the period I believe I’ve learned some lessons.
A Thought Experiment:
Let’s say a motivated college junior came to see me, and asked “Dr. Gardner, what’s it like to be a researcher? Can you give me some advice? Should I become a researcher?” What words of experience, and perhaps of wisdom, could I give to that student?
Here, as answers to the student’s questions, are a dozen pieces of advice:
What is research?
Scholarly research is a process that human beings can undertake—alone or with other persons—to find out the answers to questions or, at a minimum, to arrive at better ways of conceiving questions, problems, or issues in which they have an interest.
So ask yourself: Are you curious about issues or problems, and do you have the motivation to pursue them rigorously and vigorously in the hope of getting an answer? If there is no area of knowledge that you really want to explore, perhaps research is not really what you want. (And rest assured, there are many other worthwhile career paths!)
What are the kinds of scholarly research?
Some require going into archives, but do not cost appreciable money—that’s what historians do. Some require intensive reading or looking at works of art or listening to works of music—that’s what other humanists do. These are not expensive in dollars, but they take considerable amounts of time.
Some research involves simple, or not-so-simple equipment, and a few research assistants or post-doctoral fellows—that’s what psychologists do (and what I typically have done.) And of course, “big-time research” in the sciences or medicine often involves large amounts of money (in the millions) and sizeable teams of researchers (sometimes dozens or scores.)
So ask yourself: Do you have a sense of what kind of research you would like to do—do you see yourself poring through paper or digital archives; pondering the poetry of John Milton or Emily Dickinson; asking subjects to solve a puzzle; or joining a large team working in a hospital on cures for a disease, or at an accelerator to understand subatomic particles?
What is your motivation for carrying out research?
That’s a tough one. Nowadays, it is customary—in some circles, obligatory, to speak about a service motivation—you want to heal persons, or save lives, or contribute to climate control. Or, if you are in education, you want to help underserved populations; or figure out the best way to spend taxpayer money on schools; or reach students with learning disabilities; or compare online with classroom or blended learning.
But I don’t feel it’s necessary to carry out research to solve some kind of a real-life problem. Having something that you are curious about, indeed obsessedabout—and having a method for possibly sating that curiosity—is sufficient motivation.
And there’s a good reason for this seemingly non-pragmatic stance. We never know what we will find and what its implications will be. Some mission-oriented research yields nothing, and some curiosity-driven research can bring about fundamental practical changes. When Einstein arrived at the theory of relativity, he had no idea that one day the atom could be split—as it turns out, for constructive as well as destructive purposes. Or to use a personal example, when I developed the theory of multiple intelligences, I did not have a practical result in mind. I saw my work as a contribution to understanding how the mind is organized and how it operates under diverse conditions. Curiosity and altruism are both laudable goals, but they are not the same—and many saints would not be effective researchers!
If the research that I want to conduct requires resources, or funds to carry out, how can I get such support?
I could easily write a book about this and, in fact, such books should be written. Obviously, it helps to have a good project and it helps to be persuasive—your grandparents could have told you that.
But here are some things that you—and they—might not have thought about.
Roughly speaking, in the US (and perhaps elsewhere) there are three sources of funding:
a) The federal or national government
b) Organized philanthropy (foundations—almost everyone has heard of the Ford Foundation; and those of us in education know and venerate the Spencer Foundation but there are tens of thousands of other foundations in the US alone)
c) Private philanthropists (I exclude companies and corporations here, because—with notable exceptions—they rarely support disinterested research—they know what they want you to find)
You need to monitor all of these sources of funding constantly. And the funding landscape is constantly changing.
A personal example: Until 1980, nearly all of my research funding came from the government–NIH, NIE, and NSF. After 1980, none of it did. Why?
Because when Ronald Reagan became president in 1981, he declared that "social science is socialism.” And I immediately realized that, given the kind of qualitative research I do, my chances of securing additional funding from “the feds” was low.
Thereafter, my sources of funding have come from well-known foundations, private individuals, and to a lesser but still significant extent, from book royalties and speaking fees. Note that if such payments go directly into a research fund, they will not be taxed—accordingly, you get more mileage from such donations.
OK—those are the sources, but please be more specific about how to get support
Good point. Funders are institutions and individuals with whom you need to establish and maintain a relationship. It’s no different from making a new friend or, to switch metaphors, from having a reliable client. Over the decades I’ve cultivated relationships with scores of funders and worked energetically to keep up these relations. And, indeed, sometimes these relationships have evolved into valued friendships.
Even when I get a “no,” I maintain the relationship; and more often than not, that perhaps unanticipated gesture of gratitude pays off—in recommendations of other possible funders, or even a “change of heart.” Occasionally I have been able to educate potential funders to see things that they had not seen before, or to see issues in a new way. And, of course, the foundations do have to spend their money and sometimes you can help them do so wisely!
By my calculation, I’ve sent our over 300 letters of solicitation in 50 years. In addition to welcome acceptances and frank rejections, we—thanks to Ellen Winner, my wife—have a separate file or folder dubbed “rays of hope” (a rejection that nonetheless leaves the door slightly ajar.) It’s the latter file that can make the difference in the long run.
Say “thank you,” maintain contact, offer to be helpful, say thank you again, be sure to cite gratefully on every occasion. All those etiquette lessons that your parents and grandparents tried to give you—apply them.
This may sound overwhelming…and it can be. But most institutions have development offices that can help you to identify promising funders; and of course, senior researchers can share that lore as well.
What are the risks in fundraising?
When you accept funds from the US government, or from large well-established foundations like Ford, Hewlett, Spencer, or Russell Sage, there are few risks.
But it’s different when you accept funding from a private individual or from a little-known foundation. There are risks—with respect to how the funds were secured, how they are distributed, and how your findings will be used. I’ve made some mistakes in this area and have actually written about those poor judgments (please see https://www.thegoodproject.org/good-blog/2020/12/15/on-bad-work-in-the-academy-recognizing-it-thwarting-it). Due diligence, checking with knowledgeable others, and atoning for mistakes—all these are important parts of securing support for research.
Dr Gardner, (“please call me Howard”) you are sounding very mercenary, stuck in the funding details. What about research per se?
Thank you so much for asking that question—it’s really the most important, the fundamental question, and I got so mired in the mercenary weeds that I lost sight of the abundant, leafy garden.
If you are curious about something and want to gain knowledge about it, there’s no better way than carrying out systematic research. Of course, reflective individuals have thought systematically about puzzles for millennia—but only in the last few centuries have specific methods of research been identified, developed, and systematized. It’s a good test! Sometimes, what appears to be an exciting path of research turns out to be tedious or dull. And sometimes, what may seem to others as boring or misguided, catches your fancy.
To put it simply, you need to have questions or issues in which you are interested—even obsessed—and you need to find a method, or methods, by which you will approach an answer or, at a minimum, a better formulation of the problem. In my case, I lean toward qualitative methods—posing questions, reflecting on phenomena—but many others prefer experimental methods, large scale surveys, or analyses or meta-analyses of demographic data.
Indeed, a brief and not misleading definition of a researcher is: a person obsessed with a puzzle and equipped with a method for solving it.
When I discovered the pleasures of research, it changed my life forever. And even when one research proposal after another got turned down—and it’s happened—never have I regretted the path that I chose five decades ago.
What’s helped you to be a successful researcher?
For me, that’s an easy question to answer. By far, it’s my colleagues in research—the fellow researchers, the heads of labs, and the research assistants—who make the difference between an exciting and a vexing experience in research.
I’ve been extremely fortunate for the last fifty years. In 1967, I was a founding member of Harvard Project Zero, a research group started by philosopher, Nelson Goodman, at the Harvard Graduate School of Education. (Why that curious name? Goodman was making a statement about what was known about education in the arts through systematic research—at the time, little was known and therefore, we started…at Zero). We do believe that after half a century we have moved the number line in a positive direction. (See pz.harvard.edu.)
For 28 years, eminent scholar, David Perkins, and I co-directed Project Zero. And what started out as a small endeavor in arts education, is now a large set of research projects covering the disciplinary and methodological spectrum taking place in many parts of the world. My colleagues at Project Zero are invaluable—I could not have done my work in psychology and education without them. The moment that I learned of this cherished recognition from AERA, I said “It really should go to my colleagues.”
But I had two other equally important collaborations. For two decades (1970-1990), I did research in neurology and neuropsychology—working at the Aphasia Research Center in the Boston Veterans Administration Medical Center. There, a group of a dozen senior researchers and I carried out work that we consider to be critical in understanding the breakdown of cognitive capacities under conditions of brain damage.
As it turned out, the work with brain-damaged patients was fundamental in the creation of the theory of multiple intelligences, the work for which I am best known. (See multipleintelligencesoasis.org)
And then starting in the mid-1990s, as a third fortunate collaboration, I had the privilege of working with two outstanding psychologists, William (Bill) Damon and Mihaly (Mike) Csikszentmihalyi. Together we explored the nature of work—and particularly what is considered to be “good work” in several professions. Each of us has continued this work in our respective ways—and in my case, the collaboration led to a whole set of studies of good work, good play, good collaboration, and the like. (See thegoodproject.org)
Interesting, Dr Gardner (sorry, Howard). While we are at a conference on education, and a society devoted to research in education has given you an honor, you have not said much directly about education.
Yes, that’s true. In my own case, ever since early childhood I assumed that I would be a teacher. And in fact, for a decade, I taught piano on the side to make some extra money. But my own motivation in research has not been primarily educational. It’s been interest in the human mind—how it works, how it develops, how it works at the top of its game, how it breaks down, and in the last quarter century, how it can be directed in positive ways—the goal of “The Good Project.”
Each of these issues—like most work in the social sciences—has clear educational implications. And in most cases I and others have followed up on these implications and possible applications—lots of work at Project Zero is “applied in the field.” But in truth, educational programs have not been the prime motivator—the motivator has been curiosity about human beings—combined more recently with a “value consideration” of how we humans can use our skills and abilities benignly.
Please be assured, I am not speaking for other researchers. Many are motivated initially and primarily by the desire to improve the human condition. But the individuals whom I most admire, some of whom have received lifetime-achievement accolades from AERA—are ones whose primary motivation is curiosity, and the desire to add to human knowledge.
You have spoken a lot about learning things, contributing to knowledge. But how does that contribution come to be known and, as appropriate, applied?
Another important question: You can’t just have findings, you need ways to inform individuals about what you have discovered, what you have learned and, as appropriate, how to use that knowledge.
Here’s where writing comes in. No one is born a good writer—it’s definitely an acquired skill! But if you don’t like to write, and you are not motivated to learn to write clearly, then I don’t recommend a career in research.
With one notable exception: If you happen to find a partner—a research partner, a life partner—who likes to write, just make a pact to collaborate with that person, indefinitely. The Biblical Moses was not a good speaker—but he was fortunate to have his brother Aaron who was very articulate. Sullivan had Gilbert, Rodgers had Hammerstein. Indeed, a few researchers—who will remain nameless—would not have achieved renown without a literarily-gifted co-author, sometimes named, sometimes anonymous.
Howard, you are a well-known researcher in psychology and education. How does that feel?
If you work hard at research and have interesting findings, of course you’d like them to be known and recognized. But it’s a big mistake to seek fame and fortune through research and writing—you can’t count on getting such recognition. And let’s say that you do become famous or rich for a particular finding or research track. You then face a choice: you either have to remain wedded to that line of work (keep singing the same tune); or be prepared to carry out work that will not necessarily become well known (switch to a different medley of songs). Motivation to learn, and then to share what you have learned, is more important than having a lot of money in the bank, or even (shhhhhhh) having a lot of citations in some index.
Howard, I want to be respectful—I am a young student, you are a venerable researcher—almost sixty years older than I am. Are you carrying out research anymore? Do you have further research goals?
An understandable and appropriate question. Of course, I cannot know how much time I have left, nor whether my mind, body, and spirit will be able to continue doing research. But at present, I have a wonderful research team with whom I work every day (including, sometimes, weekends and evenings); and I continue to write papers, post blogs, and author or co-author books. And I’d like that to last as long as possible.
But I am also fortunate because I’m confident that members of the research team will continue to explore some of the questions that I am interested in. And equally important, I have students, and they have students (I call them grand-students), and some of those much younger persons will raise new questions and find answers that I could not even have dreamt of. That’s the greatest reward of all.
And maybe, one day, young friend, you’ll be one of those individuals who discovers new things and, in the process, helps to make the world a better place.
Links
Washington Post article: ‘Multiple Intelligences’ Are Not ‘Learning Styles’ (click here for link)
Wall Street Journal article: The False Promise of Quick-fix Psychology (click here for link)
My blog on Synthesizing (click here for link)
My book: A Synthesizing Mind (click here for link)
Acknowledgements
For their comments on earlier versions of this paper and for their exemplary collegiality , I’d like to thank Lynn Barendsen, Courtney Bither, Shelby Clark, Wendy Fischman, Shinri Furuzawa, Mara Krechevsky, Kirsten McHugh, Danny Mucinskas, and Ellen Winner.
Photo credit: Simon Wilkes on Unsplash
