Recently, I read a post on the blog of biblical scholar Bart Ehrman on the subject of being qualified to write a scholarly book. In the post, he details the grueling process of obtaining a Ph.D. in a “fairly typical” biblical studies program. Students have to know at least five languages relevant to their studies, have mastery over the content of lengthy booklists, and pass several written and oral exams. This rigorous curriculum serves a purpose: Students are training to be the top scholars in a competitive field. To that end, they must master numerous skills and the texts that built their areas of study before they are ready to write articles and books and claim the title of “expert”.
As I read this post, I began to think about my own upcoming Ph.D. STEM Ph.D.s are, of course, quite rigorous, and I, too, will have to pass several exams demonstrating my mastery of the fundamentals. Still, the demands placed on aspiring New Testament scholars seem much heavier than those on would-be physicists. In a sense, the differences are only natural. The humanities have much less funding and are thus much more competitive at the graduate level. But I still can’t shake the question: If this is what students in the humanities have to learn in preparation for doing scholarship, what is my Ph.D. for?
Compared to the humanities Ph.D., a doctorate in the sciences has a very different value proposition. Of course, science students must have mastery over many skills, but none are so specialized as in the humanities, and many of these can be learned on the job.
It seems, then, that there is a dichotomy: Compared to STEM, humanities Ph.D.s offer a lot more in the “personal growth” department but less economically. But even then, the value proposition of a STEM Ph.D. is not particularly high. Engineers and software developers often do similar work for higher pay, and they do not pay the tremendous opportunity cost of losing six of their prime-age years.
There is also something to be said for the non-technical skills that a scientific Ph.D. builds. I have spoken to many people who either hold a STEM Ph.D. or are partway through one. Some of these people are true believers and others are completely burnt out on academia, either long gone or wanting out as soon as possible. However, few of them tell me that they actually regret going for the Ph.D., and that is telling. Regardless of whether they continue in the traditional academic path or go elsewhere, they all agree that going through the Ph.D. taught them valuable skills for their professional lives: focusing on a large project, seeing it through from conception to completion, learning new skills quickly, and more. These are things that can be learned no matter your line of work, but, in other careers, they take more intention than in the Ph.D. These skills are valuable no matter your profession.
Still, I have not answered the question I posed at the beginning of this post.
When you ask what the purpose of a Ph.D. is, the nominal answer is: To do research. To produce scholarship. But this just leads to another question: What is the virtue of scholarship? In an idealistic sense, scientists are contributing to the total knowledge of humanity. That is a noble goal. Advances in science enable technologies and medical interventions that save lives and raise the global standard of living, and they satisfy our basic wonder about the world around us. But that really is very idealistic. Especially in the modern era, in which extreme specialization is encouraged and researchers often work in large collaborations1 1. For example, a recent astrophysics paper has over 2,000 authors. , one person’s contribution is marginal. The likelihood that an individual researcher will ever make a significant breakthrough is so vanishingly small that it seems foolish to pin your hopes of finding career fulfillment on it.
That’s not to say, though, that many other careers are better in this respect. A single worker in any organization has only a very small impact; only a few high-impact careers (e.g., non-profit work) can beat this metric. Comparatively, being a scientist is pretty good. Maybe the real lesson is that looking for fulfillment in a career is barking up the wrong tree to begin with.
My feeling, then, is that, more than anything, the STEM Ph.D. is selling an idea, one of being a world expert in a small topic. Is that really worth it, especially if you don’t absolutely love the research environment? Maybe. I’m not really sure. Still, I think I would be very disappointed in myself if I didn’t try.