Scholarship applications. Part 2: Time is money (wersja polska poniżej)

In my previous post, I wrote about different kinds of applications for funding in the academic world and criticized the rhetoric of success present in the ‘descriptive’ type of applications. One has to admit, however, that the ‘descriptive’ type has one huge advantage over the purely ‘factual’ one: not all important information can be contained in bullet points, listed under specific categories of achievements. For instance, only in the descriptive applications, one can make the evaluator aware of the amount of work that is required to obtain results in a given discipline. If a researcher’s success is measured by sheer number of publications and the quality of a given journal, as it is often the case, then e.g. an archaeologist will be from the outset disadvantaged compared to, let’s say, a literary theorist. The former needs to commit much more time to fieldwork and travels, before he is ready to publish his results. In a longer description, he will have the opportunity to remind the evaluator of such special circumstances regarding his profession. The same is true of perfecting research skills, especially at the beginning of one’s career. If, for instance, one’s research requires extensive knowledge of a number of foreign languages, he, in terms of points earned, will stay behind his colleagues who need only Polish and English in their work. So once more the ‘time is money’ catchphrase proves to be true.

Benjamin Franklin, the author of the ‘Time is money’ phrase; artist: Joseph-Siffred Duplessis (National Portrait Gallery, Washington; available at: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:BenFranklinDuplessis.jpg)

Scholarship applications. Part 1: Rhetoric of success (wersja polska poniżej)

Fall of each year is usually the time of intense submitting scholarship applications to various institutions. In recent weeks, graduate students at my university were informed whether they received any support for the upcoming semester. Some applications are still pending. Surely, applying is a ‘year-round’ business for many students, but we definitely experience cumulation of this activity in October of each year.

There are applications consisting of mere facts about ourselves: publications, conferences, subjects taught etc. There are then applications where one is supposed to present their achievements in a descriptive manner. Sometimes one has to do both.

Personally, I am fine with the first type of application (facts). However, being convincingly enthusiastic about my own achievements, which is usually expected in a descriptive type of application, presents for me some difficulties. An example: explaining why some research is ‘ground-breaking’ and ‘fundamental’ for a given discipline belongs to a repertoire of commonplaces of a descriptive application. Although any junior scholar seeks interesting research topics, trying to achieve results as accurate and innovative as possible, one has to admit that ground-breaking character of these achievements isn’t always an obvious thing. Everyone knows that young researchers are still perfecting their research skills while working on some smaller topics. ‘Fundamental’ syntheses are usually written later in one’s career. And even if a graduate student has an exceptional research potential for his age, he still has no financial means to realise it: institutions set limits to funding a young researcher can apply for. This funding is sufficient to conduct a ‘good enough’, interesting project, but not – a ground-breaking project, which usually requires establishing and paying a research team. Ideally, a student should work in a team led by an experienced researcher. In humanities, however, at least in Poland, this kind of situation is still relatively rare.

So the rhetoric of descriptive applications tends sometimes to be at odds with reality. But even if it wasn’t, it would still be psychologically doubtful, especially for those who aren’t keen to flatter themselves openly.

 

'I refuse to award...'

'Scholarship awarded...'

La bohème (wersja polska poniżej)

Fairly recently, I watched in a Krakow cinema Puccini’s La bohème, broadcasted from the MET. Thanks to the subtitles, I was for the first time able to follow the actual dialogues. The opening scene is set at a cold attic which the main character, Rodolfo, is about to heat with his own theatre play, that is – the paper on which it was written. ‘Sorry, my dear audience, hard times call for great sacrifice’ – he says. His roommates comment, while watching flames that consume subsequent acts: ‘It’s great, full of life – but too short’, ‘There’s nothing lasting about your drama’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntg9vXxAia8/ - here La bohème with English subtitles). Listening to these lines, I laughed louder than anybody else in the cinema, being a classic embarrassing companion to people who were out with me. I just knew it so well: that was about us, PhD students in the humanities! From then on, I started to call them/us – la bohème. We are poor, but we still prefer our chosen, independent way of life to finding a stable employment elsewhere. We as well sit around with bright people sharing good jokes about our own condition, this being sometimes the only way to distance ourselves from the harsh realities of life.

And it’s even more profound. I can’t quote here any statistical evidence, but certainly my observation shows that there are far less married couples among PhD students than in other groups of the same age. Also, graduate students have way less children than his peers who don’t pursue academic career. Even conservatively minded people who do PhD are part of this tendency. And nobody gets a loan because nobody would be eligible for one. But it’s not only about money – I find that highly sensitive and highly reflective people have it, for better or worse, just harder to settle. And these are precisely the kind of people who often decide to do PhD in the humanities.