Research Impact | Cash for Questions: Research funding, policy and development

MOOCing about: My experience of a massively open online course

I’ve just completed my first Massively Open Online Course (or MOOC) entitled ‘The mind is flat: the shocking shallowness of human psychology run via the Futurelearn platform. It was run by Professor Nick Chater and PhD student Jess Whittlestone of Warwick Business School and this is the second iteration of the course, which I understand will be running again at some point. Although teaching and learning in general (and MOOCs in particular) are off topic for this blog, I thought it might be interesting to jot down a few thoughts about my very limited experience of being on the receiving end of a MOOCing. There’s been a lot of discussion of MOOCs which I’ve been following in a kind of half-hearted way, but I’ve not seen much (if anything) written from the student perspective.

“Alright dudes… I’m the future of higher education, apparently. Could be worse… could be HAL 9000”

I was going to explain my motivations for signing up for the course to add a bit of context, but one of the key themes of the MOOC has been the shallowness and instability of human reasons and motivations. We can’t just reach back into our minds, it seems, and retrieve our thinking and decision making processes from a previous point in time. Rather, the mind is an improviser, and can cobble together – on demand – all kinds of retrospective justifications and explanations for our actions which fit the known facts including our previous decisions and the things we like to think motivate us.

So my post-hoc rationalisation of my decision to sign up is probably three-fold. Firstly, I think a desire for lifelong learning and in particular an interest in (popular) psychology are things I ascribe to myself. Hence an undergraduate subsidiary module in psychology and having read Stuart Sutherland’s wonderful book ‘Irrationality‘. A second plausible explanation is that I work with behavioural economists in my current role, and this MOOC would help me understand them and their work better. A third possibility is that I wanted to find out what MOOCs were all about and what it was like to do one, not least because of their alleged disruptive potential for higher education.

So…. what does the course consist of? Well, it’s a six week course requiring an estimated five hours of time per week. Each week-long chunk has a broad overarching theme, and consists of a round-up of themes arising from questions from the previous week, and then a series of short videos (generally between 4 and 20 minutes) either in a lecture/talking head format, or in an interview format. Interviewees have included other academics and industry figures. There are a few very short written sections to read, a few experiments to do to demonstrate some of the theories, a talking point, and finally a multiple choice test. Students are free to participate whenever they like, but there’s a definite steer towards trying to finish each week’s activities within that week, rather than falling behind or ploughing ahead. Each video or page provides the opportunity to add comments, and it’s possible for students to “like” each other’s comments and respond to them. In particular there’s usually one ‘question of the week’ where comment is particularly encouraged.

The structure means that it’s very easy to fit alongside work and other commitments – so far I’ve found myself watching course videos during half time in Champions League matches (though the half time analysis could have told its own story about the shallowness of human psychology and the desire to create narratives), last thing at night in lieu of bedtime reading, and when killing time between finishing work and heading off to meet friends. The fact that the videos are short means that it’s not a case of finding an hour or more at a time for uninterrupted study. Having said that, this is a course which assumes “no special knowledge or previous experience of studying”, and I can well imagine that other MOOCs require a much greater commitment in terms of time and attention.

I’ve really enjoyed the course, and I’ve found myself actively looking forward to the start of a new week, and to carving out a free half hour to make some progress into the new material. As a commitment-light, convenient way of learning, it’s brilliant. The fact that it’s free helps. Whether I’d pay for it or not I’m not sure, not least because I’ve learnt that we’re terrible at working out absolute value, as our brains are programmed to compare. Once a market develops and gives me some options to compare, I’d be able to think about it. Once I had a few MOOCs under my belt, I’d certainly consider paying actual money for the right course on the right topic at the right level with the right structure. At the moment it’s possible to pay for exams (about £120, or £24 for a “statement of participation”) on some courses, but as they’re not credit bearing it’s hard to imagine there would be much uptake. What might be a better option to offer is a smaller see for a self-printable .pdf record of courses completed, especially once people start racking up course completions.

One drawback is the multiple choice method of examining/testing, which doesn’t allow much sophistication or nuance in answers. A couple of the questions on the MOOC I completed were ambiguous or poorly phrased, and one in particular made very confusing use of “I” and “you” in a scenario question, and I’d still argue (sour grapes alert) that the official “correct” answer was wrong. I can see that multiple choice is the only really viable way of having tests at the moment (though one podcast I was listening to the other day mooted the possibility of machine text analysis marking for short essays based on marks given to a sample number), but I think a lot more work needs to go into developing best (and better) practice around question setting. It’s difficult – as a research student I remember being asked to come up with some multiple choice questions about the philosophy of John Rawls for an undergraduate exam paper, and struggled with that. Though I did remove the one from the previous paper which asked how many principles of justice there were (answer: it depends how you count them).

But could it replace an undergraduate degree programme? Could I imagine doing a mega-MOOC as my de facto full time job, watching video lectures, reading course notes and core materials, taking multiple choice questions and (presumably) writing essays? I think probably not. I think the lack of human interaction would probably drive me mad – and I say this as a confirmed introvert. Granted, a degree level MOOC would probably have more opportunities for social interaction – skype tutorials, better comments systems, more interaction with course tutors, local networks to meet fellow students who live nearby – but I think the feeling of disconnection, isolation, and alienation would just be too strong. Having said that, perhaps to digital natives this won’t be the case, and perhaps compared (as our brains are good at comparing) to the full university experience a significantly lighter price tag might be attractive. And of course, for those in developing countries or unable or unwilling to relocate to a university campus (for whatever reason), it could be a serious alternative.

But I can certainly see a future that blends MOOC-style delivery with more traditional university approaches to teaching and learning. Why not restructure lectures into shorter chunks and make them available online, at the students’ convenience? There are real opportunities to bring in extra content with expert guest speakers, especially industry figures, world leading academic experts, and particularly gifted and engaging communicators. It’s not hard to imagine current student portals (moodle, blackboard etc) becoming more and more MOOC-like in terms of content and interactivity. In particular, I can imagine a future where MOOCs offer opportunities for extra credit, or for non-credit bearing courses for students to take alongside their main programme of study. These could be career-related courses, courses that complement their ‘major’, or entirely hobby or interest based.

One thought that struck me was whether it was FE rather than HE that might be threatened by MOOCs. Or at least the Adult Ed/evening classes aspect of FE. But I think even there a motivation to – say – decide to learn Spanish, is only one motivation – another is often to meet new people and to learn together, and I don’t think that that’s an itch that MOOCs are entirely ready to scratch. But I can definitely see a future for MOOCs as the standard method of continuing professional development in any number of professional fields, whether these are university-led or not. This has already started to happen, with a course called ‘Discovering Business in Society‘ counting as an exemption towards one paper of an accounting qualification. I also understand that Futurelearn are interested in pilot schemes for the use of MOOCs 16-19 year olds to support learning outcomes in schools.

It’s also a great opportunity for hobbyists and dabblers like me to try something new and pursue other intellectual interests. I can certainly imagine a future in which huge numbers of people are undertaking a MOOC of one kind or another, with many going from MOOC to MOOC and building up quite a CV of virtual courses, whether for career reasons, personal interest, or a combination of both. Should we see MOOCs as the next logical and interactive step from watching documentaries? Those who today watch Horizon and Timewatch and, well, most of BBC4, might in future carry that interest forward to MOOCs.

So perhaps rather than seeing MOOCs in terms of what they’re going to disrupt or displace or replace, we’re better off seeing them as something entirely new.

And I’m starting my next MOOC on Monday – Cooperation in the contemporary world: Unlocking International Politics led by Jamie Johnson of the University of Birmingham. And there are several more that look tempting… How to read your boss from colleagues at the University of Nottingham, and England in the time of Richard III from – where else – the University of Leicester.

Adam Golberg announces new post about Ministers inserting themselves into research grant announcements

“You might very well think that as your hypothesis, but I couldn’t possibly comment”

Here’s something I’ve been wondering recently. Is it just me, or have major research council funding announcements started to be made by government ministers, rather than by the, er, research councils?

Here’s a couple of examples that caught my eye from the last week or so. First, David Willetts MP “announces £29 million of funding for ESRC Centres and Large Grants“. Thanks Dave! To be fair, he is Minster of State for Universities and Science. Rather more puzzling is George Osborne announcing “22 new Centres for Doctoral Training“, though apparently he found the money as Chancellor of the Exchequer. Seems a bit tenuous to me.

So I had a quick look back through the ESRC and EPSRC press release archives to see if the prominence of government ministers in research council funding announcements was a new thing or not. Because I hadn’t noticed it before. With the ESRC, it is new. Here’s the equivalent announcement from last year in which no government minister is mentioned. With the EPSRC, it’s being going on for longer. This year’s archive and the 2013 archive show government ministers (mainly Willetts, sometimes Cable or Osborne) front and centre in major announcements. In 2012 they get a name check, but normally in the second or third paragraph, not in the headline, and don’t get a picture of themselves attached to the story.

Does any of this matter? Perhaps not, but here’s why I think it’s worth mentioning. The Haldane Principle is generally defined as “decisions about what to spend research funds on should be made by researchers rather than politicians”. And one of my worries is that in closely associating political figures with funding decisions, the wrong impression is given. Read the recent ESRC announcement again, and it’s only when you get down to the ‘Notes for Editors’ section that there’s any indication that there was a competition, and you have to infer quite heavily from those notes that decisions were taken independently of government.

Why is this happening? It might be for quite benign reasons – perhaps research council PR people think (probably not unreasonably) that name-checking a government minister gives them a greater chance of media coverage. But I worry that it might be for less benign reasons related to political spin – seeking credit and basking in the reflected glory of all these new investments, which to the non-expert eye look to be something novel, rather than research council business as usual. To be fair, there are good arguments for thinking that the current government does deserve some credit for protecting research budgets – a flat cash settlement (i.e. cut only be the rate of inflation each year) is less good than many want, but better than many feared. But it would be deeply misleading if the general public were to think that these announcements represented anything above and beyond the normal day-to-day work of the research councils.

Jo VanEvery tells me via Twitter that ministerial announcements are normal practice in Canada, but something doesn’t quite sit right with me about this, and it’s not a party political worry. I feel there’s a real risk of appearing to politicise research. If government claims credit, it’s reasonable for the opposition to criticise… now that might be the level of investment, but might it extend to the investments chosen? Or do politicians know better than to go there for cheap political points?

Or should we stop worrying and just embrace it? It’s not clear that many people outside of the research ‘industry’ notice anyway (though the graphene announcement was very high profile), and so perhaps the chances of the electorate being misled (about this, at least) are fairly small.

But we could go further. MEPs to announce Horizon 2020 funding? Perhaps Nick Clegg should announce the results of the British Academy/Leverhulme Small Grants Scheme, although given the Victorian origins of investments and wealth supporting work of the Leverhulme Trust, perhaps the honour should go to the ghosts of Gladstone or Disraeli.

Is there a danger that research funding calls are getting too narrow?

The ESRC have recently added a little more detail to a previous announcement about a pending call for European-Chinese joint research projects on Green Economy and Population Change. Specifically, they’re after projects which address the following themes:

Green Economy

The ‘greenness and dynamics of economies’

Institutions, Policies and planning for a green economy

The green economy in cities and metropolitan areas

Consumer behaviour and lifestyles in a green economy

Understanding population Change

changing life course

urbanisation and migration

labour markets and social security dynamics

methodology, modelling and forecasting

care provision

comparative policy learning

Projects will need to involve institutions from at least two of the participating European counties (UK, France (involvement TBC), Germany, Netherlands) and two institutions in China. On top of this is an expectation that there will be sustainability/capacity building around the research collaborations, plus the usual further plus points of involving stakeholders and interdisciplinary research.

Before I start being negative, or potentially negative, I have one blatant plug and some positive things to say. The blatant plug is that the University of Nottingham has a campus in Ningbo in China which is eligible for NSFC funding and therefore would presumably count as one Chinese partner. I wouldn’t claim to know all about all aspects of our Ningbo research expertise, but I know people who do. Please feel free to contact me with ideas/research agendas and I’ll see if I can put you in touch with people who know people.

The positive things. The topics seem to me to be important, and we’ve been given advance notice of the call and a fair amount of time to put something together. There’s a reference to Open Research Area procedures and mechanisms, which refers to agreements between the UK, France, Netherlands and Germany on a common decision making process for joint projects in which each partner is funded by their national funder under their own national funding rules. This is excellent, as it doesn’t require anyone to become an expert in another country’s national funder’s rules, and doesn’t have the double or treble jeopardy problem of previous calls where decisions were taken by individual funders. It’s also good that national funders are working together on common challenges – this adds fresh insight, invites interesting comparative work and pools intellectual and financial resources.

However, what concerns me about calls like this is that the area at the centre of the particular Venn diagram of this call is really quite small. It’s open to researchers with research interests in the right areas, with collaborators in the right European countries, with collaborators in China. That’s two – arguably three – circles in the diagram. Of course, there’s a fourth – proposals that are outstanding. Will there be enough strong competition on the hallowed ground at the centre of all these circles? It’s hard to say, as we don’t know yet how much money is available.

I’m all for calls that encourage, incentivise, and facilitate international research. I’m in favour of calls on specific topics which are under-researched, which are judged of particular national or international importance, or where co-funding from partners can be found to address areas of common interest.

But I’m less sure about having both in one call – both very specific requirements in terms of the nationality of the partner institutions, and in terms of the call themes. Probably the scope of this call is wide enough – presumably the funders think so – but I can’t help think that that less onerous eligibility requirements in terms of partners could lead to greater numbers of high quality applications.

The consequences of Open Access, part 2: Are researchers prepared for greater scrutiny?

In part 1 of this post, I raised questions about how academic writing might have to change in response to the open access agenda. The spirit of open access surely requires not just the availability of academic papers, but the accessibility of those papers to research users and stakeholders. I argued that lay summaries and context pieces will increasingly be required, and I was pleased to discover that at least some open access journals are already thinking about this. In this second part, I want to raise questions about whether researchers and those who support them are ready for the potential extra degree of scrutiny and attention that open access may bring.

On February 23rd 2012, the Journal of Medical Ethics published a paper called After-birth abortion: why should the baby live? by Alberto Giubilini and Francesca Minerva. The paper was not to advocate “after birth abortion” (i.e infanticide), but to argue that many of the arguments that are said to justify abortion also turn out to justify infanticide. This isn’t a new argument by any means, but presumably there was sufficient novelty in the construction of the argument to warrant publications. To those familiar with the conventions of applied ethics – the intended readers of the article – it’s understood that it was playing devil’s advocate, seeing how far arguments can be stretched, taking things to their logical conclusion, seeing how far the thin end of the edge will drive, what’s at the bottom of the slippery slope, just what kind of absurdium can be reductio-ed to. While the paper isn’t satire in the same way as Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal, no sensible reader would have concluded that the authors were calling for infanticide to be made legal, in spite of the title.

I understand that what happened next was that the existence of the article – for some reason – attracted attention in the right wing Christian blogosphere, prompting a rash of complaints, hostile commentary, fury, racist attacks, and death threats. Journal editor Julian Savulescu wrote a blog post about the affair, below which are 624 comments. It’s enlightening and depressing reading in equal measure. Quick declaration of interest here – my academic background (such as it is) is in philosophy, and I used to work at Keele University’s Centre for Professional Ethics marketing their courses. I know some of the people involved in the JME’s response, though not Savulescu or the authors of the paper.

There’s a lot that can (and probably should) be said about the deep misunderstanding that occurred between professional bioethicists and non-academics concerned about ethical issues who read the paper, or who heard about it. Part of that misunderstanding is about what ethicists do – they explore arguments, analyse concepts, test theories, follow the arguments. They don’t have any special access to moral truth, and while their private views are often much better thought out than most people, most see their role as helping to understand arguments, not pushing any particular position. Though some of them do that too, especially if it gets them on Newsnight. I’m not really well informed enough to comment too much on this, but it seems to me that the ethicists haven’t done a great job of explaining what they do to those more moderate and sensible critics. Those who post death threats and racist abuse are probably past reasoned argument and probably love having something to rail against because it justifies their peculiar world view, but for everyone else, I think it ought to be possible to explain. Perhaps the notion of a lay summary that I mentioned last time might be helpful here.

Part of the reason for the fuss might have been because the article wasn’t available via open access, so some critics may not have had the opportunity to read the article and make up their own mind. This might be thought of as a major argument in favour of open access – and of course, it is – the reasonable and sensible would have at least skim-read the article, and it’s easier to marshal a response when what’s being complained about is out there for reference.

However….. the unfortunate truth is that there are elements out there who are looking for the next scandal, for the next chance to whip up outrage, for the next witch hunt. And I’m not just talking about the blogosphere, I’m talking about elements of the mainstream media, who (regardless of our personal politics) have little respect or regard for notions of truth, integrity and fairness. If they get their paper sales, web hits, outraged comments, and resulting manufactured “scandal”, then they’re happy. Think I’m exaggerating? Ask Hilary Mantel, who was on the receiving end of an entirely manufactured fuss with comments she made in a long and thoughtful lecture being taken deliberately and dishonestly out of context.

While open access will make things easier for high quality journalism and for the open-minded citizen and/or professional, it’ll also make it easier for the scandal-mongers (in the mainstream media and in the blogosphere) to identify the next victim to be thrown to the ravenous outrage-hungry wolves that make up their particular constituency. It’s already risky to be known to be researching and publishing in certain areas – anything involving animal research; climate change; crop science; evolutionary theory; Münchhausen’s by Proxy; vaccination; and (oddly) chronic fatigue syndrome/ME – appears to have a hostile activist community ready to pounce on any research that comes back with the “wrong” answer.

I don’t want to go too far in presenting the world outside the doors of the academy as being a swamp of unreason and prejudice. But the fact is that alongside the majority of the general public (and bloggers and journalists) who are both rational and reasonable, there is an element that would be happy to twist (or invent) things to suit their own agenda, especially if that agenda involves whipping out manufactured outrage to enable their constituency to confirm their existing prejudices. Never mind the facts, just get angry!

Doubtless we all know academics who would probably relish the extra attention and are already comfortable with the public spotlight. But I’m sure we also know academics who do not seek the limelight, who don’t trust the media, and who would struggle to cope with even five minutes of (in)fame(y). One day you’re a humble bioethicist, presumably little known outside your professional circles, and the next, hundreds of people are wishing you dead and calling you every name under the sun. While Richard Dawkins seems to revel in his (sweary) hate mail, I think a lot of people would find it very distressing to receive emails hoping for their painful death. I know it would upset me a lot, so please don’t send me any, okay? And be nice in the comments…..

Of course, even if things never get that far or go that badly, with open access there’s always a greater chance of hostile comment or criticism from the more mainstream and reasonable media, who have a much bigger platform from which to speak than an academic journal. This criticism need not be malicious, could be legitimate opinion, could be based on a misunderstanding. Open access opens up the academy to greater scrutiny and greater criticism.

As for what we do about this….. it’s hard to say. I certainly don’t say that we retreat behind the safety of our paywalls and sally forth with our research only when guarded by a phalanx of heavy infantry to protect us from the swinish multitude besieging our ivory tower. But I think that there are things that we can do in order to be better prepared. The use of lay summaries, and greater consideration of the lay reader when writing academic papers will help guard against misunderstandings.

University external relations departments need to be ready to support and defend academic colleagues, and perhaps need to think about planning for these kind of problems, if they don’t do so already.

The consequences of Open Access: Part 1: Is anyone thinking about the “lay” reader?

The thorny issue of “open access” – which I take to mean the question of how to make the fruits of publicly-funded research freely and openly available to the public – is one that’s way above my pay grade and therefore not one I’ll be resolving in this blog post. Sorry about that. I’ve been following the debates with some interest, though not, I confess, an interest which I’d call “keen” or “close”. No doubt some of the nuances and arguments have escaped me, and so I’ll be going to an internal event in a week or so to catch up. I expect it’ll be similar to this one helpfully written up by Phil Ward over at Fundermentals. Probably the best single overview of the history and arguments about open access is an article in this week’s Times Higher article by Paul Jump – well worth a read.

I’ve been wondering about some of the consequences of open access that I haven’t seen discussed anywhere yet. This first post is about the needs of research users, and I’ll be following it up with a post about what some consequences of open access for academics that may require more thought.

I wonder if enough consideration is being given to the needs and interests of potential readers and users of all this research which is to be liberated from paywalls and other restrictions. It seems to me that if Joe Public and Joanna Interested-Professional are going to be able to get their mitts on all this research, then this has very serious implications for academic research and academic writing. I’d go as far as to say it’s potentially revolutionary, and may require radical and permanent changes to the culture and practice of academic writing for publication in a number of research fields. I’m writing this to try to find out what thought has been given to this, amidst all the sound and fury about green and gold.

If I were reading an academic paper in a field that I was unfamiliar with, I think there are two things I’d struggle with. One would be properly and fully understanding the article in itself, and the second would be understanding the article in the context of the broader literature and the state of knowledge in that area. By way of example, a few years back I was looking into buying a rebounder – a kind of indoor mini-trampoline. Many vendors made much of a study attributed to NASA which they interpreted as making dramatic claims about the efficacy of rebounder exercising compared to other kinds of exercise. Being of a sceptical nature and armed with campus access to academic papers that weren’t open access, I went and had a look myself. At the time, I concluded that these claims weren’t borne out by the study, which was really aimed at looking at helping astronauts recover from spending time in weightlessness. I don’t have access to the article as I’m writing this, so I can’t re-check, but here’s the abstract. I see that this paper is over 30 years old, and that eight people is a very small sample size…. so… perhaps superseded and not very highly powered. I think the final line of the abstract may back up my recollection (“… a finding that might help identify acceleration parameters needed for the design of remedial procedures to avert deconditioning in persons exposed to weightlessness”).

For the avoidance of doubt, I infer no dishonesty nor nefarious intent on the part of rebounder vendors and advocates – I may be wrong in my interpretation, and even if I’m not, I expect this is more likely to be a case of misunderstanding a fairly opaque paper rather than deliberate distortion. In any case, my own experience with rebounders has been very positive, though I still don’t think they’re a miracle or magic bullet exercise.

How would open access help me here? Well, obviously it would give me access to the paper. But it won’t help me understand it, won’t help me draw inferences from it, won’t help me place it in the context of the broader literature. Those numbers in that abstract look great, but I don’t have the first clue what they mean. Now granted, with full open access I can carry out my own literature search if I have the time, knowledge and inclination. But it’ll still be difficult for me to compare and contrast and form my own conclusions. And I imagine that it’ll be harder still for others without a university education and a degree of familiarity with academic papers, or who haven’t read Ben Goldacre’s excellent Bad Science.

I worry that open access will only make it easier for people with an agenda (to sell products, or to push a certain political agenda) to cherry-pick evidence and put together a new ill-deserved veneer of respectability by linking to academic papers and presenting (or feigning to present) a summary of their contents and arguments. The intellectually dishonest are already doing this, and open access might make it easier.

I don’t present this as an argument against open access, and I don’t agree with a paternalist elitist view that holds that only those with sufficient letters after their name can be trusted to look at the precious research. Open access will make it easier to debunk the charlatans and the quacks, and that’s a good thing. But perhaps we need to think about how academics write papers from now on – they’re not writing just for each other and for their students, but for ordinary members of the public and/or research users of various kinds who might find (or be referred to) their paper online. Do we need to start thinking about a “lay summary” for each paper to go alongside the abstract, setting out what the conclusions are in clear terms, what it means, and what it doesn’t mean?

What do we do with papers that present evidence for a conclusion that further research demonstrates to be false? In cases of research misconduct, these can be formally withdrawn, but we wouldn’t want to do that in cases of papers that have just been superseded, not least because they might turn out to be correct after all, and are still a valid and important part of the debate. Of course, where the current scientific consensus on any particular issue may not be clear, and it’s less clear still how the state of the debate can be impartially communicated to research users.

I’d argue that we need to think about a format or template for an “information for non-academic readers” or something similar. This would set out a lay summary of the research, its limitations, links to key previous studies, details of the publishing journal and evidence of its bona fides. Of course, it’s possible that what would be more useful would be regularly written and re-written evidence briefings on particular topics designed for research users. One source of lay reviews I particularly like is the NHS Behind the Headlines which comments on the accuracy (or otherwise) of media coverage of health research news. It’s nicely written, easily accessible, and isn’t afraid to criticise or praise media coverage when warranted. But even so, as the journals are the original source, some kind of standard boiler plate information section might be in order.

Has there been any discussion of these issues that I’ve missed? This all seems important to me, and I wouldn’t want us to be in a position of finally agreeing what colour our open access ought to be, only to find that next to no thought has been given to potential readers. I’ve talked mainly about health/exercise examples in this entry, but all this could apply just as well to pretty much any other field of research where non-academics might take an interest.