Wednesday, 15 May 2013

Have we become slower and dumber?

Guest post by Patrick Rabbitt

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sciencemuseum/3321607591/
This week, a paper by Woodley et al (2013) was widely quoted in the media (e.g. Daily Mail, Telegraph). The authors dramatically announced that the average intelligence of populations of Western industrialised societies has fallen since the Victorian era. This is provocative because previous analyses of large archived datasets of intelligence tests scores by Flynn and others show the opposite. However, Woodley et al did not examine average intelligence test scores obtained from different generations. They compared 16 sets of data from Simple Reaction - Time (SRT) experiments made on groups of people at various times between 1884 and 2002. In all of  these experiments volunteers responded to a single light signal by pressing a single response key.  Data for women are incomplete but averages of  SRTs for men increase significantly with year of testing.  Because Woodley et al regard SRTs as good inverse proxy measures for intelligence test scores, which are in some senses “purer” measures of intelligence than pencil and paper tests, they concluded that more recent samples are less intelligent than earlier ones

Throughout their paper the authors argue that higher intelligence of persons alive during the Victorian era can explain why their creativity and achievements were markedly greater than for later, duller generations. We can leave aside an important question whether there is any sound evidence that creativity and intellectual achievements have declined since a Great Victorian Flowering because only two of  the 16 datasets they compared were collected before Victoria’s death in 1901. The remaining 14 datasets date between 1941 and 2004 and, of these, only four were collected before 1970. So most of the studies analysed were made within my personal working lifespan. This provokes both nostalgia and distrust. Between 1959 and 2004 I collected  reaction times (RTs) from many large samples of people but it would make no sense for me to compare absolute values of group mean RTs that I obtained before and after 1975. This was because, until  1975, like nearly all of my colleagues, the only apparatus I had were Dekatron counters, the Birren Psychomet or SPARTA apparatus, none of which measured intervals shorter than 100 msec. Consequently, when my apparatus gave a reading of 200 msec. the actual Reaction Time might be anywhere between 200 and 299 msec. Like most of my colleagues I always computed and published mean RTs to three decimal places, but this was pretentious because all the  RTs  I had collected had been, in effect, rounded down by my equipment. After 1975, easier access to computers and better programs gradually began to allow true millisecond resolution. More investigators took advantage of new equipment and our reports of millisecond averages became less misleading. I am unsurprised that mean RTs computed from post-1975 data were consistently, and significantly longer than those for pre-1975 data.

Changes in recording accuracy are a sufficient reason to withold excitement at Woodley et al’s comparison. It is worth noticing that different  methodological issues also make it tricky to compare absolute values for means of RTs that were collected at different times and so with different kinds of equipment. For example RTs are affected by differences in signal visibility and rise-times to maximum brightness between tungsten lamps, computer monitor displays, neon bulbs and LCDs. The stiffness and “throw” of response buttons will also have varied between the set-ups that investigators used. When comparing absolute values of SRTs, another important factor is whether or not each signal to respond is preceded by a warning signal, whether the periods between warning signals and response signals are constant or variable and just how long they are (intervals between, approximately, 200 and 800 ms allow faster RTs than shorter or longer ones) Knowing  these methodological  quirks makes us realise that, in marked contrast to intelligence tests, methodologies for measuring RT have been thoroughly explored but never standardised.

So I do not yet believe that Wooley et al’s analyses show that psychologists of my generation were probably (once!) smarter than our young colleagues (now) are. This seems unlikely, but perhaps if I read further publications by these industrious investigators  I may become convinced that this is really the case. 


References
Flynn, J. R. (1987). Massive IQ gains in 14 nations - what IQ tests really measure. Psychological Bulletin, 101(2), 171-191. doi: 10.1037/0033-2909.101.2.171
Michael A. Woodley, Jan te Nijenhuis, & Raegan Murphy (2013). Were the Victorians cleverer than us? The decline in general intelligence estimated from a meta-analysis of the slowing of simple reaction time Intelligence : http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.intell.2013.04.006

Thursday, 9 May 2013

The academic backlog

Photo from http://www.pa-legion.com

Here’s an interesting question to ask any scientist: If you were to receive no more research funding, and just focus on writing up the data you have, how long would it take? The answer tends to go up with seniority, but a typical answer is 3 to 5 years.
I don’t have any hard data on this – just my own experience and that of colleagues – and I suspect it varies from discipline to discipline. But my impression is that people generally agree that the academic backlog is a real phenomenon, but they disagree on whether it matters.
One view is that completed but unpublished research is not important, because there’s a kind of “survival of the fittest” of results. You focus on the most interesting and novel findings, and forget about the rest. It’s true that we’ve all done failed studies with inconclusive results, and it would be foolish trying to turn such sow’s ears into silk purses.  But I suspect there’s a large swathe of research that doesn’t fall into that category, but still never gets written up.  Is that right, given the time and money that have been expended in gathering data? Indeed, in clinical fields, it’s not only researchers putting effort into the research – there are also human participants who typically volunteer for studies on the assumption that the research will be published.
I’m not talking about research that fails to get published because it’s rejected by journal editors, but rather about studies that don’t get to the point of being written up for publication. Interest in this topic has been stimulated by Ben Goldacre’s book Bad Pharma, which has highlighted the numerous clinical trials that go unreported – often because they have negative results. In that case the concern is that findings are suppressed because they conflict with the financial interests of those doing the research, and the Alltrials campaign is doing a sterling job to tackle that issue. But beyond the field of clinical trials, there’s still a backlog, even for those of us working in areas where financial interests are not an issue.

It’s worth pausing to consider why this is so. I think it’s all to do with the incentive structure of academia. If you want to make your way in the scientific world, there are two important things you have to do: get grant funding and publish papers. This creates an optimisation problem, because both of these activities take time, and time is in short supply for the average academic.  It’s impossible to say how long it takes to write a paper, because it will depend on the complexity of the data, and will vary from one subject area to the next, but it’s not something that should be rushed. A good scientist checks everything thoroughly, thinks hard about alternative interpretations of results, and relates findings to the existing research literature. But if you take too much time, you’re at risk of being seen as unproductive, especially if you aren’t bringing in grant income. So you have to apply for grants, and having done so, you have then to do the research that you said you’d do. You may also be under pressure to apply for grants to keep your research group going, or to fund your own salary.

When I started in research, a junior person would be happy to have one grant, but that was before the REF. Nowadays  heads of department  will encourage their staff to apply for numerous grants, and it’s commonplace for senior investigators have several active grants, with estimates of around 1-2 hours per week spent on each one. Of course, time isn’t neatly divided up, and it’s more likely that the investigator will get the project up and running and then delegate it to junior staff, then putting in additional hours at the end of the project when it’s time to analyse and write up the data. The bulk of the day-to-day work will be done by postdocs or graduate students, and it can be a good training opportunity for them. All the same, it’s often the case that the amount of time specified by senior investigators is absurdly unrealistic. Yet this approach is encouraged: I doubt anyone ever questions a senior investigator’s time commitment when evaluating a grant, few funding bodies check whether you’ve done what you said you’d do, and even if they do, I’ve never heard of a funder demanding that a previous project be written up before they’ll consider a new funding application.

I don’t think the research community is particularly happy about this: many people have a sense of guilt at the backlog, but they feel they have no option. So the current system creates stress as well as inefficiency and waste. I’m not sure what the solution is, but I think this is something that research funders should start thinking about. We need to change the incentives to allow people time to think. I don’t believe anyone goes into science because they want to become rich and famous: we go into it because we are excited by ideas and want to discover new things. But just as bankers seem to get into a spiral of greed whereby they want higher and higher bonuses, it’s easy to get swept up in the need to prove yourself by getting more and more grants, and to lose sight of the whole purpose of the exercise – which should be to do good, thoughtful science.  We won’t get the right people staying in the field if we value people solely in terms of research income, rather than in terms of whether they use that income efficiently and effectively.

Tuesday, 16 April 2013

Bishopblog catalogue (updated 16th April 2013)

Source: http://www.weblogcartoons.com/2008/11/23/ideas/

Those of you who follow this blog may have noticed a lack of thematic coherence. I write about whatever is exercising my mind at the time, which can range from technical aspects of statistics to the design of bathroom taps. I decided it might be helpful to introduce a bit of order into this chaotic melange, so here is a catalogue of posts by topic.

Language impairment, dyslexia and related disorders
The common childhood disorders that have been left out in the cold (1 Dec 2010) What's in a name? (18 Dec 2010) Neuroprognosis in dyslexia (22 Dec 2010) Where commercial and clinical interests collide: Auditory processing disorder (6 Mar 2011) Auditory processing disorder (30 Mar 2011) Special educational needs: will they be met by the Green paper proposals? (9 Apr 2011) Is poor parenting really to blame for children's school problems? (3 Jun 2011) Early intervention: what's not to like? (1 Sep 2011) Lies, damned lies and spin (15 Oct 2011) A message to the world (31 Oct 2011) Vitamins, genes and language (13 Nov 2011) Neuroscientific interventions for dyslexia: red flags (24 Feb 2012) Phonics screening: sense and sensibility (3 Apr 2012) What Chomsky doesn't get about child language (3 Sept 2012) Data from the phonics screen (1 Oct 2012) Auditory processing disorder: schisms and skirmishes (27 Oct 2012) High-impact journals (Action video games and dyslexia: critique) (10 Mar 2013)

Autism
Autism diagnosis in cultural context (16 May 2011) Are our ‘gold standard’ autism diagnostic instruments fit for purpose? (30 May 2011) How common is autism? (7 Jun 2011) Autism and hypersystematising parents (21 Jun 2011) An open letter to Baroness Susan Greenfield (4 Aug 2011) Susan Greenfield and autistic spectrum disorder: was she misrepresented? (12 Aug 2011) Psychoanalytic treatment for autism: Interviews with French analysts (23 Jan 2012) The ‘autism epidemic’ and diagnostic substitution (4 Jun 2012)

Developmental disorders/paediatrics
The hidden cost of neglected tropical diseases (25 Nov 2010) The National Children's Study: a view from across the pond (25 Jun 2011) The kids are all right in daycare (14 Sep 2011) Moderate drinking in pregnancy: toxic or benign? (21 Nov 2012)

Genetics
Where does the myth of a gene for things like intelligence come from? (9 Sep 2010) Genes for optimism, dyslexia and obesity and other mythical beasts (10 Sep 2010) The X and Y of sex differences (11 May 2011) Review of How Genes Influence Behaviour (5 Jun 2011) Getting genetic effect sizes in perspective (20 Apr 2012) Moderate drinking in pregnancy: toxic or benign? (21 Nov 2012) Genes, brains and lateralisation (22 Dec 2012) Genetic variation and neuroimaging (11 Jan 2013)

Neuroscience
Neuroprognosis in dyslexia (22 Dec 2010) Brain scans show that… (11 Jun 2011)  Time for neuroimaging (and PNAS) to clean up its act (5 Mar 2012) Neuronal migration in language learning impairments (2 May 2012) Sharing of MRI datasets (6 May 2012) Genetic variation and neuroimaging (1 Jan 2013)

Statistics
Book review: biography of Richard Doll (5 Jun 2010) Book review: the Invisible Gorilla (30 Jun 2010) The difference between p < .05 and a screening test (23 Jul 2010) Three ways to improve cognitive test scores without intervention (14 Aug 2010) A short nerdy post about the use of percentiles (13 Apr 2011) The joys of inventing data (5 Oct 2011) Getting genetic effect sizes in perspective (20 Apr 2012) Causal models of developmental disorders: the perils of correlational data (24 Jun 2012) Data from the phonics screen (1 Oct 2012)Moderate drinking in pregnancy: toxic or benign? (1 Nov 2012) Flaky chocolate and the New England Journal of Medicine (13 Nov 2012)

Journalism/science communication
Orwellian prize for scientific misrepresentation (1 Jun 2010) Journalists and the 'scientific breakthrough' (13 Jun 2010) Science journal editors: a taxonomy (28 Sep 2010) Orwellian prize for journalistic misrepresentation: an update (29 Jan 2011) Academic publishing: why isn't psychology like physics? (26 Feb 2011) Scientific communication: the Comment option (25 May 2011) Accentuate the negative (26 Oct 2011) Publishers, psychological tests and greed (30 Dec 2011) Time for academics to withdraw free labour (7 Jan 2012) Novelty, interest and replicability (19 Jan 2012) 2011 Orwellian Prize for Journalistic Misrepresentation (29 Jan 2012) Time for neuroimaging (and PNAS) to clean up its act (5 Mar 2012) Communicating science in the age of the internet (13 Jul 2012) How to bury your academic writing (26 Aug 2012) High-impact journals: where newsworthiness trumps methodology (10 Mar 2013) Blogging as post-publication peer review (21 Mar 2013) A short rant about numbered journal references (5 Apr 2013)

Social Media
A gentle introduction to Twitter for the apprehensive academic (14 Jun 2011) Your Twitter Profile: The Importance of Not Being Earnest (19 Nov 2011) Will I still be tweeting in 2013? (2 Jan 2012) Blogging in the service of science (10 Mar 2012) Blogging as post-publication peer review (21 Mar 2013)

Academic life
An exciting day in the life of a scientist (24 Jun 2010) How our current reward structures have distorted and damaged science (6 Aug 2010) The challenge for science: speech by Colin Blakemore (14 Oct 2010) When ethics regulations have unethical consequences (14 Dec 2010) A day working from home (23 Dec 2010) Should we ration research grant applications? (8 Jan 2011) The one hour lecture (11 Mar 2011) The expansion of research regulators (20 Mar 2011) Should we ever fight lies with lies? (19 Jun 2011) How to survive in psychological research (13 Jul 2011) So you want to be a research assistant? (25 Aug 2011) NHS research ethics procedures: a modern-day Circumlocution Office (18 Dec 2011) The REF: a monster that sucks time and money from academic institutions (20 Mar 2012) The ultimate email auto-response (12 Apr 2012) Well, this should be easy…. (21 May 2012) Journal impact factors and REF2014 (19 Jan 2013)  An alternative to REF2014 (26 Jan 2013) Postgraduate education: time for a rethink (9 Feb 2013) High-impact journals: where newsworthiness trumps methodology (10 Mar 2013) Ten things that can sink a grant proposal (19 Mar 2013)Blogging as post-publication peer review (21 Mar 2013)   

Celebrity scientists/quackery
Three ways to improve cognitive test scores without intervention (14 Aug 2010) What does it take to become a Fellow of the RSM? (24 Jul 2011) An open letter to Baroness Susan Greenfield (4 Aug 2011) Susan Greenfield and autistic spectrum disorder: was she misrepresented? (12 Aug 2011) How to become a celebrity scientific expert (12 Sep 2011) The kids are all right in daycare (14 Sep 2011)  The weird world of US ethics regulation (25 Nov 2011) Pioneering treatment or quackery? How to decide (4 Dec 2011) Psychoanalytic treatment for autism: Interviews with French analysts (23 Jan 2012) Neuroscientific interventions for dyslexia: red flags (24 Feb 2012)

Women
Academic mobbing in cyberspace (30 May 2010) What works for women: some useful links (12 Jan 2011) The burqua ban: what's a liberal response (21 Apr 2011) C'mon sisters! Speak out! (28 Mar 2012) Psychology: where are all the men? (5 Nov 2012)

Politics and Religion
Lies, damned lies and spin (15 Oct 2011) A letter to Nick Clegg from an ex liberal democrat (11 Mar 2012) BBC's 'extensive coverage' of the NHS bill (9 Apr 2012) Schoolgirls' health put at risk by Catholic view on vaccination (30 Jun 2012) Postscript: academic mobbing in cyberspace (31 May 2010) Parasites, pangolins and peer review (26 Nov 2010)

Humour
Orwellian prize for scientific misrepresentation (1 Jun 2010) An exciting day in the life of a scientist (24 Jun 2010) Science journal editors: a taxonomy (28 Sep 2010) Parasites, pangolins and peer review (26 Nov 2010) A day working from home (23 Dec 2010) The one hour lecture (11 Mar 2011) The expansion of research regulators (20 Mar 2011) Scientific communication: the Comment option (25 May 2011) How to survive in psychological research (13 Jul 2011) Your Twitter Profile: The Importance of Not Being Earnest (19 Nov 2011) 2011 Orwellian Prize for Journalistic Misrepresentation (29 Jan 2012) The ultimate email auto-response (12 Apr 2012) Well, this should be easy…. (21 May 2012) The bewildering bathroom challenge (19 Jul 2012) Are Starbucks hiding their profits on the planet Vulcan? (15 Nov 2012) Forget the Tower of Hanoi (11 Apr 2013)

Thursday, 11 April 2013

Forget the Tower of Hanoi: A new ecologically valid test of executive function

Here’s a problem I encountered the other day.

I’d left my keys at home (a bad start). But I’ve learned to arrange life to allow for cognitive failures, and I knew there was a spare key in the keybox in my PA’s office.

My PA was on holiday, and her door was locked, but I was not foiled by this because there’s a spare key to her room in another keybox (#2) outside her door.

Both keyboxes have numeric codes, but codes for the keyboxes have been set to be memorable, even by someone with a barely functioning hippocampus.

So I managed to get into my PA’s office, extract key for my office, lock up her office, enter my office, and do a full day’s work.

It was going in the other direction, restoring my office key to the keybox, that proved challenging.

Before you read on, you might want to give your frontal lobes a little work-out: what should the correct sequence of events be?

Well, here’s what I did:

1.    Go down corridor to keybox to retrieve key to PA’s office. Unable to read the number codes without spectacles.
2.    Return to my office to get spectacles. Open keybox. Release key to PA’s office. Enter office.
3.    Open keybox #1.
4.    Put key in keybox and lock keybox.
5.    Find myself outside door of PA office attempting to lock the door with wrong key .
6.    Re-open keybox #1 and extract key to PA office.
7.    Put my office key in keybox #1 and lock keybox.
8.    Lock door to PA office.
9.    Return key to PA office to keybox #2.
10.    Return to my office to pack up computer and stuff, only to realise….
          I had failed to lock my office door.

DOH!

But to look on the bright side: I realise I’ve discovered a real-life version of the Tower of Hanoi.

Friday, 5 April 2013

A short rant about numbered journal references

Well, I had not planned a blogpost this morning, but I am goaded to do so by growing frustration as I attempted to read a review that was published in Trends in Neurosciences. The authors were proposing a novel theory in a controversial area, and came out with definitive statements, such as “Imaging studies have revealed the involvement of brain regions including the basal ganglia and cerebellum”. Quite appropriately, they supported such assertions with references. But the journal format meant that these references were identified only by numbers, so I had to flip to the reference list at the back of the paper to find out what was being referred to. The paper had over 70 references, and in the course of reading it, I reckon I did this about 20 times. I would have done it more, but it was distracting and I had to put down my mug of tea each time while I hunted for the relevant page. If I forgot the number on the way (a not unusual occurrence at my age), I had to go through this loop again.

Needless to say, TINS is not alone in adopting this referencing format: it is especially common in journals that have strict length limits on papers. I recently had a paper accepted for such a journal, and I found that any mention of the authors of a referenced work was frowned upon, and I was required to rewrite so that the only identifier of a reference was the number.This often meant turning a short active sentence (Jones [54] showed that.X..) into a longer passive one ( X was found by another study ... [54]).

Why does this matter? Well, if the reader knows the topic pretty well, the referencing will indicate whether the author knows the relevant literature and whether the evidence that is cited is balanced or involves cherrypicking. References also give clues as to where to allocate one's attention. If I see a set of statements associated with a list of familiar names,  I can read more casually because I already know the subject matter; if there is reference to novel material, I’ll focus in more depth. Maybe this is just an obsessive tendency in me, but I want to know what is being referred to, and I find that numbered referencing impairs the readability of an article. Journals may save a bit of space by using numbers rather than names, but as more and more articles move to on-line only, this is not a major consideration, and what is gained in space is at the expense of the reader experience. Hrrmph!

P.S. 13.52 5/4/13
Thanks to Neil Martin (@ThatNeilMartin) for drawing my attention to this v. relevant article. Might explain why psychology journals, whose editors understand how cognition works, tend to prefer the non-numbered system.
Clauss, M., Müller, D., & Codron, D. (2013). Source References and the Scientist's Mind-Map: Harvard vs. Vancouver Style Journal of Scholarly Publishing, 44 (3), 274-282 DOI: 10.3138/jsp.44.3.005
Copy of the article available from the 1st author: mclauss@vetclinics.uzh.ch 

Thursday, 21 March 2013

Blogging as post-publication peer review: reasonable or unfair?



In a previous blogpost, I criticised a recent paper claiming that playing action video games improved reading in dyslexics. In a series of comments below the blogpost, two of the authors, Andrea Facoetti and Simone Gori, have responded to my criticisms. I thank them for taking the trouble to spell out their views and giving readers the opportunity to see another point of view. I am, however, not persuaded by their arguments, which make two main points. First, that their study was not methodologically weak and so Current Biology was right to publish it, and second, that it is unfair, and indeed unethical, to criticise a scientific paper in a blog, rather than through the regular scientific channels.
Regarding the study methodology, as noted above, the principal problem with the study by Franceschini et al was that it was underpowered, with just 10 participants per group.  The authors reply with an argument ad populum, i.e. many other studies have used equally small samples. This is undoubtedly true, but it doesn’t make it right. They dismiss the paper I cited by Christley (2010) on the grounds that it was published in a low impact journal. But the serious drawbacks of underpowered studies have been known about for years, and written about in high- as well as low-impact journals (see references below).
The response by Facoetti and Gori illustrates the problem I had highlighted. In effect, they are saying that we should believe their result because it appeared in a high-impact journal, and now that it is published, the onus must be on other people to demonstrate that it is wrong. I can appreciate that it must be deeply irritating for them to have me expressing doubt about the replicability of their result, given that their paper passed peer review in a major journal and the results reach conventional levels of statistical significance. But in the field of clinical trials, the non-replicability of large initial effects from small trials has been demonstrated on numerous occasions, using empirical data - see in particular the work of Ioannidis, referenced below. The reasons for this ‘winner’s curse’ have been much discussed, but its reality is not in doubt. This is why I maintain that the paper would not have been published if it had been reviewed by scientists who had expertise in clinical trials methodology. They would have demanded more evidence than this.
The response by the authors highlights another issue: now that the paper has been published, the expectation is that anyone who has doubts, such as me, should be responsible for checking the veracity of the findings. As we say in Britain, I should put up or shut up. Indeed, I could try to get a research grant to do a further study. However, I would probably not be allowed by my local ethics committee to do one on such a small sample and it might take a year or so to do, and would distract me from my other research. Given that I have reservations about the likelihood of a positive result, this is not an attractive option. My view is that journal editors should have recognised this as a pilot study and asked the authors to do a more extensive replication, rather than dashing into print on the basis of such slender evidence. In publishing this study, Current Biology has created a situation where other scientists must now spend time and resources to establish whether the results hold up.
To establish just how damaging this can be, consider the case of the FastForword intervention, developed on the basis of a small trial initially reported in Science in 1996. After the Science paper, the authors went directly into commercialization of the intervention, and reported only uncontrolled trials. It took until 2010 for there to be enough reasonably-sized independent randomized controlled trials to evaluate the intervention properly in a meta-analysis, at which point it was concluded that it had no beneficial effect. By this time, tens of thousands of children had been through the intervention, and hundreds of thousands of research dollars had been spent on studies evaluating FastForword.
I appreciate that those reporting exciting findings from small trials are motivated by the best of intentions – to tell the world about something that seems to help children. But the reality is that, if the initial trial is not adequately powered, it can be detrimental both to science and to the children it is designed to help, by giving such an imprecise and uncertain estimate of the effectiveness of treatment.
Finally, a comment on whether it is fair to comment on a research article in a blog, rather than going through the usual procedure of submitting an article to a journal and having it peer-reviewed prior to publication. The authors’ reactions to my blogpost are reminiscent of Felicia Wolfe-Simon’s response to blog-based criticisms of a paper she published in Science: "The items you are presenting do not represent the proper way to engage in a scientific discourse”. Unlike Wolfe-Simon, who simply refused to engage with bloggers, Facoetti and Gori show willingness to discuss matters further, and present their side of the story, but they nevertheless it is clear they do not regard a blog as an appropriate place to debate scientific studies. 
I could not disagree more. As was readily demonstrated in the Wolfe-Simon case, what has come to be known as ‘post-publication peer review’ via the blogosphere can allow for new research to be rapidly discussed and debated in a way that would be quite impossible via traditional journal publishing. In addition, it brings the debate to the attention of a much wider readership. Facoetti and Gori feel I have picked on them unfairly: in fact, I found out about their paper because I was asked for my opinion by practitioners who worked with dyslexic children. They felt the results from the Current Biology study sounded too good to be true, but they could not access the paper from behind its paywall, and in any case they felt unable to evaluate it properly. I don’t enjoy criticising colleagues, but I feel that it is entirely proper for me to put my opinion out in the public domain, so that this broader readership can hear a different perspective from those put out in the press releases. And the value of blogging is that it does allow for immediate reaction, both positive and negative. I don’t censor comments, provided they are polite and on-topic, so my readers have the opportunity to read the reaction of Facoetti and Gori. 
I should emphasise that I do not have any personal axe to grind with the study's authors, who I do not know personally. I’d be happy to revise my opinion if convincing arguments are put forward, but I think it is important that this discussion takes place in the public domain, because the issues it raises go well beyond this specific study.

References
Button, K. S., Ioannidis, J. P. A., Mokrysz, C., Nosek, B. A., Flint, J., Robinson, E. S. J., & Munafo, M. R. (2013). Power failure: why small sample size undermines the reliability of neuroscience. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, advance online publication. doi: 10.1038/nrn3475
Ioannidis, J. P. A. (2005). Why most published research findings are false. PLoS Medicine, 2(8), e124. doi: 10.1371/journal.pmed.0020124
Ioannidis, J. P. (2008). Why most discovered true associations are inflated. Epidemiology 19(5), 640-648.
Ioannidis JP, Pereira TV, & Horwitz RI (2013). Emergence of large treatment effects from small trials--reply. JAMA : the journal of the American Medical Association, 309 (8), 768-9 PMID: 23443435

Tuesday, 19 March 2013

Ten things than can sink a grant proposal: Advice for a young psychologist


 © cartoonstock.com
So you’ve slaved away for weeks giving up any semblance of social or family life in order to put your best ideas on paper. The grant proposal disappears into the void for months during which your mental state oscillates between optimistic fantasies of the scientific glory that will result when your research is funded, and despair and anxiety at the prospect of rejection. And then it comes: the email of doom: “We regret that your application was not successful.” Sometimes just a bald statement, and sometimes embellished with reviewer comments and ratings that induce either rage or depression, depending on your personality type.

There are three things worth noting at this point. First, rejection is the norm: success rates vary depending on the funding scheme, but it’s common to see funding rates around 20% or less. Second, resilience in the face of rejection is a hallmark of the successful scientist, at least as important as intelligence and motivation. Third, there is a huge amount of luck in the grants process: just as with the journal peer review process, reviewers and grant panel members frequently have disparate opinions, and rejection does not mean the work is no good. However, although chance is a big factor, it's not the only thing.

This week I participated in a workshop on “How to get a grant” run by my colleague Masud Husain. We are both seasoned grant reviewers and have served on grants panels. Masud prepared some slides where he noted things that can lead to grant rejection, and I dug out an old powerpoint from a similar talk I’d given in 2005. There was remarkable convergence between the points that we highlighted, based on our experiences of seeing promising work rejected by grants panels. So it seemed worth sharing our insights with the wider world. These comments are tailored to postdocs in psychology/neuroscience in the UK, though some will have broader applicability.

1. Lack of clarity

The usual model for grant evaluation is that the proposal goes to referees with expertise in the area, and is then considered by a panel of people who cover the whole range of areas that is encompassed by the funding scheme. The panel will, of course, rely heavily on expert views, but your case can only be helped if the other panel members can understand what you want to do and why it is important. Even if they can't follow all the technical details, they should be able to follow the lay abstract and introduction.

It's crucial, therefore, that you give the draft proposal to someone who is not an expert in your research topic - preferably not a close friend, but someone more likely to be critical. Ask them to be brutally honest about the bits that they don't understand. When they give you this feedback, don't argue with them or attempt verbal explanations; just rewrite until they do understand it.

2.Badly written proposal

In an ideal world, funders should focus on the content of your proposal rather than the presentation, right? Things like spelling, formatting, and so on are trivial details that only inferior brains worry about, right?

Nope. Wrong on both counts. The people reading your grant are busy. They may have a stack of proposals to evaluate. I have, for instance, been involved in evaluating for a postdoctoral fellowship scheme where my task was to select the top five from a heap of forty odd proposals. The majority of proposals are very good, and so this is a task that is both difficult and important. You  can end up feeling like one of Pavlov's dogs forced to make ever-finer discriminations, and this can put you in a grumpy and unforgiving mood. You take a dim view of proposals where there are typos, spelling errors and missing references. I've seen grant proposals where the applicant failed to turn off 'track changes', or where 'insert reference here' is in the text. In this highly competitive context, there's a high chance that these will go on the 'reject' heap. Even if there are no errors in the text, a densely packed page of verbiage is harder for the reviewer to absorb than a well laid-out document with spacing and headings. You will usually feel that the word limit is too short, and it is tempting to pack in as many words as possible, but this is a mistake. Better ditch material than confront your reviewer with an intimidating wall of words. Judicious use of figures can make a huge difference to the readability of your text, and readability is key. I personally dislike it when numbers are used to indicate references, especially if the reference list then omits titles of referenced papers: people commonly do this to save space, but I like to be able to readily work out what references are being referred to.

Anyone can improve the presentation of a grant. Use of a spell-checker is obvious, but if possible, you should also look at examples of successful applications to see what works in terms of layout etc. You can also Google "good document layout" to find websites full of advice.

3. Boring or pointless proposal

This is a difficult one, because what one person finds riveting, another finds tedious. But if you find your proposal boring, then there's close to zero chance anyone will want to fund it. You should never submit a grant proposal unless you are genuinely excited by the work that you are proposing. You need to ask yourself "Is this what I most want to spend my life doing over the next 2-3 years?" If the answer is no, then rethink the proposal. If yes, then it's crucial to convey your enthusiasm.

4. Lack of hypotheses

This is a common reason for rejection of grant proposals. The phrase 'fishing expedition' is often used to dismiss research that involves looking at a large number of variables in an unfocussed way. As an aside, I remember an exasperated colleague saying that a fishing expedition was an entirely sensible approach if the aim was to catch fish! But funding bodies want to see clear, theoretically-driven predictions with an indication of how the research will test these. A hypothesis should have sufficient generality to be interesting, and usually will be tested by a variety of methods.  For instance, suppose I think that dyslexia may be caused by a particular kind of sensory deficit, and I plan to test children on a range of visual and auditory tasks. I could say that my hypothesis is that there will be differences between dyslexics and controls on the test battery, but this is too vague. It would be better to describe a particular hypothesis of, say visual deficit, and make predictions about the specific tasks that should show deficits. Better still one would set out a general hypothesis about links between the putative deficit and dyslexia, and specify a set of experiments that tested the predictions using a range of methods.

Also, ask yourself, is your hypothesis is falsifiable, and will it yield interesting findings even if it is rejected. If the answer is no, rethink.

5. Overambitious proposal

This is another common reason for rejection of proposals, particularly by junior applicants. In psychology, people commonly overestimate how many participants can be recruited (especially in clinical and longitudinal studies) and how much testing experimenters can do. Of course, you do sometimes see cases where the proposal does not contain enough. But that is much less common that the opposite.

If you are working with human participants, you need to demonstrate that you have thought about two things:
a) Participant recruitment
  • Where will you recruit from?
  • Have you liaised with referral sources?
  • How many suitable people exist?
  • What proportion will agree to take part?
  • Overall, how many participants will you be able to include in a given period (e.g. 3 months/ 1 year)?
  • Have you taken into account the time it will take to get ethics approval?
  • Have you costed proposal to take into account reimbursements to partipants and travel?

b) Is your estimate of research personnel realistic?
  • How long does it take to test one participant?
  • Have you taken into account  the fact that researchers need to spend time on :
    - Scheduling appointments
    - Travelling
    - Scoring up/entering/analysing data
    - Doing other academic things (e.g. reading relevant literature, attending seminars)
If you are working with fancy equipment, then you need to consider things like whether you or your research staff will need training to use it, as well as availability.

For more on this, see my previous blogpost about an excellent article by Hodgson and Rollnick (1989): "More fun, less stress: How to survive in research", which details the mismatch between people's expectations of how long research takes and the reality.

6. Overoptimistic proposal

An overoptimistic proposal assumes that results will turn out in line with prediction and has no fall-back position if they don't. A proposal should tell us something useful even if the exciting predictions don't work out. You should avoid multi-stage experiments where the whole enterprise would be rendered worthless if the first experiment failed.

7. Proposal depends on untried or complex methods

You're unlikely to be funded if you propose a set of studies using a method in which you have limited experience, unless you can show that you have promising pilot data. If you do want to move in a new direction, try to link up with someone who has some expertise in it, and consider having them as a collaborator. Although funders don't want to take risk with applicants who have no experience in a new method, they do like proposals to include a training component, and for researchers to gain experience in different labs, even if just for a few months.

8. Overcosted (or undercosted) proposal

This one is easy: Ask for everything that you do need, but don't ask for things you don't need. This is not the time to smuggle in funding for that long-desired piece of equipment unless it is key to the proposal.

The committee will also be unimpressed if you ask for things the host institution should provide. But don't omit crucial equipment because of concerns about expense: just be realistic about what you need and explicitly justify everything.

9. Proposal is too risky

This is much harder one to call. Most funding bodies say they don’t want to fund predictable studies, but they are averse to research where there is high risk of nothing of interest emerging. A US study of NIH funding patterns came to the depressing conclusion that researchers who did high-impact but unconventional research often missed out on funding (Nicholson & Ioannidis, 2012). Funders often state that they like multidisciplinary research, but that runs the risk that, unless methodologically impeccable in all the areas that are covered, it will get turned down.

If you want to include a high-risk element to the proposal, take advice from a senior person whose views you trust - their reaction should give you an indication of whether to go ahead, and if so which aspects will need most justification. And if you want to include a component from a field you are not an expert in, it is vital to take advice from someone senior who does know that area.

It is usually sensible to be up-front about the risky element, and to explain why the risk is worth taking. If you are planning a high-risk project, always have a safety net - i.e. include some more conventional studies in the proposal to ensure that the whole project won't be sunk if the risky bit doesn't pan out.

10. Statistics underspecified or flawed

You need to describe the statistical analysis that you plan, even if it seems obvious to you - if only to demonstrate to the panel that you know what you are doing and have the competence to do it. If you are planning to use complex statistics, get advice from a statistician, and make it clear in the proposal that you have done so. If you don't have adequate statistical skill, consider having a statistician as consultant or collaborator on the grant. And do not neglect power analysis: underpowered studies are a common reason for grants to be rejected in biomedical areas.

Most grants panels are multidisciplinary, and there can be huge cultural differences in statistical practices between disciplines. I've seen cases where a geneticist has criticised a psychology project for lack of statistical power (something geneticists are very hot on), or where a medic criticises an experimental intervention study for not using a randomised controlled design. Don't just propose the analysis that you usually do: find out what is best practice to ensure you won't be shot down for a non-optimal research design or analytic approach.

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Finally, remember that the proposed research is one of three elements that will be assessed: the others are the candidate and the institution. There's no point in applying for a postdoctoral fellowship if you have a weak CV: you do need to have publications, preferably first-authored papers. There's a widespread view that you don't stand a chance of funding unless you have papers in high impact journals, but that's not necessarily true, especially in psychology. I'm more impressed by one or two solid first-authored papers than by a long string of publications where you are just one author among many, and (in line with Wellcome Trust policy) I don't give a hoot about journal impact factors. Most funding agencies will give you a steer on whether your CV is competitive if you ask for advice on this.

As far as the institution goes, it helps to come from a top research institution, but the key thing is to have strong institutional support, with access to the resources you need and to supportive colleagues. You will need a cover letter from your institution, and the person writing it should convey enthusiasm for your proposal and be explicit in making a commitment to providing space and other resources.

Good luck!

Reference
Nicholson JM, & Ioannidis JP (2012). Research grants: Conform and be funded. Nature, 492 (7427), 34-6 PMID: 23222591