The missing Ph in PhD

By Herman M. Lagon

There it was, a post quietly tucked between vacation selfies and food reels: “Train PhD students to be thinkers, not just specialists.” I almost scrolled past it. But something about the line arrested me. Maybe it was the exhaustion I had felt from meetings where so-called experts could explain every bit of data but failed to answer the question, “So what now?” Maybe it was the creeping realization that many of our brightest minds were brilliant in their niche but struggled to speak to people outside it. Either way, I paused. And thought hard.

Dr. Gundula Bosch of Johns Hopkins University wrote about this exact issue in a 2018 article for Nature. She, together with microbiologist Arturo Casadevall, spearheaded a new graduate program that, while rooted in science, deliberately emphasized rigor, responsibility, and reflection—aptly called R3. The goal? Put the philosophy back in the “Ph” of PhD. Bosch’s critique is direct: many doctoral programs train lab workers, not thought leaders. That is a painful but necessary observation, especially in a country like ours where research is underfunded, policy is selective, and education often bows to practicality rather than possibility.

The local context is even more revealing. Ask around and you might find that a number of Filipino PhDs barely recall the “why” of their work. Ask them to speak beyond a conference podium, and they fumble, not for knowledge, but for language that invites thinking outside their comfort zone. Gundula’s R3 approach confronts that gap by teaching science through case studies of flawed research, critical media analysis, and even discussions on ethical dilemmas. It treats research as something alive, not just archived in journals but pulsing through society. For us educators, it is an echo of what we long whispered: our scholars know a lot, but they have forgotten how to ask why it matters.

Locally, the same problem persists. During curriculum reviews in higher education, the buzzwords are always “globalization,” “research productivity,” and “specialization.” And while these are necessary, they often come at the cost of ignoring humanistic thinking, ethical deliberation, and yes, wisdom. Dr. Inez Ponce de Leon recently pointed out that Philippine education has misdefined creativity as performance rather than process. We celebrate the output, not the insight. And that is the core issue: we have trained our researchers to be knowledge holders, not knowledge questioners, much so creators.

This structure is not just flawed. It is regressive. Ronald del Castillo calls it out as a system that breeds knowledge experts but not brokers or creators—people who can translate their findings into decisions, policies, or genuine social change. PhD holders who quote theories but cannot connect with communities. Researchers who publish, but never provoke action. It is a malaise of prestige without purpose. The kind that praises you for defending a dissertation, but does not ask if your ideas defend the truth.

There is something deeply wrong when a doctoral student can explain Fourier transforms but cannot teach the barangay captain why climate data matters. Something is amiss when a researcher can recite statistics on urban poverty but fails to suggest a community-driven solution. Bosch is right: we need a generation of scholars who are as comfortable challenging a flawed journal article as they are explaining their work to a child. Not to dumb things down, but to elevate what we mean by understanding.

It is not only about making science accessible. It is about making it human and palpable. And that requires training that does not just deepen knowledge but also widens it. One might say this is romantic—a luxury for a country dealing with unstable Wi-Fi and research budgets slashed to ribbons. But precisely because of our constraints, we need PhD graduates who can think around corners, not just follow scripts. As writer Ted Tuvera argues, scientific miseducation is not just about ignorance. It is about systems that stifle curiosity.

What can be done? For one, CHED and graduate schools must revisit the way they structure doctoral programs. Interdisciplinary electives, courses on ethics and logic, public communication training—these are not add-ons. They are essentials. Universities can reward faculty who innovate in teaching, not just those who publish in indexed journals. Funding agencies must invest in researchers who do not just ask new questions but dare to ask old ones better. These changes are not radical. They are long overdue.

We should also stop pretending that time spent thinking is wasted. Students must always be productive in the lab, or else they will fail. Bosch’s R3 students were allowed to make room for philosophical and ethical exploration without compromising rigor. In fact, they became sharper, more precise. We must remember: a mind stretched to consider society does not snap under the weight of data. It gets stronger.

If the pandemic taught us anything, it is that expertise means little when divorced from empathy. In the context of a technologically advanced world, models are necessary, but much so is meaning. And that can only come from thinkers, not technicians, from leaders who are not just trained but truly educated.

So let us not fear reforming the PhD. Let us fear what happens if we do not. The world has enough specialists. We now need minds that can dream, disturb, demand, and decide—not just those who know, but those who know what to do with what they know.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.