I was reminded of the incident when I received a newsletter from the
Rutherford Appleton Laboratory. Curiously, the author had chosen to preface
his text with an astonishing quote from the great British physicist Edward
Appleton: ‘I don’t mind what language an opera is sung in, so long as it
is a language I don’t understand.’ The comment, together with my earlier
memory, prompts me to ask why many scientists take pride in being Philistines?

After reflection, other peculiarities of scientists came to mind. Take,
for example, the apparent need of many scientists, as authors, to preface
chapters in books and review articles with quotations from non-scientific
literature. What drives them to find these often obscure quotations, some
with only one word in common with the subject matter?

After a decade as a professional scientist and close observer of other
scientists, I find it hard to believe that these quotations, particularly
those rendered in ancient languages, were discovered during daily reading.
Recourse to anthologies of quotations and classical tags is more likely.

The obscure quotation phenomenon occurs in many PhD theses, though
here I suspect the effects of immaturity or insecurity. Perhaps young people
are keen to show their seniors and successors that they can still remember
something they read, or once thought of reading, beyond the narrow confines
of their subject.

There is nothing at all wrong in adorning one’s text with the prose
of another, and perhaps greater, writer. And it does afford evidence that
some scientists have access to anthologies, even if their users wear their
newly acquired learning a little lightly.

Richard Dawkins of the University of Oxford, in an ongoing attempt
to increase the rationality and scientific awareness of our students, has
claimed that ‘theology’ is not a subject that universities ought to support
(Letters, The Independent, 27 December). I fear, however, that if university
theology departments were abolished it would do nothing to stimulate, excite
or inspire the imaginations and critical faculties of future humanities
students in their appreciation of the natural world.

The need to accumulate facts and figures is not just the preserve of
the science student. The historian must face such a task. He or she will
tell you that memorising, say, the succession of the caliphs of the Ottoman
Empire, is not an end in itself, but an excellent training for the mind
and clarity of thought. A student so qualified could place an Eastern potentate
in the context of Western contemporaries. Unfortunately, for the average
science under-graduate, the facts about physics and chemistry, let alone
biology, are rarely presented with such overall coherence. Science and
the humanities were not always mutually exclusive. Previous generations
received an education which kept broad interests alive long after career
specialisation. But now early specialisation deepens the gulf between the
‘Two Cultures’.

The obvious way to resolve this dichotomy between the sciences and the
arts is to broaden the scope of our education system. If scientists also
studied the humanities, they would be less likely to make strident claims
for the ascendancy of pure science in the modern world. It would also improve
the quality of scientific writing, thereby leading to better communication
between scientists and nonscientists. Similarly, if students of the humanities
also learned something of physics, they would not be so appalled by some
of the exaggerated claims made for its ascendancy by those who vilify other
forms of endeavour. Our education system has, however, evolved to provide
cost-effective training for the maximum number of those who gain entry to
university. There is little time for physicists to study history or for
art students to take courses in solid-state chemistry.

The lack of opportunity for self-expression and imagination in science
is clearly seen by many school-leavers considering a career as a ‘turn-off’.
They see scientists, particularly physical scientists, as boring. I find
this a great pity and an insult. But many scientists will simply ignore
the problem, and suppose that school-leavers no longer wish to become scientists
because all the young want these days is money. Certainly, in post-Thatcher
Britain, having a large salary has acquired an increased status. But those
who condemn today’s teenagers as avaricious should note that the numbers
of law and economics students are increasing at the expense of the hard
sciences, not the arts and humanities.

Students of the humanities and sciences are not two incompatible tribes.
There are, after all, many computer-literate students of the humanities
as well as scientists with an affinity for music and the arts. But the gulf
which separates the two cultures continues to widen. Today, there is hardly
a single discipline which is free from jargon, and fewer and fewer specialists
are concerned, or able, to explain their work to the general public. ÐÓ°ÉÔ­´´s
need to bridge this gulf, and in so doing present a more enlightened and
informed image of themselves to the world that supports them.

Jeffrey Williams was a working physical chemist and is now a journalist
based in Cambridge.

After university, came the inevitable research degree and then a succession
of postdocs of one kind or another. During this time I have continually
met older, more senior scientists who tell tall tales of the ‘old days,
the golden days’ of research, when money was plentiful and there was a plethora
of research jobs, even permanent positions. I listened as they assured me
that these halcyon days would come again. But always in the back of my mind
was the advice of my chemistry master.

During my postdoctural positions on two continents I have had the opportunity
to observe the world of scientific research and, more importantly, see how
it is run or managed by the senior members of our profession. Unfortunately,
one can become cynical by the lack of direction and management. Youthful
excitement and energy, enthusiasm and passion are turned to dust by the
sheer inertia and pessimism found in universities and research facilities.
Young scientists do give of their best but for various reasons, apparently
connected to the lack of money, they are nearly always driven out of research.
The brain drain is but one consequence of our inefficient, overly bureaucratic
research institutions.

Eventually, one becomes cynical enough to question the old timers’ belief
in the good old days. Every society and civilisation, particularly decadent
ones, have myths and legends of a previous golden age when everything was
covered in milk and honey. Why should the scientific community be any different?

This induced cynicism has, however, a beneficial side. It enforces a
rational analysis of the future, or rather one’s own future career. Is the
present situation of a lack of funding for research likely to improve in
the near, or even the very distant, future? Unfortunately, I think not.

One of the great triumphs of modern medical science is that people are
living longer. However, whereas our life expectancy has increased, our fecundity
has fallen compared with previous generations. Why this should be is a matter
for the sociologist and psychologist rather than the physical scientist.
However, the consequences of this demographic change will be felt by everybody.
There will, in the future, be fewer taxpayers and there will be less total
money available to the Exchequer. This is unfortunate as scientific research
is expensive; and to expand and improve our universities and strengthen
our research base will require considerably more money than is currently
on offer from the government.

In the future, any government will, of necessity, be committed to fulfilling
demands for higher social security and pension payments and better health
care. Modern government is all about getting re-elected, and the number
of voters employed on public sector research grants is significantly smaller
than the group of voters who would benefit from increased welfare payments.
No government will remain popular if it increases taxes to pay for what
many voters consider as luxury items, such as research and technology, at
the expense of health care and welfare. Consequently, it is difficult to
see how government funding of research and higher education can do anything
but decrease.

In a democracy, the way out of this dilemma is for the scientists to
justify their research to the voters. However, this is the one thing that
most scientists are incapable of doing. They find explaining their work
in words of very few syllables very difficult, if not impossible. Indeed,
the most senior scientists, those that should be doing this explaining,
do not seem to be interested in doing so.

This unworldiness is perhaps the origin of the lamentable lack of career
structure within the scientific world. If shyness and an inability to communicate
with nonscientists are problems for junior and senior scientists, then it
is not surprising that they cannot put across their case for a career structure
and, instead, drift in and out of short-term contracts simply hoping for
a better future. As for the senior scientists, having eventually achieved
the holy grail of a permanent or tenured appointment, they often appear
to be unconcerned with the problems of their junior colleagues and students.
The problem may not seem to be important as those junior scientists who
desperately wish to be professional scientists will stick at it and eventually
get their reward. The others, who are not 100 per cent committed to the
scientific lifestyle, will drop by the wayside.

This view of the scientific career structure, however, has some serious
flaws. Consider the financial situation. Post-doctural researchers who have
to spend a large proportion of their short-term contract looking for the
next contract cannot be fully occupied or even motivated, and this would
appear to be a waste of public money. Certainly those who struggle from
one short-term contract to another can be considered as dedicated. But dedicated
to what?

I still like to think that my chemistry teacher was wrong: a scientific
career can indeed be worthwhile. However, I believe that, at present, it
is not worth the heartache and considerable worry.

Over the years, scientists have been evolving into a group which had
no need to justify its existence and grants. As a result, they have lost
the ability to explain their work. The future of scientific research, everywhere
in the world, appears bleak, and unless the senior members of our profession
come out of their laboratories and colleges and justify their and our existence
it will get worse.

Jeffrey Williams is a physicist at the Institut Max von Laue-Paul Langevin,
Grenoble, France.