I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night. He’s got to be strong, he’s got to be precise to three decimal places and he’s got to be fresh from the tissue culture suite.
Exit Bonnie Tyler, chain smoking in a lab coat.
I’ve been thinking a lot about scientific heroes over the past few days. These musings have been prompted by my participation in artist Martin Firrell’s latest installation Complete Hero. It’s a deceptively simple concept: participants from a variety of backgrounds are filmed by candlelight answering the artist’s various questions about what heroism means to them, with the edited end result to be projected outdoors onto the Guards’ Chapel in Birdcage Walk for a week in November (nightly from 4th-10th). Many of the people taking part are soldiers, as you’d expect, but I was certainly pleased that science was not to play its usual invisible role in popular culture on this occasion. So as I was walking through sheets of rain towards Firrell’s Rosebery Avenue studio this past Tuesday, I tried to think what I had to say in terms of scientific heroism, how I could represent my profession to best effect.
But I found the exercise worryingly difficult. When I was younger, I could easily have rattled off a dozen names of scientists that I would consider ‘heroes’. There were the usual virologist suspects from history – Jenner, Koch, Salk, along with women like Curie, Franklin and McClintock. And then there were the scientific celebrities that I grew up with during my training: those famous luminaries whose papers you read, keynote speeches you soaked in and labs you dreamt of doing your post-doc in.
But the intriguing thing about contemporary scientific heroes is that, unlike other sorts of heroes one might have – famous musicians, artists, writers, political activists and the like – your chances of meeting them are virtually assured. Science is an enviably democratic, flat structure, and at conferences, the lowliest student can at least try to chat with the most exalted Nobel laureate.
And so it was that as I rubbed elbows with the best and brightest in cell biology, I underwent a series of grave disappointments. This one was astonishingly arrogant; that one blanked me and looked over my shoulder when I tried to introduce myself; yet another pinched my backside at the conference bar. And although I have met a few wonderful exceptions, by and large the more heroic the subject was in my estimation, more unpleasant he or she – though it was mostly ‘he’ – turned out to be in real life. What’s more, as I began to author papers myself, it became clear that the bulk of stellar work ascribed to the luminaries is actually down to the inspiration and hard graft of an unsung number of younger people – and that a lot of the major successes can be chalked up to very good luck that courage really had little to do with. Now, Galileo – he was courageous. But death is no longer on the line: the most that we risk these days is being forced by circumstances to become a sales rep.
So as I became increasingly jaded about scientific celebrity, another realization was creeping up on me, chiefly fuelled by reading the real-life stories behind the great discoveries I had so ardently admired: frequently, the name attached turns out to be misleading. We know Spemann but not Mangold, Fleming but not Florey, Virchow but not Remak. We know, in short, the people who got the credit because they were the most vocal, or the most famous already, or in some cases because they were the male part of the team. In the face of this, what hero could I truly believe in?
After discussing all of these idea with the artist, I think he finally teased out my real scientific heroes. They come in two categories: the people I know intimately who are firmly in control and own the great work they do, like my Ph.D. supervisor Julie Overbaugh, who fought through a lot of political bullshit in the early days to achieve her current position and whose molecular biological and translational research on HIV in Africa is making a real difference. And then there are all the people who will never be scientific luminaries, but who work hard and care passionately about knowing the truth and don’t mind being an incredibly tiny cog in a churning, inefficient, soul-devouring, often bitterly hopeless machine.
I guess that makes me a hero too. Who would’ve thought.
Wonderfully poignant, Jenny. Can’t wait to see you by candlelight.
And I can tell you, candlelight is incredibly forgiving for women of a certain age. Not as romantic as Bunsen burners though.
I’ll remember that next Feb 14th. Do you know any nice restaurants that have Bunsens on the tables?
Ooh. I like the sound of bunsen burners. Did I tell you I’ve got a new camera? * ponder *
When I was in graduate school, my partner in crime and I said if we didn’t cut it in science, we’d open up a scientifically themed café. The concept behind our café is actually worth a post in its own right, but I think a Bunsen on every table would fit right in. We’ll throw you some stock options, Frank.
OK. Make mine chicken stock options.
You know, there just aren’t any puns possible with the word “bouillon”. But Henry could probably rustle up a limerick.
Please, in the name of Dawkins, no.
A hero to many, I understand.
What, Henry?
Could be, I guess.
Just back from a two-day grant committee meeting. Conclusion: most scientists are tragic heroes – destined to fail. Gotta admire the heroism though.
the hell you say. grits teeth
_ incredibly tiny cog in a churning, inefficient, soul-devouring, often bitterly hopeless machine_
You know, this was a rather upbeat sort of post until that last sentence. 😉
Lovely post though.
I think tragic heroes are always secretly more admired. The untragic ones you just want to hate. But seriously, I guess it depends what you mean by ‘fail’. Not get your own lab and professorship and live happily ever after, yes. But there are other ways to not fail in science. Or is that wishful thinking?
My last sentence was meant to be upbeat! It wasn’t sarcasm. (There should be some sort of icon for “not sarcastic here, even though it sounds like it.” Come to think of it, the Germans probably have a 75-letter word for that very concept.)
sarkastischennichtswahrfreudegewissenschaftenhausmunchich.
…of Ulm
I must admit Eva, that caught me off-guard. I was expecting Ulrich von Liechtenstein
Jenny’s passing reference to Fleming and Florey reminded me of the recent BBC TV drama on the penicillin story. Florey and Chain may have been upstaged by Fleming’s Beaverbrook PR machine, but at least they got a justified share of the 1945 Nobel. The real unsung hero of the saga was Norman Heatley, (who died as recently as 2004, Guardian obit here) who got no awards at all. My father, who knew Heatley a little, says Heatley never once uttered a word to the effect that he should have shared a Nobel, or was disappointed that he hadn’t. Definitely another of those quiet heroes.
Oh! Yes. Jenny reviewed Breaking the Mould, which I thought was perfectly splendid. I performed my DPhil work in the Sir William Dunn School of Pathology, and we were taught all about Florey and Heatley (and very little about Chain, oddly).
I met Norman on a number of occasions, and he was a kind and gentle man, but sharp as a very sharp thing. Whenever there was a problem with the flagpole at the Dunn School he would be there fixing it with his penknife. Definitely one of my personal heroes.
Coming back to your commet Jenny:
But seriously, I guess it depends what you mean by ‘fail’. Not get your own lab and professorship and live happily ever after, yes. But there are other ways to not fail in science. Or is that wishful thinking?
Getting your own lab is of course a kind of success but it doesn’t stop the regular encounters with failure – which comes in many forms. My earlier comment related to all those scientist grant-applicants that I came across in the past 2 days who have put together top-class applications that will not get funded.
But your perspective is the more healthy one – focusing on the many small successes that occur, and making sure they are noticed. But it’s a struggle sometimes.
Talking of the grant-(not)-getting business, there is a heartfelt (not to say outraged) piece on this by Peter Lawrence just out in PLoS Biology. Some here may have read it, while I suspect a fair few will identify strongly with it.
Austin – thank you so much for point out that article, which I had missed. The title alone is heart-stopping (“The granting system turns young scientists into bureaucrats and then betrays them”). Of course in my own career I have only delayed the perilous phase that is so beautifully described there, and it’s what keeps me awake some nights when I worry that I won’t be able to carry on after my post-doc is over.
Did I say in my post that science these days didn’t take courage? I stand corrected, Austin and Stephen.
Oh, and I should have mentioned – I realized that Florey received the Nobel, but my comments about heroism were referring to basic fame/name recognition. Inasmuch as any name is attached to penicillin in the popular imagination, it is Fleming’s.
You know, there just aren’t any puns possible with the word “bouillon”. But Henry could probably rustle up a limerick
When once I was writing a rube-
-iyyat on a bouillon cube,
I asked: was it Rubik
Who made it so cubic,
Or that scion of the Goldbergs, named Rube?
OMG. You are so wasted in Editorial.
Backing up a bit…
Well, I have no direct experience of the latter, but I can so empathize with your experience. It seems to me that the more well known you get, the more of a pop-star, the less human you become. Now, it might be that the bastards have what it takes to be famous, rather than the fame corrupting.
There are honorable exceptions. Robert Llewellyn for example (not a scientist, sure) struck me as a genuinely nice chap. Max Perutz would always spend time with you, right up until he died, and took an interest in the youngest of scientific acolytes. We’ve already mentioned Norman. Jim Watson was perfectly friendly when I met him.
That I can name these exceptions probably proves your point, Jenny.
Jenny:
‘OMG. You are so wasted.’
Much better.
When I was younger, I could easily have rattled off a dozen names of scientists that I would consider ‘heroes’
But the intriguing thing about contemporary scientific heroes is that, unlike other sorts of heroes one might have … your chances of meeting them are virtually assured
Heroes, by definition, are superhuman, and their natural habitats are myth, legend and bedtime stories. When you grow up, you find that nothing so tarnishes the image of the heroic as the discovery that one’s heroes are really human. They do human things. They have bad-hair days, zits, and go to the lavatory. That’s why, when you meet your idol, you are liable to be disappointed. Unless, as Richard said, your heroes turn out to be really nice people. In which case they’re not so much heroes as … mentors.
In my experience, mentors are much more useful than heroes to the grown-up scientist. I can name two significant mentors in my scientific life. One was the late Sir John Maddox, an anti-hero in every way, but who taught me just about everything I know about the practice of science journalism – of which I knew, when I joined Nature, almost nothing. The other was my Prof when I was an undergraduate, R. McNeill Alexander of the University of Leeds, who never stinted in his friendship and support when I was a mere student, despite the fact that he had many other calls on his attention, such as a prodigious research output. But a more modest and kind person you could never meet.
I love the distinction between mentors and heroes – that’s a great insight, Henry. My Ph.D. supervisor certainly was that. Perhaps we can draw from this that heroes aren’t actually that useful. Or is it rather that they are useful for inspiring initially, rather than sustaining that inspiration later?
Full marks to Henry. That last comment was right on.
Because heros are myths, they can only be initial inspiration. A myth is shorthand for an entire range of truths. I’m not sure that once you’ve pierced a myth and seen the (one?) way things are, it is possible to regain the kind of innocence that allows you to continue believing in that sort of myth.
It reminds me of a discussion I think we’ve had on here earlier, in which we debated whether someone could be a mentor without knowing it. Ah, no, that was role models – well, same idea. People one looks up to, and would want to emulate. Doesn’t a hero inspire adulation – you wouldn’t even want to emulate them, because their super-achievements appear beyond your capacity to ever carry out?
I’d name Rita Levi-Montalcini – but her heroic quality to me is more about the adverse circumstances in which she carried out her discoveries, than (I hope) because the nature of the discoveries she made is beyond my reach.
you wouldn’t even want to emulate them, because their super-achievements appear beyond your capacity to ever carry out
When I was younger, I did want to be these people and in fact, fully expected to. I’m not sure if that was a product of being naive, being American, or being both.
I know I wanted to be one of my heroes, and thought I could.
I don’t think I’ve ever had much of a hero in that sense, then. Lots of role models, mostly of the mentoring type. (Teachers and education coordinators, particularly). I’d also like to be able to write like Bill Bryson, but I wouldn’t want to be him.
And I’ve never met James Watson, but I’ve attended a talk by him, and it was…not very good at all. There was the biggest living legend in my research field, the auditorium was packed to double of what the fire regulations would allow, and his talk was just…boring.
I suppose I might put more value in communication than in the performance itself. It’s why, when asked at Science Online who considered themselves a scientist or a science communicator, I raised my hand at “communicator”. (And I noticed Richard raise his at “scientist”, even though he’s also a really good science communicator.) I’d personally rather talk about Nobel Prize-winning research than do it, and I realized later that in all my teenage dreams of being a successful environmental scientist I always pictured myself on a podium or an interview chair, just talking about science – never actually doing it.
It may have taken a disappointing talk by a Nobel laureate to realize that doing great science and talking well about it can be totally different things.
That’s nice of you to say so, Eva. I do still consider myself a scientist, even though I might not actually be doing it as such (but then again, do we ever stop doing science in some form?).
And talking of Bonnie Tyler, weirdness.
It doesn’t get much weirder that this, the Literal Video version:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj-x9ygQEGA
For quiet heroes that also won Nobel Prizes, I put forth Sir John Sulston, who was nice enough to come and say hello to the assembled crowd at a C. elegans course I attended at the Sanger once upon a time.
I also used his dissecting microscope all week, which was, predictably, old and clapped out. But iconic.
For quiet heroes that also won Nobel Prizes, I put forth Sir John Sulston
He had (has?) a lovely garden that is stunning in spring; snowdrops galore.
That video is just…
yeah, OK.
I’d forgotten about Sulston, Richard. You see, I think it is possible to have real-life heroes. It’s just that we tend to call them role models.
I’d nominate Martin Raff. He still keeps an office in our building and comes to all the talks and coffee sessions when he’s in town.
even though he did call me ‘twisted’ a couple of weeks ago?
A hero should be perceptive.
Har har.
Jenny
If your dream was to become a research scientist with your own lab, then not making it is a failure. What happens next is damage control, and if you’re very lucky you’ll find something fulfilling to do that is as good or as better than your initial dream. Personally, I think that many professions hold enough interest and excitement to be perfectly acceptable consolation prizes. But there will probably always be a lingering wistfulness about the outcome.
The solution to this is to not entice so many prospective scientists too far down the garden path.
What if that was your initial dream, but you changed your mind halfway through your PhD?
I’ll also pitch in a vote for Stephen Lewis, who hasn’t won the Nobel yet, but is my pick for the Peace Prize sometime in the future. He’s also a very engaging speaker.
Cath – in that case, you’ve won (as I’m sure you know!). Realizing what you want to be before investing 10-15 years is the best possible thing that can happen. The Ph.D. comes in very handy as far as garnering respect and a higher salary, but you’re still young enough to attack the new profession with vigor — and you aren’t tainted by regrets. But if you’re anything like K. in that article Austin cited above…oy vey.
@Richard. Hmmm. Political heroes are a difficult one for me. I have this thing about Winston Churchill which is probably severely warped through mythology and Yank-tinted glasses. But it was his speeches that do it for me. The ‘never surrender’ one – I get teary every time. They don’t recite ’em like they used to.
Winston Churchill was a redhead. Fact.
The solution to this is to not entice so many prospective scientists too far down the garden path.
True. And you’ve blogged as much previously.
Heh. I think of Lewis as more a humanitarian hero than a political one. His stint as UN Special Envoy for AIDS in Africa (or whatever it’s really called) was I think quite effective, and he’s certainly given up a promising political career to go in that direction.
There’s voice analysis evidence showing that Winnie didn’t actually give a number of his most famous speeches that were allegedly broadcast from Parliament, you know. They’re still great speeches, though.
Oh God. But not the ‘we will fight them on the beaches’ one. Please, don’t tell me if it wasn’t real; I don’t want to know.
If not him then who? It’s certainly a distinctive voice.
Yeah, and Bacon wrote Shakespeare’s plays. Right
Shakespeare: another hero. Even if the man himself was a twat, the stories are exactly what they are and can’t be changed by that knowledge.
Was he? A twat, I mean.
I hope not! I don’t think there is much known, for which I have always been grateful.
Ah, it was hypothetical?
Yes. But for all I know Bacon was a bastard.
Mmm. Bacon. Now I’m hungry again.
What Åsa said about failure in science being
– reminded me of something Jim Lovelock often used to say in interviews about his earliest scientific job, as a teenage lab assistant in a company testing the purity of chemicals:
Of course, the more depressing thing is that people in science who bend the rules are often quite materially successful, at least until they get busted… pick your favourite recent example.
I used to think the truth always outed. But now I’m not so sure. There are so many honestly conflicting data in the literature that it’s hard to tell the difference between fraud and simple experimental variation.
I used to think the truth always outed.
I think it still does. But our timescale might need recalibrating.
Jenny: Personally, I think that many professions hold enough interest and excitement to be perfectly acceptable consolation prizes. But there will probably always be a lingering wistfulness about the outcome.
The longer I live the more I am sure that I am sure that there are plenty different things that would make me happy (not only professor in academia but maybe scientist in another field… or something else…it’s more than one single thing, rather a combination of them). Maybe because I see a lot of consolation prizes or simply alternatives that might make me happy too…. (it’s Friday evening, let the over sensitive part work since I have to be at work early Sat morning…. 😉 )
Richard G: Times scale might be way off… and the pnishment will be different according to what happens later too…
Austin: interesting links. Thanks!
Regarding Shakespeare, “Bill Bryson’s biography”http://www.harpercollins.ca/books/9780060740221/Shakespeare/index.aspx is a rather excellent document of how little really is known.
Regarding Churchill, this page is interesting, but not authoritative. The Churchill Centre debunks this entirely, so it would seem that I am among the gullible. I take some solace in not believeing at all that Bacon wrote Shakespeare, though.
Bloody punctuation, or lack thereof. Bill Bryson linky here.
What, really?
Here I am, virtually uneducated, unlettered, American; and yet I’m the first to remember that we’re all supposed to be celebrating that Certified Science Hero (and well known twat) Charles Darwin?!
“there just aren’t any puns possible with the word “bouillon””
No puns? I’m certain that many of the consomme-T writers on this site would attempt to court bouillon.
But not Henry- Don’t get me wrong; he’s not chicken. Rather he’s hard at work on his latest novel, a real pot boiler about the cubist movement.
(I went to culinary school, you see…)
That also explains why I first took a different meaning to your comment that Henry is “so wasted in Editorial.” Unless “Editorial” is the local vernacular for a pub?
John, you should see the movie Creation if you can. CD certainly does not come across as a twat. He does come across as very human, and all the more likeable for it
I’m all Darwinned out. Simple as that. Coupled with my uneasiness about hagiography of any sort.
Hagiography is over-rated. I, for example, like to Tweet. I rant while I tweet, on all sorts of things, as you might imagine. But I got a tweet from a ‘follower’ who wrote
When I decided to follow you, thought I'd b gettng enlightend scientist. Instead just an egotistical misogynist prick. Too bad.This person, an historian from Canada with ‘leftish leanings’ (oh dear) seemed to be expecting scientific pearls of wisdom to issue forth from my every orifice, when what s/he got was frustration at reading about my irritations at commuters, or having to share a restaurant in Cromer with a lot of loud, coarse and very smelly old ladies, or my pointed comments about the close links between the Left and antisemitism. The problem with being a hero, then, is that you can never live up to peoples’ expectations. Especially not if they are historians with leftish leanings.
I’m not sure about ‘never’. It depends on your expectations. For example, I know now, with the wisdom of years, that heroes are human beings and aren’t perfect – I can still admire what they have done, providing I don’t expect them to be perfect.
Henry’s not the Messiah. He’s a very naughty boy.
I quite agree. I’m not the Messiah. You don’t need to follow anybody. You are all individuals!
“We’re all—”
Sorry.
Is it wrong to have Dr. E.L. Kersten as a hero? INDIVIDUALITY
Always remember that you are unique. Just like everybody else.
Agreed on the individuality, so far as my personal heroes are concerned.
In real life, my two heroes are (the aforementioned) John Maddox, to whom I give every thanks for so, so, so, many things; and J W S Pringle, “the boss” in my first real paid job, and a brilliant yet kind individualist in the same sense as JM.
In a non-scientific sense, I strongly identify with “heroes” such as J K Rowling, who does her own thing; is clearly an intelligent, independent thinker and achiever; and is “unspun”.
Actually I think there are rather few contemporary scientific heroes, or “heroes who are scientists”. One always reads about the same few – Dawkins, D Attenborough — we need more people who epitomise science in all our minds. A woman or two would be icing on that particular cake.
Actually I think there are rather few contemporary scientific heroes, or “heroes who are scientists”.
I think your average person on the street would be hard-pressed to even name three living scientists, let alone heroic ones.
There was something about this last week. I think I saw it on twitter.
Returning to the Peter Lawrence critique in PLoS Biology of the funding system, there is quite a nice follow-up in Science (HT to Mo Costandi – @mocost on Twitter) which gives the perspective of two female lab-heads from the US.
Thanks, Stephen, that’s really interesting.
It’s a fascinating topic, he says, from the advantage of now being outside the system. It’s not just young scientists of course. My boss, who had a reputation for writing good (read ‘usually funded’) grants didn’t always succeed–which is part of the reason I’m sitting here writing this.
I wonder if heroes are good at grant writing, or just lucky?
Talking of heroes (and sorry, Jenny, I know you’re all Darwinned-out), I’m going to shamelessly pimp my review of Creation (and something Jenny wrote last night, too).
On a second read of the article Stephen plugged, above, what strikes me is the N=1-ness of it. You’ve got a very successful group leader with 15 people in her lab saying, ‘I don’t think the granting system is so bad.’
Well, quite. Obviously it’s treated her well. I’d like to see some numbers, stats.
Indeed. Anyone who does well out of the system— any system—isn’t usually going to say it’s a bad system. Peter Lawrence does a good job at being pretty successful but still fighting for the sprogs. A hero in the making…?
I’ve posted a countervailingly gloomy response over at the Science online thread. Thought they needed some counterpoint to the somewhat sunny-side-ish US views.
Just call me Eeyore.
I think that hero can be applied in some ways to any senior scientist who actually appreciates how much more difficult the system has become career-wise for junior scientists than when they were young. And perhaps also to those who still get into the laboratory, if only to wash the glassware. In fact I would predict that in a Venn diagram sense these two characteristics would show a lot of overlap.
PS Re. Jennifer’s last comment, the PI of the n = 15 lab is also working in a “hot” technology-related area at Stanford, neither of which things is exactly typical.
Talking of how much time and money goes into unsuccessful grant applications, via David Colquhoun’s blog I came across this paper.
Note that they are referring here to the costs of people preparing grants that get rejected, and to the admin costs for the system. And I wonder if the rejection rate they used for the calculation (presumably the NSERC rate) gets close to the current UK research council rate of 80%-90% ish.
Makes me feel slightly smug (in a depressed and Eeyore-ish kind of way) as I said something vaguely similar back when we were debating:
These are wonderful comments, many thanks all. I love Austin’s idea of a hero being one who doesn’t pull the ladder up after successfully scrabbling on board. I think it is human nature to want to protect what one has — and possibly, to feel a little smug about it and not necessarily share the glory, because the more people on the boat, the less your achievement seems for having got there yourself.
I think it’s also very difficult to compare the US and UK systems.
Hmm. We’re thinking about the nature of ‘true’ heroes now, going back to your disappointments. Heroes who don’t pull the ladder up after them but actively dive into the water with lifebelts (to coin an excessively-mixed metaphor)—now they are the diamond geezers (galzers?)
Too many shipwrecked to make that feasible, I fear. Just the ladder would be enough.
I as a Postodoc always remember ur ‘Incremental nanosuccesses’ in one of ur last blogs.But this one is simply amazing.Can I post it for a general reading of the public?
No, sorry, but you can link to it. This is already a general reading, and I don’t like posts to be mirrored.
What I meant by posting was linking to it and not doing super duper plagiarism.Thanx fr allowing to link.
My pleasure! Glad you enjoyed the post.
My word. Imagine if everyone decided to ask permission before linking to a post.
The internets would come to a .
There’s a prospect.
Austin & Jenny – I think there are many, many scientific heroes, ie scientists doing their work heroically, often against the mightiest of odds (some described in comments here – funding, tenure, salary level, public misunderstanding, etc). The sheer effort of it all. (Not that other jobs aren’t also effortful, write I hastily.)
What seems to be lacking, as you say, Jenny, are heroes that anyone has heard about. Science is so technical and collaborative – as well as all the fierce competition that absorbs so much time and effort.
And of course, when you do get a hero, everyone takes pot-shots, eg Carl Sagan (the biggest US scientific hero for many many years in terms of the sheer number of young people he turned on to science – yet the vitriol from his peers! Not even electing him to the National Academy for example…)
Maxine, I see you point but I’m not sure it entirely explains the lack of public scientist heroes. If you look at a team sport like cricket, for example – it is collaborative, technical* and fiercely competitive. This does not stop the admiration and close scrutiny of hundreds of well-known people that many people would consider heroes. The bottom line is that winning a game is seen as more valuable to society than discovering the secrets of life and the universe.
*I know cricket is not as complicated as science. But the rules are complex, and it takes time, effort and study for a person to learn them. Complexity is not a barrier, though, if people are really interested in understanding something — I have friends back home who can rattle off a hundred years of baseball statistics with more fluidity than I can remember various molecular biological processes.
The thing about cricket (changing the subject slightly), is that you don’t need to understand all the laws to enjoy the game. It is complex, but there’s a level of enjoyment to be had without that deeper knowledge, too.
Hmm… maybe a little bit like science, actually.