Ejemplo de Investigación Cualitativa

El siguiente artículo fue tomado de Studies in Higher Education, marzo 1990,

vol. 15(1). Es propiedad de esta publicación y debe citarse como tal.

Title: “Physicists on physics”

Authors:
Becher, Tony
Source:
Studies in Higher Education; Mar90, Vol. 15 Issue 1, p3, 18p
Document Type:
Article
Subject Terms:
PHYSICISTS
Abstract:
Offers an ethnographic account of the community of academic physicists.
Nature of the discipline; Epistemological issues; Physics as an academic
career; Practice of physics; Trading in ideas; Physicists as people; Conclusions.
ISSN:
03075079

PHYSICISTS ON PHYSICS
ABSTRACT. This paper offers an ethnographic account of the community of
academic physicists. It seeks, on the basis of interviews with key informants, to
construct a picture of what physics is like as a discipline; what features of its
epistemology serve to differentiate it from other disciplines, and what
characterises the disciplinary community itself, in terms of its career structure,
value-system and preferred modes of communication. In conclusion, an attempt
is made to identify the physicist's world-view.

Introduction
Amongst all the academic disciplines, physics is unquestionably the one which
has been most extensively studied. Sociologists and historians of science alike
have taken it as the paradigm of scientific--indeed, sometimes of all intellectual-
-enquiry. Kuhn's well-known and widely-quoted Structure of Scientific
Revolutions (Kuhn, 1962, 1970) is based on a bold generalisation from the
exploration of how physics as a discipline evolved, to a general claim about the
nature of scientific research (including that in the biological sciences). Detailed
sociological studies of physics communities--and particularly the glamorous
sub-field of high energy physics--include those by Gaston (1973), Pickering
(1984) and Traweek (1982), though there are many other researchers using
physics as a basis of comparison with other disciplines, or as a vehicle for
advancing some particular thesis. One of the more recent reviews of how the
discipline appears to those who practice it is to be found in Doorman (1989).

It might seem, therefore, as if there is little scope for further discussion of the
world of the physicist. The present paper, however, has a different origin and
purpose from those quoted above. Accounts written by historians and
sociologists concentrate on physicists as the members of an academic
community in their own right; those written by physicists focus on the nature of
the subject per se. My own approach has attempted to combine the two,
adopting the perspective of a philosopher interested in the knowledge field of
the discipline, tempered with the aspirations of an anthropologist concerned to
understand how the nature of that knowledge field impinges on the lifestyle and
values of the academic community engaged in its study.

The enquiry was conducted as one element of a wider comparative

investigation of the relationships between knowledge forms and knowledge
communities (Becher, 1989a). The text provides an interesting contrast with that
of a similarly-designed account of `Historians on history' (Becher, 1989b). As
with the earlier paper, the findings are based on a series of semi-structured in-
depth interviews with practitioners in a number of different specialist areas of
the subject. Because the data base is confined to a relatively small number of
respondents and seeks only to represent their individual and collective views, a
critical reader will doubtless be able to identify a number of significant issues
which are not addressed. But I hope the study may be of relevance not only to
those with a particular interest in physics or those having a wider concern with
disciplinary cultures, but also to fellow researchers in higher education, as a
further example of the type of "intermediate research technology" described in
the earlier companion paper on historians.

The account which follows is based on the testimony of 20 university physicists

distributed between three institutions: the University of Bristol, Imperial College,
London, and the University of California at Berkeley (the results of three pilot
interviews at the University of Sussex have also been taken into account). The
average length of the interviews was about one and a half hours. The physicists
concerned were at different stages in their careers, and ranged from doctoral
students to senior professors (five junior, eight senior and seven in the broad
middle-range). It should be borne in mind that they were talking to an outsider
to the subject, and that the analysis, interpretation and subsequent synthesis of
their remarks have been carried out by the same outsider. It should also be
remarked that there has been no opportunity, within the scope of the study so
far, to match belief and assertion against actual practice.

All the major points have been independently corroborated by three or more
people. Although many statements on points of detail are based on the
evidence of a single witness, the text as a whole has been subject to a further
stage of validation. A preliminary draft was circulated with a request for critical
comment to all who took part in the initial interviews. Fourteen out of 20 replied
(most of whom had no substantial reservation to make). Their many suggested
amendments of matters of fact or interpretation have, where possible, been
incorporated into the main text or included as qualifying footnotes (the term
`commentator' is used to distinguish the sources of this written comment, the
terms `respondent' or `interviewee' being reserved for those contributing oral
information at an earlier stage in the exercise). Some further and more
fundamental issues raised in correspondence about the original draft are
examined in the concluding section of the paper.

1. The Nature of the Discipline

A primary characteristic of physics, as seen by its practitioners, is the
fundamental nature of its problems. It seeks to develop models of natural
phenomena by the use of mathematical techniques: but it is "the concepts and
their relationship with each other and with reality which is at the heart of the
subject". In this sense, the discipline is sophisticated even where its subject-
matter is basically simple: "it has a small vocabulary, but a strong sense of
grammar". Over the years, however, physics has developed to encompass
complex, as well as simple, phenomena, and to embrace interdisciplinary and
applied areas. It can thus also be seen as "the most open of the scientific
disciplines", presenting no single view of reality but different views at different
times and in different contexts. To compound the difficulties, the borders with
neighbouring subjects are not sharply drawn, and it is sometimes hard to decide
whether someone is really doing physics or not.

The sense of change and development, though constant, is not necessarily

continuous: one physicist discerned a pattern of lulls and wholesale revisions in
the history of the subject. Where some saw the discipline unfolding itself in a
logical way [ 1], others argued that its shape was determined as much by social
as by conceptual forces. Thus, the decline of some specialisms might soon be
brought about by the public's refusal to meet the escalating costs of research
rather than by arrival at some intellectual dead end. But if particular fields might
atrophy or fall out of favour, there could be no question that physics, as such,
would remain alive: there must always be major problems to solve, new insights
to achieve and new unifying theories to establish.

The discipline as a whole is more than merely the sum of its parts. The sense of
identity which holds the subject together was seen by some as a "theism" or a
"quasi-religious belief" which could not have much bearing on everyday
practice. Others, somewhat more prosaically, referred to the common
foundations in history and the common core in the undergraduate syllabus; to
the mobility which exists between specialisms; and even to the sharing of
apparatus between different groups, which lends a kind of functional unity. One
sceptic maintained that the only thing all academic physicists had in common
was a good physics teacher at school. But even those respondents who
stressed the overriding sense of kinship among physicists, the shared
intellectual style and the mutuality of interests, were ready to acknowledge the
difficulties of intercommunication between different specialisms, and the
tendency for the community to become more and more fragmented as
knowledge advances.

This fragmentation is exemplified by some of the major occupational divisions

among physicists, and, particularly, between those working in different
branches of the subject. Another case in point is the distinction between
theoreticians and experimentalists. Within any particular specialism, the two
groups may be closely interdependent, accepting the same underlying
principles. Nevertheless, they are trained differently, work in different ways and
have divergent interests. In the UK at least (though this is less true of the USA)
there is very little migration between them. There can, at times, be a sense of
mutual rivalry (illustrated in the comment that the experimentalists "have to
produce the meat which the theoreticians then pick"). There are further
differences within each broad category. The design of experiments may call for
very different talents from those required for the actual exploitation of
apparatus. Again, axiom theorists, working at a level of abstraction far removed
from experimental results, can be clearly distinguished from phenomenologists,
who start with the experimental data and thence try to generate plausible
hypotheses for further theoretical or experimental investigation.

Parts of theoretical physics are closely related to mathematics, and there can
be relatively easy transfer between the two. Mathematicians are seen as more
rigorous in their approach, but lacking in the concern with reality which
characterises all physicists, however pure. It is this sense of concreteness, of
phenomenological reality, which leads many physicists to hold their subject
superior to one which involves "making chicken scratches on paper". There are
also links of a different kind between physics and other branches of science.
Along one line of argument, the other scientific disciplines are claimed to stem
from physics: it contributes to them without getting much in return; it is more
intellectual and less utilitarian than they are. Along another line of argument,
there are areas of interdisciplinary convergence and overlap, as in the
investigation of the structures of proteins (with biology) or in the study of solid-
state materials (with engineering). Nevertheless, outside the border zones the
contrasts are clear. For example, biology deals generally with more complex
subject-matter, is less quantitative, uses different tools and employs different
ways of thinking. Again, chemistry tends to be regarded as narrow rather than
deep; as rule-bound and factual; as not a natural philosophy in the full sense.

Physics was the only discipline among those investigated (which also included
biology, history, law, mechanical engineering and sociology) whose
practitioners acknowledged hierarchies of esteem, both within the discipline and
outside it. Thus, even if in a half-joking way, pure theorists look down on
phenomenologists. The ladder of specialism runs down from theoretical particle
physics to experimental particle physics, thence to solid-state and other
branches of fundamental experimental physics, and finally to areas in applied
physics such as metallurgy. Taking the subject as a whole, there would seem to
be some disagreement about whether mathematics and philosophy come
higher or lower in the pecking order than does physics, but the latter stands
clearly above chemistry and biology, with chemical engineering next, then
engineering: geography and the social sciences are placed firmly beyond the
pale. One respondent explained, "there is nothing crude and overt about the
snobbery involved: it is a bit akin to a Cambridge person talking to a non-
Cambridge person" ("that", riposted someone else, "goes much too far for me").
As other respondents pointed out, while such subjective views exist, they do not
necessarily reflect the current realities. One went on to add "we all have to
maintain that our own discipline is the most important thing, even if in our hearts
we may suspect that it isn't". Another, an applied physicist, objected to the
whole notion of such implicit hierarchies, commenting that "Status in the world
outside is measured by materialistic things, possession of which is determined
by personal wealth, and . . . depends on the demand for one's services as a
consultant to industry. For this reason, experimentalists are likely to have far
higher worldly status than theoreticians. Status within the physics profession is
set by things like the frequency of invitations abroad, and, again, I think
experimentalists have the edge".

2. Epistemological Issues

Part of the difficulty of mapping the shape of physics lies in the apparent
reluctance of physicists to reflect on, and classify, their own activities. As one
interviewee explained, the typical physicist's approach is pragmatic and ad hoc
rather than philosophical: things do not just have to look neat (important though
that is), they have to work. Physicists do not like imposing categories of
explanation on what people do, because that does not get you anywhere [ 2].
Nevertheless, it proved possible to glean some insights into the nature of
knowledge within the discipline through the incidental comments of those
participating in the study, and through attention to some commonly used terms
of praise and blame.

One important requirement in tackling any given problem is a background of

experience, which can help in the choice of approach and which can offer some
sense of direction. A few respondents also suggested the need for the less
tangible qualities of imagination, inspiration and intuition. The value of familiarity
with the immediate context of a problem is underlined by those who have
experienced its absence. Although, for a physicist entering a completely new
field, it is relatively easy to learn the essentials, it is less easy--lacking both "a
feel of right and wrong" and a knowledge of what is going on elsewhere--to
achieve good results. But as against this, such an individual is not "blinkered by
folklore", and may consequently see solutions to which others are blind.

Discovery itself is a process rather than an event: it does not occur in a cut-and-
dried way at a well-defined moment, but is spread over time. The confirmation
of a finding may come partly in the process of writing it up (when any gaps in
the argument tend to become obvious, and when the loose ends have to be
tied); and partly in its exposure to the critical reactions of colleagues.
Nevertheless, there is often a distinct point at which you know when you are
right: it may be variously described as "a feeling in the bones", "a gut feeling", "a
physical insight". This conviction of rightness--even if it turns out to be
mistaken--can be very satisfying. Often, you can see the way ahead and know
what sort of answer you are going to get, because the subject has a well-
defined methodology and a clear mathematical base. Similarly, with the work of
others it is possible to know that someone else is wrong and to think that you
know the answer, or to recognise a solution that "feels right and makes things
click into place".

The notion of a "sense of fit" is an important one in appraising solutions--not

merely a fit with experimental results (though that is crucial) but also with a
wider theoretical framework. It is a useful rule-of-thumb that if an argument
works well in one case it can be expected to work well in another. Accordingly,
you try to find new mathematical tools which can be applied to different parts of
physics, and new applications for existing tools. Analogy is thus a vital weapon
in the physicist's armoury--though it has to be carefully handled, since
promising similarities will sometimes turn out to be approximate or incomplete.
But there is a criterion more important perhaps than structural similarity with
other areas of physics (which is itself an aspect of "an economical solution"):
namely, the property of elegance. It seems almost an article of faith, related to
the physicist's belief in the unity and simplicity of nature (of which more later),
that the right answer is always the neatest among two or more apparently valid
interpretations of the same phenomena. Complicated solutions are suspect: the
ideal explanation "can be put in one sentence".

The outsider's view that physics deals with certainties is not shared by
physicists themselves. At one level, there is "the uncertainty forced on us by
twentieth-century physics, so that we are not sure whether the things we talk
about are . . . `really there'". At another, "in most problems progress can only be
made by first simplifying the problem, by neglecting some effects, averaging
over others, and so on. Conclusions based on these approximations can well
be erroneous, hence an uncertainty. Different approaches to a problem may
have different approximations implicit in them, so conclusions may differ and
comparisons.. .may not be easy". Even when physicists are prepared to
concede the existence of "definitive solutions", they are emphatic that large
tracts of the subject--particularly those near the boundaries of understanding,
and, in a different way, those on the frontiers of practical application--allow
scope for the provisional and the speculative ("in particle physics, anything you
say is an assumption"). Although it may be legitimate in one's undergraduate
teaching to present results as unequivocal, or at least to discuss problems for
which an exact solution is possible ("you have to make life bearable for the
students"), every researcher has the right to question any theory or assertion,
however widely believed. It is tempting to redefine certainty itself as the product
of professional agreement, and to speak of "the emergence of a consensus
over time", or of the "achievement of an acceptable resolution to a problem".

However, it also seems that there is little room for controversy within physics--
an observation which would appear to run counter to the interpretation,
advanced by some respondents, of certainty as dependent on context. Such
disagreement as exists is focused on differing schools of thought, rival
methodologies, disagreements over the interpretation of results, personal feuds
(which "do not affect the development of the subject, and have only a local
relevance") and a few major unresolved issues--for example, how gravitation is
best explained [ 3]. After a major conceptual revolution the extent of
disagreement will increase, not unexpectedly. Nevertheless, there is more to
settling a dispute than merely winning over the majority to one's side--as can be
illustrated by the strong initial opposition to Heisenberg's uncertaintly principle,
an opposition which was eventually toppled by sheer weight of evidence.
"Physics is a law unto itself--you can't bend it." Ideological considerations are
irrelevant, except, perhaps, in determining one's initial hypotheses. Conflicts of
world-view tend "to come out in a speculative rather than a workaday context".
At a more subtle level, though, it is possible to point to an interplay between a
physicist's professional judgement, his wider views about physics and his
general philosophy of life.

There is one clear respect in which the nature of physics depends on extrinsic
considerations. Although large areas of commonality exist, there remain
discernible differences in the way the discipline is interpreted and practiced in
different countries. One can meaningfully talk about "typical French papers" or
"typical American papers"; and "run-of-the-mill physics in Russia is very
different from its counterpart in Britain". The contrasts may be attributed partly
to differences in educational systems and partly to variations in academic
career patterns. More broadly, they seem to reflect national cultures and
national characteristics. Like many generalisations, such claims tend to be
based on a few leading personalities, and also to survive even when well out-of-
date. Not unexpectedly, interpretations of what the differences are also vary.
Some [ 4] British academic physicists tended to portray their opposite numbers
in the USA as adept at calculation and at exploiting and developing others'
ideas, but as less good at experimentation or at generating ideas of their own.
The Americans rejected this account, and retaliated with the claim that in their
country physics was noticeably more aggressive than in the UK: it both offered
better incentives and yielded greater dividends.

But if the process of building up the subject is parochial, the corpus of

knowledge is universal: what counts as a valid finding is not dependent on
geographical or cultural considerations, and the process of establishing or
refuting a claim knows no frontiers. In experimental physics, the repetition of
others' experiments is not the standard mode of verification, despite being
represented as such in philosophical discussions of scientific method.
Extension and application are more common than replication, though the
occasional surprising (and apparently far-reaching) result which challenges a
prevailing theory will certainly be checked by others. If a claim seems
suspicious one looks for negative evidence, but not necessarily within the
framework of the original argument. In cases where experimentation is costly
and elaborate, a useful check may be to seek out instances of the same
general phenomenon in other contexts. Generally, one starts by trusting others'
results and building on them: it is only if the consequences are unsatisfactory
that it is necessary to go back and repeat the original investigation. One
common reason for carrying out someone else's experiment for a second time
is to understand it fully before pushing the conclusions further; another is to test
out one's own apparatus before embarking on a consequential investigation ("it
is important to be sure you are using the same language, including scales and
reference points"). It nevertheless remains the case that, if one has a strong
hunch that somebody else's results are wrong, a convincing demonstration of
its errors can enhance one's reputation as a careful experimenter.

The process of accepting a novel idea or finding is somewhat paradoxical. On

the one hand, "as a physicist you have to be open to the unexpected"; on the
other, "people don't like their existing ideas unsettled". In consequence, it is rare
for a major advance to win immediate acceptance. Recognition may be delayed
("it takes time to realise the importance of new ideas"); credit is liable to be
retrospective. The passage of time has other effects. Someone who carved out
a new field, even a few years ago, may be forgotten today; once-startling
discoveries soon lose their impact and are taken for granted. Nevertheless,
even dated ideas "are always with us": they "get archived" and are added to
what one physicist called "the burden of conceptual baggage inherited from our
predecessors".
The terms of appraisal used by physicists throw interesting sidelights on the
logic of enquiry within the discipline. It has already been noted that elegance in
a solution is a high virtue, and that economy of explanation is also seen as
praiseworthy. "Productive work" is another characteristic concept, denoting a
piece of investigation which creates new possibilities for further research--that
is, opens up a fresh range of issues or suggests a novel approach to existing
problems. The kindred notion of "a powerful method" acknowledges a technique
which can be applied across a broad spectrum of the subject-matter and which
seems at the same time to have a penetrating quality. "Sloppy" is the
commonest term of condemnation, indicating a piece of work which lacks the
desirable qualities of neatness and simplicity and the necessary qualities of
thoroughness and reliability. "Rigorous" is a somewhat backhanded
compliment, carrying connotations of a narrowly mathematical approach which
lacks imagination and misses the sense of physical reality. Perhaps because of
the fast-moving quality of many areas of physics, the terms "masterly" and
"scholarly" seem altogether inappropriate--and indeed are never used in this
context.

3. Physics as an Academic Career

There are now very limited job opportunities in academic physics. Any aspiring
entrant to the profession has to be "very good and very dedicated". Because
most will not make it, prudence suggests a specialisation which is marketable in
the industrial world--it is easier to get outside jobs as an experimentalist, and
solid-state physics seems, at the moment, a particularly good bet. Some people
find that they have little choice but to drop out after the first or second
postdoctoral appointment in their late twenties: but for those who are tough
enough to survive, to get tenure and to go on fighting for recognition, "physics
offers lots of scope as a career". Many graduates find the battle a daunting one
in prospect, and physics departments accordingly find some difficulty in
recruiting PhD students.

Qualities of personality are more important than the layman might suppose:
"you have to throw your weight around and assert yourself intellectually". In a
large group (as in particle physics), intellectual style counts for at least as much
as professional ability. The great men in physics (who are not necessarily
identical with the great physicists) have personal and moral qualities which are
more important than mere skills and techniques. According to a number of
those interviewed, one basic (though not particularly moral) attribute is
ruthlessness: it also helps if you are aggressive and authoritarian [ 5]. In certain
fields, "the two most important qualities--apart from a modicum of intelligence--
are stamina and the ability to persuade other people to do things". But though
such qualities may be necessary, they are not sufficient: along with everything
else you have to be independent-minded and capable of "getting to the root of
issues".

Physics allows room for a wide variety of talents, and there is "a complete range
of characters in the trade". It is easy enough to choose a field to match one's
own temperament, and graduate students commonly consider the different
modes of working when they select their research topic--as do those who
change emphasis in mid-career. Mobility is, on the whole, a desirable quality--
"you need to keep your interest fresh"; "productive people shouldn't do the
same thing for too long"--though it is easier for theoreticians than for
experimentalists, and easier for young experimentalists than for older ones.
Changes of career emphasis are, however, seldom arbitrary: most people are
"guided by a continuity of theoretical development".

Following a would-be academic physicist through his or her career, there is first
a clear (though increasingly disregarded) prohibition on incest. If a promising
undergraduate is given a postgraduate place in his or her institution (which is
already dubious practice), he or she would generally expect to be awarded a
postdoctoral post elsewhere. If this taboo is flouted, the likely penalty is that the
physicist concerned will be narrow and inbred. Even so, at a time when few
good students stay on, the temptation to keep hold of them must be strong. The
patronage of one's mentors at the doctoral and postdoctoral stage can be
important--particularly if they are prominent in the field--though "you have to be
good as well". Certainly, at the point of final selection for a junior teaching post
or for tenure, it helps if one's candidacy is supported by a leading figure, even
though that individual may be somewhat out of touch with the younger
generation of researchers. It is useful to have a multiplicity of patrons, because
"people tend to be wary of a good reference from only one person".

Postgraduates in physics, unlike those in a number of other disciplines, are not

in a position to identify their own research topics because they lack the
necessary contextual knowledge. They do, of course, have to select their
research field and hence their supervisor, but the latter will normally make the
choice of specialist topic for them--not a light responsibility, since the level of
difficulty has to be right and the problem has to lead somewhere, or at least be
capable of resolution. One or two postgraduates expressed resentment at
"being used as slave labour" and at having their supervisors' names attached to
papers they had written. Practice here appears to vary widely, as does its
justification. Some argued that it was fair recognition, given the supervisor's part
in specifying the problem and guiding its solution. Others suggested that it was
a means of guaranteeing the validity of research done by an unknown worker
("not", as someone pointed out, "a strong argument"). Others again took the
more cynical view that it was a tithe for services provided and a handy way of
swelling the supervisor's publication list. It is rare ("but not that rare") for
theoretical physicists to claim credit in this direct way for their junior colleagues'
work, though relatively common for leaders of large experimental groups to do
so: the project manager may have little time for first-hand research, and may
have to maintain his prestige and status by surrogate publication.

Aspiring academics are commonly expected to undertake one or more spells as

postdoctoral research fellows before applying for teaching posts. This is the
stage at which physicists gain intellectual independence; learning to work on
their own and discussing questions with senior colleagues rather than merely
following their advice (the next major step towards intellectual maturity comes
some time later, when a junior academic takes on his or her first research
student). Once in a teaching job, the hurdle of tenure has to be surmounted. A
number of respondents saw these early years as a time of fierce competition, a
point in the physicist's career where one is compelled to work on short-term
problems and publish numerous papers almost regardless of quality. The
situation is intensified in the USA, where people may have to wait for up to 10
years from first appointment before knowing whether they are to be offered a
permanency. Those who are not may choose to move "down market" to a less
prestigious institution or give up the ideal of an academic life altogether.

There is a common belief among theoreticians that, as their career advances,

they will reach a peak of achievement. It is a "young man's field", a subject
which moves so rapidly that it is hard to change one's ideas fast enough after
one's mid-thirties. Even so, the older theoretical physicists are not necessarily
burned out, and can go on doing useful things; and there are plenty of
exceptions to the general rule. For experimentalists, there is a much less
noticeable pattern: experience counts for a great deal, so, in general, people
tend to get better with increasing maturity. Is peaking, then, any more than a
myth? A number of respondents were sceptical about the phenomenon as a
whole, suggesting that it related more to the career structure in physics (the
slacking-off of competition after tenure, the promotion out of research into
academic administration) than to any intrinsic property of the subject itself.
However, these considerations apply with equal weight to experimentalists,
and, indeed, to those in other disciplines without acknowledged career peaks.
Moreover, the same belief about peaking is reported to be strongly held by
mathematicians, whose work is similar in its nature to that of theoretical
physicists.

It is one thing to consider the main stages in a physicist's career, and quite
another to look at the way in which that career is conducted. One of the major
points of divergence seems to be between those areas of the subject which call
for collaborative activity--often on a large scale--and those where people work
mainly alone. At one extreme lies experimental particle physics, where the work
is normally done by large teams of 40 or more researchers. This poses a variety
of problems, especially that of the individual establishing his or her identity in
the team. Though publications will often contain the names of all members who
consider themselves to have made a contribution, there may well be only one
name associated with the team's results in the end. The normal routines for
granting tenure are clearly inapplicable in that, apart from the difficulty of
identifying the role of the individual concerned, no publication may emerge from
a group for three or four years. In other experimental fields, the mode of work
will be determined largely by the nature of the problem. Collaboration--though
on a more modest scale than in particle physics--tends to be the norm.
Theoreticians, in contrast, are likely to work alone or in very small groups of two
or three: larger groupings exist, but are in effect consortia which parcel up their
labour into a number of sub-specialisms.

However, few physicists of any persuasion are `true loners'--people working in

virtual isolation from colleagues--most of whom "tend to be paranoic" and "end
up as failures". Even though it is possible as an experimentalist and relatively
easy as a theoretician to pursue a solitary path, "a free-ranging intellect doesn't
usually spring from going it alone". The value of discussion with colleagues was
universally acknowledged by those taking part in the enquiry. Talking to one's
fellow researchers "helps to keep ideas moving". Discussion can enable one to
avoid a blinkered approach--interested colleagues may also spot flaws or
potential areas of duplication. Even loners "need someone to talk to to stay
sane". In cases where the literature is hard to understand, it pays to confront
the authors of the relevant papers and to find out exactly what they are getting
at. All in all, "there is a lot of interaction"; "physicists need each other".

Although teaching is an element in the careers of nearly all academic

physicists, it was only mentioned incidentally in the course of the present
enquiry--perhaps because it is defined by, but does not define, the nature of the
discipline. In both Britain and the USA, the undergraduate curriculum is based
largely on the corpus of past material. This is "a kind of socialising,
professionalising experience--it gives you models". Perhaps not surprisingly,
some respondents positively enjoyed teaching, while others found it boring or
resented the time it took up. One--referring more to postgraduate than to
undergraduate teaching--valued his relationship with students because "you
can use them as a sounding board without the fear that they will go and publish
your ideas". Another was concerned that "we don't often enough put over the
excitement of the subject to those we teach" [ 6].

4. The Practice of Physics

It is not easy for anyone pursuing a successful career as an academic physicist

to be altruistic. Some respondents likened the life to that of a commercial
entrepreneur: finding a gap in the market and filling it, having to sell oneself as
well as one's products. One doctoral student believed that this activity was
separable from the research enterprise: "the business of being a tycoon doesn't
really affect your work--it is kept in a separate compartment". In contrast, others
identified "professional tycoons" as those who rely on political skills rather than
professional competence to acquire positions of power. Such people--"second-
rate scientists who have got into first-rank posts"--tend to "play dirty" and to
alienate their colleagues.

But even that large majority of the community which puts doing physics before
politicking is strongly driven by a sense of competition. Sometimes, this takes
the form not so much of a race as of rivalry between approaches: "it is more
subtle than looking over your shoulder at runners on the same bit of track". It is
"largely polite"; "played in a gentlemanly way". On other occasions, the
competition is direct and intense. It "shows where the action really is", and helps
the subject to advance quickly. Competitiveness, one might say, is inherent in
the subject: people will argue about priorities even when it doesn't matter. If
some areas of the discipline seem less competitive and less rapidly-moving
than others, this may have something to do with the "people:problem" ratio--the
extent to which researchers are spread thinly across a large set of problems, as
against being clustered densely around relatively few. It may also have some
basis in the knowledge structure of the field in question, and especially in the
extent to which results are cumulative and sequential.

"Everyone likes an audience and thrives on acclaim". Success can be

measured by the number of invitations one has abroad, the number of
consultancy offers one gets; but above all, by the number of contributions
published in prestigious journals. Some fields have industrial applications and
offer opportunities for registering patents: this can generate a breed of "secular
tycoons". But ideas do not have to be patentable to give rise to a strong sense
of personal possession. People identify with their results and feel defensive
about them. The need for acknowledgement is strong, as is the sense of
annoyance if one's findings are misquoted or misrepresented.

In an atmosphere of competition, a certain amount of sharp practice would

seem almost inevitable. Some respondents had come across examples of
"espionage, plagiarism or string-pulling" at first or second hand; others denied
their existence or claimed them to be "very rare". Espionage, it was claimed, "is
not the dominant form of competition". Plagiarism, according to one physicist, is
perfectly legitimate--it is part of the game to take a rival's idea and try to beat
him to its exploitation. A second informant, from the USA, contended that the
American system is "too open" to allow the practice to exist. A number of others
pointed out that much apparent plagiarism is inadvertent, in that it is very easy
unconsciously to assimilate a notion generated by someone else and then to
build on it and get credit for the consequent findings. Such a process seems
markedly different from the one in which a physicist was sent a paper to referee,
found the argument to be mistaken, and then published the correct account
under his own name. The response of others presented with this case was
varied. Some considered it to be dishonest and punishable by removal from the
panel of referees. Others thought that the referee in question should have put
the author right, rather than publishing on his own account. Others again
regarded such publication as legitimate, provided that the original source was
fully acknowledged.

Two respondents referred to instances in which apparently reputable papers

were refused publication in journals edited by physicists of a rival school--the
solution adopted in one case was to take on the editorship of another journal
and hence to create a new publication outlet. The converse practice--of
suppressing one's findings rather than those of one's competitors--was also
mentioned. Some people emphasised the need for careful timing and the
importance of choosing the right moment to publish. It may be wise to hold back
an idea if you expect to make a greater impression when it is more fully worked
out; and it may, in an applied field, be important to delay publication until the
patent rights are covered. One interviewee remarked on "a tendency to be open
about publishing last year's findings, but not this year's". It is not unknown for
"laboratories to be kept locked, and progress reports to be given in a very
guarded way". In any case, it is only prudent to avoid careless talk among
"colleagues who make a habit of lifting other people's ideas". An experimentalist
mentioned the advantages of communicating discoveries at a meeting, where
one's rivals are unable to take down all the details; a theoretician noted an
inclination for people to say as little as possible about their methods when
publishing their conclusions.

Secretiveness is, however, clearly not the accepted norm. One physicist
roundly condemned "quasi-publication" as dishonest, and another dismissed
reticence about one's findings as "poor science, because it betrays a greater
interest in personal credit than in the results themselves". In more pragmatic
terms, a number of those interviewed pointed out the disadvantages of "sitting
on your results". Someone may well beat you to publication; it is, in any case,
important to make a quick impact and begin to get known in the field. Once you
are reasonably established there is a great pressure to go round giving
seminars and conference papers. This makes it hard to keep your latest ideas
to yourself: "if you don't say anything, people assume you've nothing to say".
There is something of a sense of duty involved, too, in sharing thoughts with
others--a need to "keep physics going", a "professional responsibility to
publish".

The incentives for rapid publication are reinforced by career considerations.

Advancement depends very heavily, here as elsewhere, on one's publication
record. But such incentives are liable to conflict with another set of demands
concerning the need to do careful work, to get things right. The result is a
certain amount of ambivalence, with some physicists emphasising the supreme
importance of priority ("speculation pays--you're praised if you're right and
forgotten if you're wrong") and others insisting on the need for careful checking
before publication ("it is better to be right than first"; "if you jump the gun and get
it wrong too often, people stop taking you seriously").

Physics, as an academic profession, is "much concerned with recognition". But

earning a reputation is a complex matter, depending on the extent to which you
meet your initial promise, on your versatility, and on your skill in avoiding
superficiality. Dilettantes get short shrift--"people have no time to waste on
froth". The quality of what you publish matters more than the volume, and it is
even possible to make a name on a single publication. There is some measure
of hit-and-miss in all this, and, at any given time, "your reputation tends to be
based on a vague feeling that you're a good chap". Where making mistakes can
tarnish your image, it is not surprising that "being found to have falsified results"
can destroy it altogether. That is the quickest way to "get burned as a scientist".
5. Trading in Ideas
Problems are the basic commodities of physics, ideas its currency and
communication its market mechanism. Ideas take time to establish their value,
and, in some fields, the lag between having a promising notion and coming up
with the eventual solution to a problem can be quite sizeable. Even where
publication is quite rapid, scientific argument tends to proceed at a relatively
slow rate. There is something like a maximum time-span of 10 years during
which a topic or technique will remain viable, often with a high-point after four
years or so: though in some cases it may well come back into prominence in a
subsequent generation.

A thorough knowledge of the current literature in one's specialism is generally

held to be an advantage, if not essential. For experimentalists, it can save the
duplication of existing findings; for theoreticians, it can save the effort of re-
creating a methodology that has been already worked out. Because, in a highly
active area, it is easy to become overwhelmed by the volume of literature, there
is a tendency to "keep up by gossip", ignoring most of what is written and
concentrating on the papers about which "word goes round". Those who
regularly act as referees may use the papers sent to them as an important
source of information. It is, of course, an advantage of having familiarity with a
field that "you know where to look for most things". But while it seems to be a
majority view that "you can't manage without other people's ideas, and reading
the literature will very often lift you out of a rut", there are occasional dissenting
voices. It can happen that ideas are inhibited and possibilities overlooked
because of "the prevailing view of the invisible college". Perhaps physicists "are
told too many things, and discouraged from having funny ideas", so that few of
them risk independent thought. The dilemma was neatly summed up by one
respondent as follows: "If I read the literature, I'll have the same ideas as
everyone else; if I don't, I'll probably have the ideas they had 10 years ago".

Networks of personal contacts are important for a variety of reasons, and

people start building them up in their postgraduate years. Although the sizes of
such networks may vary considerably from one field to another (in less
fashionable areas numbering between half a dozen and a dozen people, and in
more fashionable up to a couple of hundred), the way they operate seems fairly
standard. First and foremost, they help keep one in touch with work in progress
elsewhere; secondly, they offer a source of professional identity; thirdly, they
provide contacts with people "at the cutting edge", and so indirectly enhance
one's own reputation and career prospects. It is not always easy to gain access
to an existing network, especially in fields which are popular and hard to get
into. There is sometimes a steep threshold to climb over, and you may have to
learn a considerable amount even to get a foot on this threshold. The group
may be a cliquey one, suspicious of those who do not already belong and who
do not talk their specialist language. Even quite well-meaning referees can
reject something an author has written: because they do not expect anyone
who is not a member of the club to have anything sensible to say, they are
prone to overlook its significance. In specialisms where one main source of
mutual communication is through the distribution of preprints--articles circulated
in photocopied typescript form before publication--this serves to put a further
barrier in the way of anyone whose name is not on the mailing list [ 7].
Nevertheless, anyone with determination can soon discover who are the key
people in a given specialism, and take the important first step of contacting
them.

Preprints are only one of the devices adopted for minimising delay in the
registration of priority and in the dissemination of ideas. While there are some
less densely populated specialisms in which publication delays of 18 months
appear acceptable, in other specialisms there is an intense concern with
speedy communication. Here, "journals are always out of date". Even
periodicals such as Physical Review Letters, specifically designed to publish
brief summaries of findings, are considered to inhibit progress if they give rise to
a time-lag of as much as three months. Accordingly, much communication takes
place "on the grapevine", in private rather than publicly: through conferences,
laboratory visits, staff exchanges, summer schools and workshops, seminars
and colloquia; through group newsletters, personal correspondence and fairly
frequent long-distance telephone calls. Conference attendance varies from field
to field, and depends, to some extent, on personal inclination. However, a
successful and active physicist in a rapidly developing specialism might expect
to attend half a dozen or more gatherings a year in various parts of the world.
Opportunities to give seminar papers can allow younger and lesser-known
people to begin building up a reputation and making useful contacts; summer
schools are also ways of augmenting one's network, as well as ways of
acquiring a clearer understanding of the state-of-the-art in a particular subject
area.

A similar purpose can be served by review articles. In productive fields,

individual papers do not remain in currency long, being rapidly superseded by
synoptic pieces commissioned from leading researchers. Few books are written
in physics at the research level, most material appearing first in journal articles.
There are some people who write advanced texts; quite a few who write
undergraduate texts (but these do not count for promotion, and their authors are
seldom in the mainstream); some conference reports are published in book
form; and there is also the occasional edited collection on a key theme with
individual chapters by different specialists. But, because most of the central
topics are both "communal--in that you have to keep the ideas going" and fast-
moving, books are not seen as a way of communicating primary information.
Even writing a relatively short monograph can jeopardise the momentum of
your research-"it is difficult to stop everything for four months, and your ongoing
commitments tend to get in the way".

In terms of professional success, the ability to identify a good problem is an

important asset to any physicist. However, there is again an ambiguity here
between "picking problems because they will serve your career, and working on
a really worthwhile topic". There are those who maintain that "shrewd scientists
. . . tackle questions with a readily publishable answer, taking no risks"; or that
"if you can't get a solution, you should change the problem--it's sensible to
tackle the things you can just do". As against this, others commend the strategy
of going for the major, worthwhile issues: "Einstein had no time for those who
looked for the thinnest bit of wood and bored a small hole in it". Perhaps,
though, it is of the essence of physics to "break the subject into puzzles" and to
"start by tackling the fringes". Certainly, becoming involved with long-term
problems represents a substantial career gamble: "the advances are nearly
always small, and big jumps in understanding are rare".

Physicists who concentrate on getting solutions to fundamental questions but

who ignore matters of detail are sometimes known as `cream-skimmers'. They
are not necessarily to be condemned: "you have to be sharp to do it", and it can
be valuable in providing follow-up material for postgraduates and others--"mere
botanists"--who go in for sorting out the implications of other peoples' findings.
But there is, nonetheless, some ambivalence about skimming the cream. You
cannot get away with a "quick and dirty" solution--"you have to do a nice job,
getting at the essentials, and not merely produce a glib and superficial account".

Fashions clearly exist. Two respondents (both, as it happened, theoreticians)

objected that the word "fashion" was "not a nice one" and sounded derogatory;
but both acknowledged that there were "areas of current concentration". Some
respondents emphasised that it was not intellectually dishonest to follow
fashion--indeed, in areas such as fundamental particle physics there was no
option, because the necessary apparatus was so costly and hard of access. In
any case, the direction of fashionable change was not arbitrary, as it depended
on recent fundamental advances or the discovery of interesting new
phenomena. But there were also those who complained that fashions often
affected the development of physics for the worse, distorting progress and
distracting attention from important areas and profound questions. One only
had a delusion of progress from jumping on the bandwagon: people interested
in current fads were liable to spend their time in futile mutual back-slapping.
"The big advances don't seem to have much to do with fashion--they can often
be ascribed to a single person and a single paper". Perhaps it is fair to
conclude, as one respondent did, that "the shape of the subject is a mixture of
natural progression and historical accident".

Those who set the pace in any field may play a strong part in determining the
current agenda. "Looking at solid-state physics makes you think of packs of
wolves following their leader and pursuing their next quarry"; "particle physics
brings out strong authoritarian leaders". Another main determinant of fashion is
provided by the grant-giving agencies--the work people do depends on what will
attract funds. Good public relations are a necessary, though not a sufficient,
criterion of career advancement in some specialisms--there is a need for careful
"impression management" with those who award research monies. Once a
grant has been made, however, it is considered to be quite in order for "at least
30% of your funds to be used for other purposes", provided that you "deliver the
goods and give value for money". This flexibility is legitimate because "you can't
direct physics--you have to back people, not proposals". Even when the funding
agency tries to exercise strict control (as Research Councils do), it is not
unknown for a significant proportion of the proposed study to be done before
the grant is awarded, and for the latter part of the funding period to be spent
working out a proposal for continuation or further development.

6. Physicists as People

There is no such thing as a typical physicist--they range "from the myopic boffin
to the worldly-wise entrepreneur". A certain number of physicists might be
described as "introverted show-offs", because the subject "tends to attract
people who are not socially able, and to offer them an escape into objectivity".
Such "social escapists . . . have to be extra clever to compensate for their
inadequacy". But where some individuals may be designated as "good at ideas
rather than people", there are plenty of others who are "good manipulators".
Nearly everyone is "out there in the arena". Some physicists see themselves as
radical in both political and temperamental terms, but this is not a characteristic
to which the majority would admit.

There is a shared belief in the unity and simplicity of nature. You come across
patterns which seem to fit in with rational thought: it is as though nature had
been designed by a rational being [ 8]. The belief that nature behaves rationally
is, indeed, "an item of faith for most physicists". Studying the subject helps you
to "understand profound simplicities and gain a sense of harmony and
structure". This sense that "you are really understanding important things" is
one of the most valued aspects of being a physicist. It is related to the
contention that, in the end, everything is understandable: even in apparently
intractable areas someone will eventually come along with a theory which will
make things fall neatly into place. One respondent offered this conscious
parody of the prevailing view: "The physicist is someone who has a firm grasp
of important concepts and laws. He is willing to have a go at almost any
problem. He is able to beam a powerful knowledge of physics at the problems
of the physical world and by that means solve them. Physicists are men (the
emphasis is deliberate) of high intellect, which they apply to a diversity of
issues: they are the mercenaries of the mind".

The ability to solve problems, and the confidence which this engenders, helps
to explain another pair of closely-related characteristics commonly attributed to
themselves by physicists--namely, arrogance and elitism. Physicists are
arrogant because they see other disciplines as inferior and feel that they are
specially privileged in being able to make sense of things. As one graduate
student put it: "If we are arrogant, we are rightfully so. Physicists not only have
to be very intelligent, but have to have something more--a tremendous clarity
which it is hard to cultivate". The elitism also derives from the conviction that to
be a physicist is to have a rare and valuable set of skills. "The field is one which
the people in it see as very special, and you have to keep on earning your
membership of it". Within the discipline itself, there is little sense of hierarchy:
perhaps because "as one of the elect, you are the hierarchy". Although "the big
names are inevitably more prestigious", on the whole, physics departments are
"democratic and relaxed".

The need remarked earlier (see Section 3), to discuss one's ideas with
colleagues, gives rise to a gregarious academic community. Physics is "a social
activity". It involves "a good deal of matinees", a "sense of camaraderie and
friendly competition--though it can get nasty at times". Within any given
specialism there is a strong tendency to "talk shop". Unfortunately, the nature of
the discussion is exclusive, and, even at the undergraduate level, "physicists
don't socialise much with students in other subjects". As a result, "outsiders
tend to think of physicists as boring" and as "more monomaniac than people in
other disciplines". They tend to become "fanatical, dedicated and obsessed with
work": whether this necessarily entails narrow-mindedness is a matter of
disagreement. Some physicists ("but only some"), it was said, have very few
outside interests--they are "unprepared to think about other things" [ 9]. But
others claimed a diversity of spare-time activities, mostly in the arts. Listening to
and making music, going to the theatre, and visiting museums and art galleries
were among the common recreations mentioned by interviewees (without any
prompting, since the study did not attempt to enquire into people's private, as
opposed to their professional, lives).

The physicists' strong sense of professional involvement results, in a large part,

from the competitive nature of the discipline. It is an intellectually difficult field, in
which "you have a hard slog to keep ahead"; you are "always under pressure,
though you have to stop letting it get on top of you or you stop enjoying your
work". To survive, you have to be "good, dedicated and determined". For many
people, it is difficult to leave their work behind because they become so
involved in it ("I live my physics"). Some "see everything from a physics point of
view, 24 hours a day". It is hard to switch off, and people often work in the
evenings and at weekends--in some departments the labs are seldom empty.
As a result, "you may feel guilty about not seeing enough of your wife and
children", even though "the physics community rewards the sacrifices you make
of your family and yourself".

On balance, the life is nonetheless a good one, despite its moments of boredom
(candidates here included routine teaching, large computing runs, having to
write up results) and frustration (research snags, administrative chores). There
is much to enjoy--especially the freedom of academic life and the scope to
choose a congenial research area. Experimentalists in particular have a further
career option outside physics itself, namely high-level administration. Their
training in "man-money management" makes them efficient operators, confident
of success and able to move comfortably into senior posts in industry or
academia.

Links with the outside world take a variety of forms. Some physicists play an
active role in issues of science policy--partly, perhaps, because they tend to be
"flexible people, ready to turn their attention to other things", but partly also
because they recognise that it is important to win public support for their
activities. A sizeable number become caught up with military and other
classified research [ 10]. Though there are those who repudiate such activity or
feel uncomfortable about it, the realists are able to point out that the subject has
benefited from its dose wartime and post-war involvement with governments,
especially in terms of additional research funds and a large increase in the
number of posts for physicists. Then again, it is the physicists who tend to
dominate the agencies and associations concerned with social responsibility in
science. Several competing explanations were offered for this phenomenon.
Many respondents put it down to "a sense of tribal guilt, arising from the atomic
bomb and other misapplications of science"--perhaps "a generational thing", not
felt by younger physicists. Others repudiated this: the involvement, it was
variously said, stems from the greater social and political awareness of
physicists when compared with other scientists; from the fact that they are
readily able to transfer their skills at problem-solving, believe that solutions
exist, and are confident of getting the right answers; or even from the quality of
physics itself, which "encompasses more of the world" than other disciplines.
Among the cynics, one suggested that the social responsibility in science
movement was popular with physicists because "it offers a high status slot for
those who are played out--it lets them indulge their social consciences and
excuses them from doing real science".

A number of interviewees referred to the "excitement, elation and enthusiasm"

to which the subject can give rise. This provides a powerful incentive for
keeping going with one's research. While a small proportion maintained that
emotional engagement is uncommon ("the satisfaction is intellectual, not
emotional--you never get `turned on' as some people do by music"), the
majority claimed to experience sharp feelings of both pain and pleasure. There
were the senses of isolation and hurt feelings, caused by adverse reactions
from colleagues; the acute frustration when a problem proved intractable or
someone else beat you to publication; the pervasive state of gloom and
depression when things in general were going badly. But there was also the
"great feeling" when you made a breakthrough; the "wonderful sensation" of
coming to understand something, the lasting admiration of "the beauty in the
subject and the eternity in its ideas". "Physics", someone said, "is like your first
love: you never seem to get over it" [ 11].

7. Concluding Comments

How far can it be said that this attempt to interpret 20 interviews with physicists
in three institutions succeeds in delineating the culture of their discipline? At
one level, it can at least be claimed that 10 of the people interviewed did not
see anything substantially amiss with the draft paper they were sent. Most of
them used such general phrases as "it feels more or less right"; "it provides a
fair picture of physicists and their behaviour"; or "I find the whole a nice
summary of the internal contradictions of the subject and its ethics . . . the
whole does ring true, and the atmosphere is nicely described". Taking up this
last comment, one commentator wrote "you have encapsulated the diverse and
often contradictory attitudes that I and others have about physics research",
while another thought the analysis "quite convincing. . . a surprisingly detailed
and evocative version of the self-image of our ghetto . . . conveying, among
other things, an authentic whiff of complacency and self-serving".

Other reactions were more cautious, or more critical. One commentator wrote,
"at first reading I was both interested and impressed. When I studied [the
analysis] in more detail I was conscious of several problems, problems at
different levels and of different natures" (many of those mentioned have been
taken into account in the revised text). Another academic's guarded reaction
was that "in the main I do not strongly disagree with what you have written". "I
cannot", observed a third, "say much . . . probably because it doesn't move me
much". A fourth took the view that "much of what you say is not peculiar to
physics . . . [it] could have been written for other scientific disciplines" (this last
comment is not in fact borne out by the comparable studies of biology and
engineering).

Three fairly specific and far-reaching questions were raised about the credibility
of the exercise. In the first place, two commentators expressed the reservation
that while they considered the account to be a recognisable one, it did not fully
reflect the particularities of their own branch of the subject. As one wrote, "I am
strongly conscious of how my own views are biased by my field . . . I therefore
hesitate to follow your generalisations about physics and the workings of the
community. Maybe to compare physics with the other disciplines you are
investigating it is anyway not necessary to enter into these subdivisions".
Maybe it is not: but the remark provides a salutary reminder that the account is,
of its nature, a composite one, and to that extent shares the crudity of any
stereotype. The discipline, as has been remarked earlier, encompasses a wide
variety of activities and attracts a wide range of personalities. No one physicist
may faithfully resemble the portrayal that has been offered here, even if it is a
reasonable description of the average physicist.

A second question ran, "Is the text on the right lines? Well, you have I think
organised it roughly according to the plan by which you structured the
interviews, so that in some sense (inevitably, one supposes) the resulting
account reflects your theoretical preconceptions. I am not entirely certain what
these are . . . ". Nor, it should be admitted, is the writer, beyond the initial hunch
that different disciplines give rise to discernibly different forms of academic life.
Any speculation as to why this might be so, any attribution of causes and
effects, could well--it is suggested--be left until the available evidence can be
reviewed as a whole. But the need at the end of the day for some explanatory
framework is not to be easily denied.

A final, related, comment was that "You have chosen to operate in three rather
prestigious university departments and have left e.g. government and industrial
labs untouched, and so may have delineated the characteristics of a subculture,
albeit an elite subculture. . .What you have is an account of how a certain elite
group of physicists represent their practice to themselves (not quite literally to
themselves, but to a sympathetically unobtrusive listener); a good piece of
reportage, but at what point does this become interesting . . . ? A wider context
for interpretation is needed". This criticism bites deep. The only obvious
responses are that prestigious groups are more likely than others to set the
pace and determine the norms of the profession, even if such norms are not, in
practice, widely observed by those outside the academic establishment; and
that in any enquiry a start needs to be made somewhere, even if it is only a
start, and demands to be followed up more extensively. It is surely to be hoped
that it can.

Correspondence: Professor R. A. Becher, University of Sussex, Falmer,

Brighton, Sussex BN1 9RF, United Kingdom.
NOTES
[1] A comment: "The topics mainly studied can no doubt be seen in an
historical, or technological, or sociological context and logical connections
thereby discerned. I don't dunk however chat it is the topics chat make the
physics, but rather the approach".

[2] The point is needy illustrated by one comment: "I do regard such sociological
writings rather as a waste of time. Physicists are more or less like any ocher
group of people, and if there are differences, so what?".

[3] One theoretician doubted the relevance of this example, remarking chat "the
issue does not seem to me to be controversial, just ill-understood".

[4] But by no means all: as in many ocher cases the accepted view may differ
from one branch of physics to another. "In particle physics, one could argue that
both theory and experiment have been dominated by US physicists in the past
30-40 years, to the total exclusion of Europeans".

[5] A view contested by two commentators, one of whom disliked "dine hint of
sour grapes" and the ocher of whom thought it "overstated".

[6] "Let him", said one commentator, "speak for himself rather clan the
community of physicists".

[7] "Experience in particle physics, especially among experimentalists, is

somewhat different, partly because of the group structure, partly because there
is a natural focus around the centre or laboratory where the accelerator is
situated."

[8] "It is astonishing how sometimes the most bold ideas can prove to have
such great depth. I think of the state vector in quantum mechanics, of space
and time in Einstein's relativity . . . Such ideas are at the most fundamental level
of physics. I suppose chat in some sense they are simple although their
understanding may take many years."

[9] Many such comments were mirrored in the remarks made about physicists
by academics in other disciplines. The common stereotype was of people who
were "clever but narrow", "jargon-ridden", "unworldly and escapist",
"incomprehensible and alien", though their discipline was generally seen as
prestigious, exciting, difficult and demanding.

[10] Elaborating on this point, one commentator on an earlier draft of the paper
contended chat "By its nature, physics is very much linked to matters of defence
and offence. . . the links deserve a lot more prominence [than they are given
here] . .. You could almost argue that the acid test for knowing whether one's
research is at the forefront of science is whether or not the military takes an
interest in it".

[11] Another commentator found this hard to take: "the suggestion.. . frankly
makes me feel mawkish".

REFERENCES

BECHER, T. (1989a) Academic Tribes and Territories (Milton Keynes, Open

University Press). BECHER, T. (1989b) Historians on history, Studies in Higher
Education, 14, pp. 263-278.

DOORMAN, S.J. (Ed.) (1989) Images of Science (Aldershot, Gower). GASTON,

J. (1973) Originality and Competition in Science (Chicago, University of Chicago
Press).

KUHN, T.S. (1962; 2nd edn, 1970) The Structure of Scientific Revolutions
(Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press).

PICKERING, A. (1984) Constructing Quarks (Edinburgh, Edinburgh University

Press).

TRAWEEK, S. (1982) Uptime, downtime, spacetime and power, unpublished

PhD thesis, University of California, Santa Cruz.
~~~~~~~~

By TONY BECHER, University of Sussex