Å®ÉúСÊÓƵ

YOU WOULD be hard pressed to find anyone in public life who did not
pay at least lip service to the idea that the popularisation of science
is a ‘good thing’. But if it is such a good thing, why is there so little
of it? Å®ÉúСÊÓƵs may blame the indifference of the press, but closer analysis
will show that most of the resistance to popularising science comes from
scientists themselves. All too often the reaction to media discussion is
a deadly mixture of indifference, cynicism, irritation and boredom. Yet
some academics do venture into the world outside the academy, and get involved
in communicating with people who cannot understand the jargon of professional
science. Popularisation is the name for this activity of communicating beyond
the peer group, and it is an extremely broad activity, encompassing New
Å®ÉúСÊÓƵ features, television lectures and documentaries, radio talks,
museum work, popular journalism, competitions, press releases, books for
children, talking at schools, adult education . . . and much else besides.

There are some ‘professional’ popularisers: specialist journalists,
both in print and on the airwaves, assorted science museum and pressure
group employees, gifted amateurs such as Patrick Moore; and now there is
even a professor of the history and public understanding of science, John
Durant at Imperial College, London. But active scientists – employed by
universities, polytechnics and the research institutions – are indispensable
for any plan to expand the public’s awareness and knowledge of science.
Given the low level of participation in this activity, we must ask whether
research and popularisation are really antagonistic? To find out I asked
several of the scientists who have experience of both sides.

The polarisation of views within the academic community is striking.
On the one hand, Eric Laithwaite (inventor of the linear electric motor)
has never felt any serious career disadvantage from being involved in popular
science since taking up his chair at Imperial College in the 1960s – in
fact if he appeared on TV he would get a ‘pat on the head’. On the other
hand, in his earlier career at Manchester the attitude to TV science was
‘almost a black mark’, he says. ‘People thought it was self-promoting.’
Laithwaite feels that working with a lay audience comes more naturally to
an engineer: ‘The people who want to keep the mystique are pure scientists.’

But Ian Fells, professor of energy conversion at the university of Newcastle
upon Tyne, has found colleagues less than sympathetic to his TV appearances
in programmes such as Take Nobody’s Word for It. ‘In terms of promotion
in the university system, if you get involved in popularisation it’s a bad
thing. I would not record it until you are already established.’ Even publishing
in New Å®ÉúСÊÓƵ attracted the despairing comment: ‘I see you’ve been writing
in ‘Comic Cuts’ again!’

Colin Blakemore, who presented the BBC₂ blockbuster series
The Mind Machine, is Waynflete Professor of Physiology at Oxford, and has
been active in popularisation since he did the Reith Lectures in 1976. He
also recognises the risks involved in moving outside the peer group, who
may have a ‘very conservative attitude’. Some academics, he said, see popularisation
as ‘a publicity seeking, egocentric exercise’, or that the scientists involved
must be academic failures, not to be taken seriously. ‘They suspect that
fortunes are being made exploiting the discoveries of others, and of course
there is some plain vulgar jealousy,’ Blakemore says. But he recognises
one genuine objection: that science today is a serious, complex business
and should not be trivialised or simplified. Objectors say that popularisation
is bound to get it wrong, and should be left to journalists – the scientists
should get on with science.

Blakemore is convinced that this argument is usually wrong and ‘displays
an arrogance about the present state of science’. Science has always had
its great expositors, and they have been a vital part of the whole enterprise.
Blakemore says that for a scientist to communicate outside the peer group
is more than an eccentricity, it is a duty. ‘After all, it is the public
who pays us in the end – whether via the government, industry or charities.
We have a responsibility to explain what we are doing with their money.’
Or, as Fells puts it, scientists have ‘a duty to explain their stewardship
and provide informed commentary on scientific matters where they impinge
on public life’.

Heinz Wolff, well known for his presentation (often with Ian Fells)
of the TV ‘quiz’ The Great Egg Race, agrees that it amounts to an obligation,
and adds: ‘Increasingly we live in a world dominated by science and technology,
but not enough people are coming forward to become engineers and scientists.
Even more importantly, people do not feel comfortable with the technical
world they live in, and they don’t understand the issues at stake.’

Wolff organises a whole range of science and technological activities
for children such as Young Å®ÉúСÊÓƵ of the Year. He sees no contradiction
between this and his work as director of the Institute for Bioengineering
at Brunel University: The interaction is positive and the two activities
‘feed off one another’ he says, not least in the business of raising research
funds to finance the institute. His career has never suffered, although
he admits it has been unconventional: ‘l have not aspired to a normal career,
seeing myself mainly as a facilitator. I have had to create all the positions
that I have held.’ For Wolff, as a practical scientist, demystification
is at the heart of his activities: ‘Purists feel that you are giving away
their secrets. It’s a masonic attitude, akin to doctors writing their prescriptions
in Latin.’

Ignorance of science is amplified by prejudice about scientists. Blakemore
feels that the public needs to know more about scientists as people: ‘Science
should reveal everything about itself to the public, not merely a stereotyped
impersonation.’ He would like to get away from the crazy boffin so beloved
by the media. As Fells points out ‘there is a danger of caricature – Professor
Branestawm-like figures are popular’.

This worry has influenced Blakemore’s activities: ‘For example, I would
not do quiz shows. But I have done Woman’s Hour, which I had initially ruled
out, and have been quite pleased with the result. Å®ÉúСÊÓƵs are ordinary
people; it is a misconception that they are a species apart in a different
universe of intelligence. They are not necessarily brighter than other people,
but not necessarily more eccentric either.’

Wolff (who himself looks and speaks rather like the traditional idea
of a boffin, and lists his hobby in Who’s Who as ‘dignified practical joking’)
is much less worried about image: ‘I even do adverts and voice-overs – people
have more or less given me up! If, to make science and technology explainable
and exciting, I have to dress-up as a clown, I will do it! ‘There should
be a profession of specialised scientific communicators, with skills in
both areas,’ Wolff says. He suggests that school science teachers could
be recruited from such a group, rather than attempting (and often failing)
to attract research-trained science graduates.

* * *

Science in a downward spiral

In a recent episode of the radio programme Desert Island Discs, Sir
George Porter, president of the Royal Society, described how Britain’s school
science is locked into a downward spiral – with diminishing numbers of science
teachers producing diminishing numbers of science graduates, leading to
further reductions in teachers. The causes are complex, and include the
British tendency to early specialisation at GCSE and A-level, together with
the low salaries and uncertain career structures in most branches of science
(compared with medicine, law and finance). Until the government takes the
problem seriously, popularisation is one way of fighting the trend.

Porter has a long history of promoting science for children, and the
Royal Society and Royal Institution have joined with the British Association
for the Advancement of Science to form COPUS, the Committee on the Public
Understanding of Science. COPUS is working particularly to improve the interface
between science and technology, and other areas of national life such as
the media, politics, and education. The problems are different in each area,
and perhaps the hardest is to reach the public at large. As Laithwaite says:
‘When you address children you must pitch your talk at a higher level than
for the general public. The problem with lay people is that they have lost
interest. For them, science is not common sense, it does not come into everyday
±ô¾±´Ú±ð.’

Colleges are beginning to see that having a high-profile media figure
in the department stimulates student recruitment. Ten years after David
Bellamy left to become a professional populariser, the ‘Bellamy Effect’
is still said to be active at the University of Durham’s botany division.
Fells points out that Newcastle is one of the few departments of chemical
engineering which have no difficulty in filling their places, and Blakemore
has been told by colleagues that there has been a nationwide increase in
applications for neuroscience courses following The Mind Machine. Of course,
such things are anecdotal, and the precise effect is not quantifiable. But
candidates interviewed for undergraduate places will often confirm that
it was a television documentary or a book that attracted them to one department
rather than another.

Although there is a general perception that fortunes are to be made
in popular science, this does not seem to be generally true – although presumably
Stephen Hawking’s publishing sensation, A Brief History of Time, must have
made a bob or two. Fells emphasises the enormous amount of work needed on
a TV programme, where in addition to the research and planning, a whole
day’s filming will typically result in about five minutes of usable footage.
And the earnings are only about half the standard consultancy rate for industrial
engineers. Blakemore agrees: ‘It does not pay a lot of money – indeed many
contributions by scientists to radio and television are entirely unpaid.’

Paul Davies, now professor of mathematical physics at the University
of Adelaide and the author of several paperbacks and a science-fiction novel,
has found that money is a source of resentment among other academics. At
one job interview he was asked if his books were ‘successful’, meaning did
they make money? He answered that, yes, they were successful – meaning that
he received letters from people who said that reading them had changed their
lives.

The question of money arises because academic salaries are relatively
low, and the ways in which they can be supplemented are limited. Colleagues
may be concerned that a populariser is shirking administrative or teaching
responsibilities in order to get some extra cash. Davies says: ‘I write
quickly and easily, and on subjects which I am currently researching. But
in most cases, popularisation is probably a serious intrusion on time and
energy. It is a viable option only if you are well established – and don’t
make too much money from it!’

Most popularisers are well advanced in their careers before venturing
into the public eye – indeed most of them seem to be strikingly eminent.
As a lecturer, Davies was told that he should be getting on with his research;
but at professorial level, the criteria are different. ‘Many abilities are
required: to build up the department, communicate widely, attract good students
and staff and present the subject in new ways. However, a postdoc is, probably
rightly, going to be judged strictly on their academic research. The odd
popular article is fine, but if they had taken time out, say to write a
popular book, I might be inclined to think they were not fully dedicated
to their subject. At that stage, for the real hot shots of the subject,
anything outside the straight and narrow path is suspicious.’

Blakemore is not so sure: ‘Any scientist should be able to answer questions
from the media. I encourage young scientists in my department to learn how
to write a short summary of their work in lay language. It is a good means
of self assessment to ask if your time in research is being well spent and
how important your work is in the broad sweep of things.’

Most popularisers seem to agree that a scientist’s early years should
be spent on establishing a research reputation, and that anything else is
likely to count against a job candidate. But Wolff regards work with a lay
audience as a positive asset at any age. Clearly, he represents a radical
popularising viewpoint which thinks the widespread dissemination of knowledge
is as important as its discovery. Yet at present a more cautious attitude
is dominant. Popularisation is seen as a good thing, but secondary to the
real business of scientists, which is research.

There are two ways of being well known: fame or notoriety. One fear
of scientists regarding media involvement is loss of control. They are at
the mercy of reporters, editors and producers, at risk of misrepresentation,
selective quotation, sensationalisation or trivialisation.

The answer is not isolation, but understanding the media. Simon Wessely,
of the Institute of Psychiatry in London, does research into the controversial
area of ME – myalgic encephalomyelitis, or sometimes ‘yuppie flu’. In this
area the scientist does not need to make any effort to meet the media –
journalists come knocking on the door. ‘One article in the national press
can have more influence on public attitudes than any number in professional
journals,’ says Wessely. Provided there is enough space to put the information
in context, popular articles can produce positive benefits.

But publicity can be double-edged. Following a ‘hate mail’ response
to inaccurate reporting of his views, Wessely addressed the Medical Journalists
Association, emphasising that in psychiatry ‘bad reporting actually worsens
distress and disability among patients’. Wessely has since observed a significant
improvement in the reporting of ME, particularly among the medical journalists
he met at their meeting. K K Liaison between science and journalism is one
aim of the British Association Media Fellowships, where professional scientists
are released for several weeks to work in the offices of newspapers, magazines
and broadcasting. This is one avenue by which scientists can present their
‘philosophy of life’ and break down prejudices, while getting an appreciation
of the constraints of the media and the sometimes awkward attitudes of their
fellow scientists.

A major disadvantage of publicity highlights areas towards which there
is a strong element of public hostility, such as military research or experiments
using animals. Research with animals has been the subject of campaigns of
personal vilification, intimidation, violence and sabotage, so it is not
surprising that most scientists have reacted with secrecy and a communications
blackout. They recognise that the public debate is often irrational, even
dangerous, and prefer to keep away. Blakemore has stuck his neck out, and
chosen to highlight the role and importance of animal experimentation in
both basic and clinical neuroscience when planning The Mind Machine. It
is at least possible that hostility to animal experiments of all kinds has
been bred by a lack of understanding – in other words by insufficient ‘popularisation’
over a long period of time.

If popularisation of science is a good thing, people should get credit
for doing it. This would involve an expansion of the conception of a scientist’s
role. Yet with the exception of Wolff, all the academic popularisers I spoke
with regarded popularisation as very much secondary, incidental to their
academic work, and of limited relevance to their professional competence
– though these are exceptionally eminent people when judged by normal academic
standards.

At present, academic appointments are made mainly on the basis of research
excellence (variously defined); but Sir William Fraser, principal of the
University of Glasgow, believes that popularisation should be taken into
account when it comes to promotions or discretionary payments. ‘Consideration
of popularisation should probably not be a part of the process of an academic
appointment. But at a later stage it could be taken into account under the
general heading of ‘services to the university’ which at present refers
to administration and committee work. This reflects his belief, says Fraser,
that it is ‘important to let the public know what we are doing’.

Previously Scotland’s top civil servant, Fraser has often come across
a rather complacent attitude that ‘everybody knows how good we are’ since
becoming principal. But all higher education centres are in competition
with other institutions for a diminishing number of good students. ‘The
university must market itself. Students of the necessary quality will not
just continue to flow in,’ he says. Fraser is hoping to introduce a scheme
whereby each department in the university has a staff member responsible
for liaising with the information and publicity office, so that interesting
work can be identified and disseminated.

Scientific life might be modified to include a consideration of communication
outside the peer group. Perhaps writing a press release could be a part
of the normal training during a PhD, or even a BSc? Blakemore has noticed
that British scientific conferences lag far behind those in the US in terms
of their attitude to the media. At large events in the US it is usual to
have lay language abstracts of papers, and press conferences to introduce
and summarise the meeting. The resulting high concentration of scientific
coverage is matched in Britain only during the annual meeting of the media-conscious
BA, which itself pays close attention to the needs of journalists.

There is a great temptation to leave it to ‘the professionals’. Increasing
pressure from research and teaching make it harder for professional academics
to do anything other than keep their heads above water. But there is also
a growing awareness of the benefits to be gained from a high media profile,
particularly with regard to attracting good students. There is also the
duty to explain the modern world, and the need to foster a public atmosphere
more supportive of the activities of scientists (both spiritually and financially!).
In other words, the academic popularisers should be given credit for the
good work they do – credit in the form of support from their peers rather
than backbiting, and credit in terms of recognition of their worth when
it comes to promotions and rewards.

Dr Bruce Charlton lectures in the anatomy department of the University
of Glasgow.