By Jon Beckwith
Two recent foreign films have prompted me to consider American views of villains and heroes. The Taiwanese Eat Drink Man Woman and the Australian The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert each portray a group of characters with serious personality flaws. The filmmakers do not divide people into the good and the bad, but choose instead to show the complexity of human behavior. It is rare to see today an American film with this flavor to it. Whether it's a romantic comedy or a Schwarzenegger action film, there are "good guys" and "bad guys." The portrayal of people as villains or heroes pervades many aspects of our cultural life, sometimes even affecting the public representation of scientists.
I think about this because of two Smithsonian magazine articles, published 10 years apart, in which I was mentioned. The first, reporting in 1980 on the then burgeoning field of sociobiology, describes the conflict over the arguments of sociobiologists for insights into human social arrangements and behavior. The two sides of the scientific debate are represented by two Harvard professors: E. O. Wilson, the "father" of sociobiology, and myself (offered as a candidate for the label "archradical"), a critic of the applications of sociobiological reasoning to explain the human condition. Ignoring the substantive scientific issues in dispute, the author sets up a dichotomy between those who want to see science progress and those who want to hold it back.
The choice of photographs of each of us highlights the author's depiction of right and wrong in the article. The photographer captures Wilson in his laboratory, dressed in tie and suitcoat, examining his ant colonies. On his visit to my lab, the photographer suggests that I put on my windbreaker and day-pack and move outside, where he takes a series of exposures using a fish-eye lens. What does the published photograph look like? A somber and humorless person, dressed more like a street demonstrator than an academic, with nose (which is prominent enough as is) now nearly dominating the picture. Gray skies behind add to the gloomy quality of the photograph. The pictorial message: Which of these men would you trust-the well-dressed, respectable professor or the archradical?
Ten years later, E. O. Wilson is still publicly prominent, but has become better known for his efforts to save the world's disappearing plant and animal species. Ironically I, the "archradical," have been appointed to a US government group established to deal with the "Ethical, Legal and Social Implications" of the government's Human Genome Project. I am interviewed and again posed for photographs in Smithsonian. This time, the photographer stations me at various places in the laboratory. Unnoticed by me, the backdrop of one of these poses is the round disk of a roller drum used for growing tubes of bacteria. When the photograph appears, it is obvious that the disk is meant to appear as a halo behind my head. My friends kid me about that photo-"You don't really seem to be a saint." Suddenly, I am on the side of the angels.
How and why did this transmutation from "bad guy" to "good guy" take place? The earlier article appeared toward the end of a period of political activism among scientists, driven by the social upheavals of the 1960s and early 1970s. It was an unusual time in American science. A rule of the culture of science had been that scientists didn't contaminate themselves with public contact. But then, particularly because of the Vietnam War, it became more acceptable to be an activist. For some of us, the activism led to questioning some of the assumptions that influenced science itself. We challenged the myth that science is a neutral pursuit, free of social and political concerns. When this activism entered the realm of science through such groups as Science for the People, many scientists reacted quite negatively.
Before the advent of the new genetic technologies of the 1970s and 1980s and the ensuing connections between scientists and the biotechnology industry, the face of biology was pretty well masked behind a wall of ivory-tower neutrality. Those who lifted the mask to present some aspect of science to the public were often derided as scientists whose research had gone downhill. David Suzuki, a Drosophila geneticist who became a leading media figure in presenting science to the public, talks of the reaction among his colleagues: "My growing involvement in television was resented by my fellow professors ... I heard [reasons]; I was on an ego trip, my science wasn't good enough so I shifted areas, I was wasting my time."
Those biologists who vocally expressed concerns about the hazards of recombinant DNA research in the 1970s were labeled nuts or second-rate scientists. Benno Müller-Hill, a German geneticist, experienced similar reactions after the publication of his book Murderous Science, a recounting of the deep involvement of the German scientific establishment in Nazi eugenics and human experimentation. At the end of one lecture at a German university, he was subjected to personal attacks by scientists-"What are your real motives?" "You weren't there; only one who was there was the right to talk."
This brings us to sociobiology. For some of us in science, nurtured in the radical science movement and read in the history of eras such as the eugenics period, the attempts of sociobiologists to explain human behavior and the structure of societies largely in biological (evolutionary) terms seemed a scientific endeavor heavily influenced by a need to rationalize present social arrangements. We launched a critique that led to "The Sociobiology Controversy," as one book was titled. The critique did not include a call for an end to research; nevertheless, this unaccustomed attack by one group of scientists on the validity of the work of another group, couched partly in ideological terms, elicited a fearful response from many within the scientific community. From this controversy arose the dichotomization of villains and heroes-defenders vs. would-be destroyers of science-reflected in the first Smithsonian article.
Years later sociobiology yielded center stage to another bone of contention among scientists: the Human Genome Project (HGP). This multi-million-dollar research program, funded by the National Institutes of Health and the Department of Energy, promised an explosion of human genetic tests and a wide range of medical benefits. Unexpectedly, Jim Watson, the first director of HGP, announced in 1989 that several percent of the budget would be devoted to dealing with the project's "ethical, legal and social implications." This decision was unprecedented; investigation of the potential social consequences of a field was initiated at the same time that the scientific program began. It appeared that lessons of the preceding era had begun to sink in among some of the leaders of the project. Perhaps it was the fear that any untoward consequences of the information generated by HGP would lead to a public backlash. Whatever the rationale, HGP scientists were at least aware that science is not an unalloyed good and that they have some responsibility for anticipating any dangers and meeting them head-on.
To my surprise (my previous experience having made me feel persona non grata in the upper echelons of science), I was asked to be a member of the NIH/DOE Working Group dealing with ethical, legal and social implications. Then came the "saint" picture in Smithsonian. What had changed? Had I metamorphosed, or had the values of the scientific community evolved? Probably both and neither.
Changes had certainly taken place. From the continuing demonstrations against the Vietnam War and the growing radicalization of university campuses evolved a resurgence of interest in Marx's vision of a class struggle in which the opponents in any controversy are class enemies. It cut both ways. At its extreme, someone like E. O. Wilson was characterized as a conscious agent of ruling-class interests. Someone like myself was depicted as a Marxist revolutionary (despite the fact that I had never read Marx). Neither portrait reflected reality. The cooling of the rhetoric of the Sixties modified this sense of "them" vs. "us." At the same time, some aspects of the critiques of science were infiltrating more mainstream thinking about science. The need to at least pay lip service to the concept of social responsibility had become accepted wisdom. The annual meetings of the American Association for the Advancement of Science featured more and more sessions on controversial social implications of science. In 1993, I was awarded the Genetics Society of America Medal for both my contributions to genetic research and my "leadership in discussion of issues of genetics and social policy."
This movement toward a change in the culture of science has been slow and often painful. Our science education does not prepare us to accept social concerns as an integral part of doing science. In many, if not most scientific environments, social activism is still considered a negative. One research scientist I talked with recently was told by his research supervisor that he would have to choose between science and being active in ethical and social issues in science. "You can't do both well." Perhaps the colleague's activism was seen as threatening to a way of life in science.
In the field of biology today, scientists are increasingly confronted with potential applications of their work and its social consequences. It may be inevitable, then, that many scientists will look for help to those who have devoted considerable energy to confronting the social content and social implications of science. Will the villains rescue the heroes?
Reprinted with permission from the November-December 1995 issue of American Scientist, the magazine of Sigma Xi, The Scientific Research Society.