After reading the letters about Lee Smolin’s “Why No ‘New Einstein’?” (Physics Today, June 2005, page 56; January 2006, page 13), I could not help but relive my undergraduate and graduate experiences at Columbia University from 1968 to 1978. As one of the few black and Hispanic people with a PhD in theoretical physics from that institution, I hope my observations expand the argument about creativity and the perception of it, particularly regarding minorities and how they are perceived by others.
Many academic institutions judge a student’s ability solely on the course-work performance. At Columbia, if you were not straight-A material, you were nothing—a candidate for experimental physics, if you were lucky. This expectation of academic perfection sidestepped the fact that one could be both an adequate student and a superb researcher. The nurturing of creative intellects is not based on just acquiring knowledge but also on knowing how to ask questions, being mindful of assumptions, and being flexible to alternative possibilities.
Mentoring—nurturing the young mind, channeling it in a manner most conducive to its natural evolution—establishes a much-needed personal connection and interest between the mentor and mentee. There is no greater inspiration than to see how research really gets done, how scientists think and make discoveries. It is important to appreciate that a published paper in no way represents how the knowledge required to write it was obtained, including all the alluring false paths followed in the pursuit. Mentoring, though, is at the mercy of academic and cultural prejudices.
Both undergraduate and graduate schools were nightmares for me. I could not understand why some of my peers experienced no problems in being channeled toward the “better” theoretical physics faculty, even though I could not find any convincing intellectual superiority in them. What was the faculty’s excuse? Was I perceived as an independent thinker, not a proper fit with their particular research methodology? If so, that perception demonstrates a serious intolerance for creativity.
On one occasion, after working out some results on singular Lagrangians and seeking faculty assistance in getting the work published, I was told, “You will have to do everything yourself.” On another occasion, after falling in love with string theory and wanting to pursue it as a thesis topic, I was told that no one at Columbia was working on strings. Imagine my sense of betrayal when, six months later, one faculty member published a paper on strings.
Eventually, I was given a thesis problem of my liking, and I convinced one of my advisers that my approach to it was better than the one laid out for me. Overnight, I went from being an intellectual pariah to a “newly discovered” talent. My professors’ sudden interest in me in those last few months would have served me much better had it been demonstrated many years earlier.
Creativity and success in physics demand that one develop the professional social skills to learn not just from papers but from other human beings. Successful intelligent people pick their problems carefully and are unrelenting in finding answers. These characteristics are best developed through human interactions and intervention.
I know that many white students experienced similar problems. They did not deserve the intellectual hazing any more than I did. If academia is seriously interested in fostering more Einsteins, then we should start with Humanity 101 and treat everyone with the understanding that any human mind is a terrible thing to waste.
