The most recent of Physics Today’s annual careers issues (October 2023) provides insightful reading on academic tenure. Toni Feder’s feature “When tenure fails” (page 44) includes discussion of the roles that publishing research and being a “good fit” play in the tenure process. The article prompted me to look into my “memory bank” developed over 50 years of involvement with the scientific community. In doing so, I conclude that we should rethink the role that those two factors play in determining the value of academic faculty members.
My views on research criteria are beautifully summed up by Kristine Palmieri in her recent feature on women working at Yerkes Observatory (see Physics Today, November 2023, page 42): “The length of one’s research career or the number of one’s publications are not the only measures of a scientific life.”
Physicists working in government and industry often can’t publish for various reasons, such as the classified or proprietary nature of their work, but they nevertheless lead productive careers. Leo Szilard published fewer than 30 papers. Some people stop conducting research as soon as they receive tenure or achieve significant recognition. Conversely, if you concentrate too much on teaching, you might fail to get tenure. I can think of at least one well-known physicist to whom that happened; the book he authored nevertheless became a classic text.
My own PhD adviser, recruited straight out of graduate school to an entry-level faculty position, had a tenure evaluation that consisted of no more than a “quiet talk” with his department head, who said that his teaching was satisfactory. He went on to win grants, advise graduate students, become director of a research laboratory, publish 240 papers and 5 books, and edit numerous conference proceedings.
Not only are publications a flawed metric, but they are the outcomes of a flawed process. Even in double-blind review processes, it can be easy to work out who authored a piece, especially in small research communities. That means that personal relationships come into play. A long time ago, I became aware of someone who, whenever he received a manuscript from a certain colleague, would toss it in the trash. (The paper would get published anyway!) I once had a reviewer make uncivil remarks on a paper. When I showed them to the editor, he apologized and told me that he did not know how they “slipped through.” Another time, I had a paper rejected but then accepted once it was sent to another referee. All those scenarios exemplify the subjective nature of the process.
Isaac Newton, depicted here experimenting with light, was reclusive and reluctant to publish. Would he have been granted tenure at a modern university? (Acrylic painting by Sascha Grusche, 17 December 2015, CC BY-SA 4.0.)
Isaac Newton, depicted here experimenting with light, was reclusive and reluctant to publish. Would he have been granted tenure at a modern university? (Acrylic painting by Sascha Grusche, 17 December 2015, CC BY-SA 4.0.)
Meanwhile, faculty members face the challenge of getting research funding. Federal grant-awarding agencies are accountable to the public and, therefore, have less incentive to fund high-risk, potentially high-impact projects. And although projects may be evaluated by committees of experts, even brilliant scientists are fallible human beings. Ernest Rutherford famously said that any expectation of nuclear reactions producing useful energy is “moonshine.” Imagine him chairing a grant committee considering proposals on stellar nucleosynthesis or nuclear reactors—the likelihood of them being funded would be next to nil. But the former was discovered by Hans Bethe and earned him the 1967 physics Nobel Prize, and the latter are a present-day reality. Encouragingly, some nonutilitarian endeavors have recently found a home in places such as the Perimeter Institute for Theoretical Physics and the Kavli Institutes.
The matter of “fitting in” is also a very real issue. At Cambridge University, Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar encountered racism and was ridiculed publicly by his esteemed senior colleague Arthur Eddington for his proposed limit on the mass at which a dying star becomes a white dwarf. Chandrasekhar’s limit would eventually become widely accepted, and he would go on to have an impressive career at the University of Chicago, receive a Nobel Prize, and have a NASA x-ray observatory named after him. “Fitting in” may not be a great criterion in determining a team member’s value.
Then again, “fit” is important insofar as it refers to civility, decorum, and respectful conduct. Two bright young physicists whom I came across in the distant past saw their careers end prematurely primarily because they antagonized everyone around them. I know of one faculty member who threw a tantrum in the middle of a meeting and had to be sent for anger management training. I remember another who boasted about being known for “colorful language,” wearing it almost as a badge of honor. Then there are the so-called leaders who make their staff’s lives unnecessarily difficult. Such conduct has no place in a civilized society, let alone the hallowed halls of academia.
Scientists, physicists included, do not generally receive training in communication and other interpersonal skills. But active listening and the ability to engage in amicable discussion and debate are skills that can and should be included in our science curriculum. As the proverb goes, “With all thy getting get understanding.”
