The matter of standards.I. The individual scientist

In my last three editorials for BioEssays, I will address a

subject that receives only sporadic and patchy attention in

scientific journals—the general matter of standards in science.

One factor in this neglect is, undoubtedly, that the matter

seems rather dry and academic, hence boring. The main

reason, however, is that the relevant standards appear to be

obvious, hence requiring no discussion. Scientists, after all,

should do their best possible work, never commit fraud, and

present their findings as clearly as possible in talks and

publications. Similarly, the various evaluative bodies—the

hiring committees, promotion boards, granting agencies,

editors, referees—should give their fairest, most objective

assessments. Thus, if everyone is attempting to do his/her

best, is there anything more to be said? I suggest that there

might be.

This series of editorials on standards in science is based on

two premises. The first is that, despite the seeming health of

the international scientific enterprise—as measured in terms

of its scope, the numbers of scientists engaged in research,

the huge and growing number of journals, the volume of

publications, and various other indices, it is somewhat

dysfunctional, compared to what it could and should be. Just

as rosy cheeks are not an infallible sign of an individual’s good

health, the unquestioned volume and productivity of contem-

porary science does not prove that the system is operating in a

state of health. The second premise is that this state of system-

dysfunction reflects, in part, the fact that the actual standards

in the doing and judging of scientific work are often well below

the assumed high standards upon which science is founded.

This situation does not arise from some sort of equivalent

of Gresham’s Law—that poor standards will automatically

drive out good ones. In fact, good, well-articulated standards

supported by a community tend to be self-reinforcing and

stable. Rather, the problems reflect the fact that Nature abhors

a vacuum. If high but appropriate standards are not even

articulated, they cannot command wide-spread adherence

and, in the absence of such, the actual modes of conduct will,

sooner or later, decline. The operating standards become, in

effect, substandard.

The assessments presented here are based primarily upon

thousands of interchanges with fellow scientists, in both direct

conversations and via e-mails, over the course of 24 years of

my working as an editor. I have not attempted to back up my

provisional conclusions with statistical data—that would, in

reality, be impossible—but I believe that few of these state-

ments will strike many people as radically wrong. Correspond-

ingly, I make no claim for originality of insight. The purpose of

these editorials is simply to provide a succinct summary of

the general problems facing science today that result from the

absence of articulated high standards, in the hope that it will

stimulate further discussion. In turn, such discussion might

provoke efforts at actual reform of conduct and procedures, for

the future benefit of both science itself and for all the individuals

who participate in it. This first editorial will focus on standards

of conduct amongst individual scientists, probably the least

serious problem area and the easiest to discuss. The second,

in the October issue, will concern the standards governing

grants and promotions. The third, in the November-December

double issue, will be on the editorial processes governing

scientific publications. The diagnosis of the problems is based

primarily on science in the United States and Britain—the two

countries that I am most familiar with. The problems are,

however, world-wide though, of course, they vary in extent

and degree between different national and regional scientific

cultures.

There is, of course, one high standard for individual

scientists that is universally agreed upon and which hardly

seems to need any discussion, namely that scientists should

never falsify data. Leaving all questions of morality aside, the

good practical reason not to commit fraud is that one who

makes up data is quite likely to be caught and then expelled

from the profession. If the ostensible results are deemed

exciting and important, there is bound to be a serious follow-up

to repeat and extend the results, in several laboratories, with

the probable result that the fraud will be detected and that

condemnation and professional expulsion will follow. One of

the great strengths of science, after all, is that it is self-

correcting, at least in the long run. There is, however, a whole

set of practices that do not involve outright fabrications of data

but the ‘‘massaging’’ of data. A recent survey by the Office of

Scientific Integrity indicates that dishonesty in the handling

and presentation of data is far from uncommon.(1) Admittedly,

just what constitutes data ‘‘massaging’’ is not entirely

unambiguous and much of it does no harm—often, the

conclusions are substantiated by further work. Furthermore,

the fact that such notable scientists as Mendel, Galileo and

Newton are all suspected of having ‘‘improved’’ their findings

indicates both how tempting the process is and the fact that it

need not be seriously misleading. Nevertheless, the practice

runs counter to the ideal of truth-seeking that is both the

fundamental raison d’etre and the key ethical value of science.

Yet beyond falsification of data, whether of the extreme or

mild ‘‘tinkering’’ sort, there are all sorts of little dishonesties

that have become embedded in the ways that many scientists

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Editorial

do things. For instance, there are all sorts of dishonesties in the

grant submission process. The most obvious is proposing

work in one’s grant application that has already been largely

done; this guarantees success when the evaluation of the

particular grant comes to pass. That this practice is wide-

spread is hardly a secret, not least because the evaluating

peer reviewers often employ it as well. Of course, one can

argue that no harm is done, since everyone is familiar with the

rules of the game. It has been said, for example, that the world

of trade and business involves mild cheating all around by

mutual consent. In the world of science, the request for funds to

do work that has already been largely completed, in order to

finance other work that the applicant really wants to do, is the

equivalent and it contributes to the atmosphere of mild

dishonesty that enshrouds the whole world of research grants.

‘‘Selling’’ one’s results not just to the granting bodies but to

the public involves a whole new and special set of temptations,

involving public recognition. How many potential cures or

palliatives for major disease conditions are announced in the

papers with great fanfare that never materialise later on? One

has to allow for genuine enthusiasm and hope on the part of

those investigators making the announcements but, often, the

individuals making the claims must realise that the proposals

are long shots. The impetus for such publicity, it also has to

be said, is not always from the investigators themselves.

Frequently, it is the publicity organs of their institutions that

arranges for the attention from the media—and the scientists,

sometimes reluctantly, have to go along. Good publicity never

hurt one’s chances for securing funding. Indeed, one has to

wonder how many lines of research are undertaken not for

their intrinsic interest to the investigator but because of their

likelihood of attracting research funds, in particular where

there is an element of scientific fashion. Scientists are

supposed to seek funds in order to carry out the investigations

they most want to do but all too often, it seems that the priorities

are reversed: the scientific line of work is chosen in terms of

the perceived probability of obtain funds, in order to allow

the laboratory to stay in business. In effect, the funding tail

frequently wags the research dog.

Another whole set of dubious practices involves failure to

give due credit, especially to juniors. Probably most senior

scientists are completely honourable in this respect. At

symposia, it is striking that explicit credit for a particular line

of work is frequently given by the speaker to one of the junior

members of the lab (often with the picture of the individual

shown). This is simultaneously fully appropriate and highly

laudable. But when the stakes are particularly high, or

perceived to be, when a truly major discovery has been made,

the temptation to hog credit goes up correspondingly. Again,

most people do not succumb to it and some are totally immune

to the temptation but there are enough reported instances to

suspect that the practice is not vanishingly rare. Here, the

temptation concerns recognition by one’s peers, the ultimate

honour and reward, but this is also connected to maximizing

one’s chances at the resources feeding trough.

None of this behaviour is hard to understand. In the past

four decades, the competition for resources has been trans-

forming science from one kind of profession to another and

everything described above is a consequence of that trans-

formation. In general, professions can be classified as being

(primarily) evaluative in nature (e.g. science, accounting,

diagnostics), or for product or service provision (e.g. manu-

facturing, the performing arts, surgery), or as ones of

advocacy (e.g. sales, advertising, politics, the law). Science

has been gradually transformed from a profession of

evaluators to one of advocates and salespersons. And, in

advocacy-type professions, pursuit of the truth will always

be secondary to selling a particular conclusion. Since, for the

foreseeable future, resources and recognition will be in shorter

supply than the scientific work force, this transformation

promises to be permanent. Correspondingly, the integrity of

the scientific process will continue to be challenged and, often,

violated, to some degree. It would be unrealistic to expect

individual scientists to change any of the above behaviour

patterns as long as the resources crunch lasts and while the

various institutional problems in the distribution of resources

and rewards (the subject of the next two editorials) remain

intact.

Nevertheless, as one step toward raising the standards

of behaviour to a higher level, there should be general

recognition that the higher level is far from consistently

observed today. That recognition, in turn, could be the first

step toward raising the level of integrity of the whole enterprise.

Hence, this editorial will end with a modest proposal.

Thirteen years ago, the distinguished physicist and peace

campaigner Joseph Rotblat, in his acceptance speech for the

1995 Nobel Peace Prize, suggested that scientists take an

equivalent of the Hippocratic oath. Comparable to doctors,

Rotblat suggested, scientists should pledge not to undertake

research that was likely to lead to major social harm. Rotblat

himself exemplified his ideal—he was the only scientist to

resign from the Manhattan Project, in advance protest of the

prospect of the horrors that atomic fission technology might

produce. Because of his personal history, and his deep

appreciation of the special horrors of nuclear weaponry, his

focus was on the need to avoid research for war and human

destruction. His assumption was that, while individuals taking

such an oath might not honour it, they would be more likely to

think about the issues before embarking upon such research.

If you are conscious beforehand of a moral dilemma inherent in

a certain action, you are less likely to just plunge ahead.

The suggestion here is that Rotblat’s suggestion not only be

taken up but broadened: that young scientists, at the start

of their graduate careers, take an oath that incorporates

Rotblat’s concern and a pledge that the pursuit of one’s

scientific career will be carried out with the highest integrity. It

Editorial

796 BioEssays 30.9

could perhaps be called the Rotblat Oath. This suggestion will

undoubtedly strike many as either utopian or foolish or both.

Yet, if one agrees that the over-all standard of intellectual

integrity in the world of science could be improved, is it not

reasonable to think of ways that might raise that standard?

While this editorial was being drafted, a letter in Science

appeared revealing that just this sort of pledge has been

incorporated as part of the graduate program at the Institute

of Medical Science (IMS), in the Faculty of Medicine at

the University of Toronto.(2) The general thinking behind the

initiative is similar to that laid out above, but given in more detail

in the letter, while the actual scheme might well serve as a

model to be widely adopted.

Of course, this would only be a beginning in raising the level

of integrity in science. The institutional and social conditions

that tend to force individuals to take moral short-cuts need just

as much, if not more, attention. Without such institutional

reforms, one can only expect the kinds of problems, noted

above, to continue. The nature of the institutional dysfunctions,

and some very modest suggestions to address them, will be

discussed in the next two editorials.

Adam S. Wilkins

BioEssays Editorial Office

10/11 Tredgold Lane, Napier

St. Cambridge CB1 1HN, UK

References1. Das SR. 2008. Scientific fraud: there’s more of it than you think. Editorials

and Commentary. The International Herald Tribune, July 1, 2008 p. 4.

2. Davis KD, Seeman MV, Chapman J, Rotstein OD. 2008. A graduate

student oath. Science 320:1587–1588.

DOI 10.1002/bies.20809

Published online in Wiley InterScience (www.interscience.wiley.com).

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