I hate making mistakes. Worse than that, I fear making mistakes. The realisation that I’ve made an error – or sometimes, just the thought that I might have made an error – is enough to bring on pinpricks of sweat, an urge to run away, and a noticeable loss of composure. Continue reading
“It was a fact of life that there was no crueller master than an ex-slave” (Robert Harris, “Pompeii”). Continue reading
I remember reading an anecdote once about a meeting between Francis Crick and an eminent biochemist (I’m pretty sure it was Erwin Chargaff). Chargaff came away highly unimpressed by Crick, which seems bizarre nowadays when Crick is revered as a kind of demigod. The reason for Chargaff’s disdain? Crick, he said, seemed to exemplify the worst aspects of the British system, namely “all talk and no action”.
It’s a pithy reminder of what we now refer to as “the American work ethic” swept away. High-minded gentlemen scientists sitting around in armchairs in club rooms doing thought experiments, and occasionally deigning to publish their insights. Theorising, theorising, theorising. Very little actual “doing”.
That’s what the work ethic replaced. Why do the thought experiment when you could do the actual experiment? And the powerhouse performance of American academia in the 20th century is all the validation that’s needed of that more practical approach.
But there’s a sense now that the pendulum may have swung too far the other way. Continue reading