This article was published in China Science Daily (2022-09-16, Section 3, Books), with the title changed to “Confronting the ‘Complex’ Head-On — A Compound of Science, Capital, and Politics in the Age of Big Science, Scientists Can No Longer ‘Cultivate Themselves Alone’”
When we speak of America’s research environment or science policy, the first thing that usually comes to mind is Vannevar Bush’s Science: The Endless Frontier, a report Bush submitted to then-President Roosevelt in 1945. The report emphasized the importance of basic research, arguing that the government should provide funding support for basic scientific research, but must also respect scientists’ independence and autonomy.
Bush’s report was indeed far-reaching in its influence, but if we look at it in isolation, divorced from the historical context of American science and technology history, we are very likely to misread American science policy and culture.
In fact, during the more than ten years before 1945, the United States was already forming a new scientific paradigm with distinctively American characteristics, one that was vastly different from Europe’s traditional scientific culture. To prize basic science and theoretical research, as well as scientists’ freedom and independence, was precisely the style of the old-school European scientific elite. In the United States, however, a new scientific culture was on the rise, one that linked basic science and applied science, and bound scientists together with workers, politicians, and capitalists.
Marked by the Manhattan Project, this new paradigm of research developed rapidly, to the point of becoming almost fanatical. Excessive pragmatism and too much dependence on politicians and capitalists could damage the long-term development of American science; in this context, Bush’s report played a certain “balancing” role. Of course, on the other hand, Bush was also fighting for greater power for scientists, hoping that the government would maintain funding while devolving authority to scientists for self-management.
Bush’s ideal was never the actual state of American science. The distinctive character of American science had already taken shape well before 1945, and this American paradigm continued to radiate outward to other countries.
The book Big Science: Ernest Lawrence and the Invention of the Military-Industrial Complex is an excellent introduction to this new scientific paradigm that began in the United States. This book can also be read as a biography of Lawrence, the designer and builder of the world’s first cyclotron, who represents the birth of this new research paradigm — “big science.”
As the physicist Alvarez wrote in the memorial hall of the U.S. National Academy of Sciences: “He will forever be remembered as the inventor of the cyclotron, but more importantly, he should be remembered as the inventor of the modern method of scientific research.”
The “military-industrial complex” in the subtitle is an annotation of “big science”; the English is “Military-Industrial Complex,” and the Chinese translation has actually dropped the word Complex altogether. Complex means “complicated” or “complex,” and here it can also be translated as “compound” or “complex of elements,” but the reason a “complex” is needed is precisely that scientific research itself has become increasingly complex — “In Lawrence’s Radiation Laboratory, the central apparatus — the cyclotron — was technically so complex, and so prone to operational failure, that it required dedicated engineering technicians to remain constantly vigilant.”
Before Lawrence, Rutherford and the Curies represented the highest achievements of the “era of hands-on science”; Lawrence to Rutherford is like Galileo to Tycho Brahe: the former, with new instruments (the telescope and the cyclotron), utterly transformed the old research paradigm and became a representative figure of the new science.
The basic characteristic of the cyclotron is “complexity,” and this complexity is comprehensive in scope.
First, at the level of scientific principles, it combines theoretical science and applied science, to such an extent that neither the most outstanding theorist nor the most capable experimentalist can handle it alone. As an experimentalist, Lawrence found his way forward only by joining forces with Oppenheimer, America’s best theoretical partner, in mutual assistance.
Beyond the need to integrate the strengths of theorists and experimentalists, the daily maintenance of accelerators also requires a great deal of dull, tedious human labor. Research teams need large numbers of staff, and most of the work does not require lofty scientific ideals or abundant creativity, but is almost purely mechanical labor. What we jokingly call “scientific migrant workers” today had already appeared. In later military-industrial projects, large numbers of rural women workers were recruited to watch over mass spectrometers. Lawrence found this hard to accept, and later organized a wagered contest; the result showed that these women performed better than the scientifically trained researchers — because they obeyed instructions more faithfully and did not try to be clever by adjusting the machines on their own.
How to manage and coordinate such a huge team, composed of scientists, experimentalists, interns, and ordinary laborers, each with different identities and cultures, became a necessary part of “big science” research. From then on, outstanding scientific leaders could no longer simply devote themselves single-mindedly to research; they were forced to become excellent managers, even operators.
Lawrence was a social virtuoso and an outstanding manager, and perhaps the pragmatic American culture provided him with support and opportunity. One scholar commented: “It was Ernest Lawrence who raised the status of engineers in accelerator laboratories to the same level as that of physicists. By contrast, European physicists tended to ‘avoid the dirty details of engineering.’ This neatly explains why Europe lagged behind the United States in accelerator technology.”
Second, in terms of manufacturing and maintenance, accelerators require exorbitant costs and enormous human and material resources; the old university system simply could not support such a leviathan.
Thus, Lawrence’s academic career was from start to finish a constant struggle with funding problems. For example, in the initial stage he explained to a friend: “This work has now reached a very important stage, and the biggest difficulty before us is no longer experimental in nature, but financial.”
In fact, Lawrence’s outstanding contribution to this field lay not only in the experimental and operational level; more often, it was his superb performance as a fundraiser and salesman. He was always busy with social obligations, moving among “bankers and oil magnates,” maintaining long-term and mutually beneficial relationships with them.
This image was obviously worlds apart from the traditional image of the eccentric, detached scientist who rises above interests and worldly concerns. It naturally provoked the displeasure of many old-school figures. For example, some people bluntly called Lawrence a “salesman-like” scientist, and asked him: “Do you care that much about fame that gets you on the front page?”
Finally, in terms of scientific output, the products of the cyclotron also became highly complex.
As physical substances go, the products of the accelerator can be said to be the simplest things in nature: various particles and atoms. But the effects of these particles are enormous. For example, the “Little Boy” dropped on Hiroshima in 1945 had nuclear material that was “mainly collected and produced little by little from Ernest Lawrence’s precious cyclotrons.”
In addition to atomic bombs, radioactive isotopes also have many commercial uses, especially in medicine (such as cancer treatment). Of course, if handled improperly, what the accelerator produces may also be terrifying pollution.
Since scientific products had such powerful military force or economic potential, governments and the wealthy were willing to invest in scientists. Scientists in need of funds and politicians and businesspeople who valued potential finally came together. But their union brought new problems, because politicians and businessmen are not without expectations of returns; if one wants them to invest, one must naturally, to a certain extent, be controlled by them, and this was bound to overturn the old scientific culture.
The research of the famous French microbiologist and chemist Pasteur also brought commercial benefits, but his culture still belonged to the traditional European paradigm of small science; he emphasized: “I never work for money, I always work for science.” But in Lawrence’s case, such a declaration was becoming more and more out of place. On the contrary, if he did not pursue a steady stream of financial returns, that might well have been even more irresponsible toward the team that followed him.
Depending on politicians means getting dragged, to a greater or lesser degree, into complex political struggles; depending on capitalists means falling, to some extent, into a gaudy arena of fame and fortune. Scientists could no longer easily keep themselves unstained. Whether for the sake of chasing fame and profit or out of a sense of responsibility to his team, Lawrence spent his whole life navigating the affairs of glory and gain, and in his final days was still busy preparing to confront Soviet diplomats, ultimately wearing down his health.
The scientific paradigm Lawrence pioneered was successful, but it could not simply be imitated.
On the one hand, he benefited from America’s strong support for the military-industrial sector before and after World War II; this model would not necessarily be the most suitable for other disciplines, or in the face of a new international environment.
On the other hand, Lawrence’s experience was not always smooth sailing; his failures are equally worth taking seriously. Lawrence’s laboratory missed many new discoveries that could easily have been realized with a cyclotron, falling behind European colleagues who had much more rudimentary equipment.
Lawrence himself also reflected that something was wrong with the laboratory culture: “making the improvement of cyclotron performance the top priority allowed sloppy and negligent laboratory work habits to flourish.” Undoubtedly, a pragmatic culture overly focused on technical details and practical results often hindered the foresight and insight that scientific research requires.
Therefore, the best way is to examine Lawrence’s experience together with Bush’s ideal. On the one hand, we must acknowledge that in the new era, scientists have no choice but to step out of the ivory tower, lower themselves, and enter into dalliance with politics and capital; on the other hand, the traditional scientific spirit of freedom and independence is by no means obsolete.
To uphold the scientific spirit of freedom and independence, one cannot turn a blind eye to the fact that scientific research has already been drawn into the arena of fame and fortune; we must face squarely the complex reality that science, capital, and politics have already formed a “compound” or “complex.” On that basis, we must then strive to carry forward the scientific spirit, maintaining a balance between a scientific culture of free inquiry and a complex environment of fame and gain.
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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