"This is terribly important."Indeed,biochemists talk about "the cook-book."Many a Nobel Prize has been awarded,not for a discovery,as such,but for a new technique or a new tool that opened up a whole field of discovery."I am a theoretician,"Morrison said."And yet the most important problem for me is to be in touch with the people who are making new instruments or finding new ways of observing,and to try to get them to do the right experiments."And then,in a burst of annoyance,"I feel very reluctant to give any support to descriptions of'scientific method.'The scientific enterprise is very difficult to model.You have to look at what scientists of all kinds actually do." Para.5:It's true that by contrast philosophers and historians seem book-bound-or paper-blindered, depending chiefly on what has been published as scientific research for their understanding of the process of discovery.In this century,anyway,published papers are no guide to the way scientists get the results they report.We have testimony of the highest authenticity for that.Sir Peter Medawar has both done fine science and written well about how it is done:he won his Nobel Prize for investigations of immunological tolerance,which explained,among other things,why foreign tissue,like a kidney or a heart,is rejected by the body into which it is transplanted,and he has described the methods of science in essays of grace and distinction.A while ago,Medawar wrote,"What scientists do has never been the subject of a scientific... inquiry.It is no use looking to scientific 'papers,'for they not merely conceal but actively misrepresent the reasoning that goes into the work they describe."The observation has become famous,its truth acknowledged by other scientists.Medawar wrote further,"Scientists are building explanatory structures, telling stories which are scrupulously tested to see if they are stories about real life." Para.6:Scientists do science for a variety of reasons,of course,and most of them are familiar to the sculptor,or to the surgeon or the athlete or the builder of bridges:the professional's pride in skill:the swelling gratification that comes with recognition accorded by colleagues and peers;perhaps the competitor's fierce appetite;perhaps ambition for a kind of fame more durable than most.At the beginning is curiosity,and with curiosity the delight in mastery-the joy of figuring it out that is the birthright of every child.I once asked Murray Gell-Mann,a theoretical physicist,how he got started in science.His answer was to point to the summer sky:"When I was a boy,I used to ask all sorts of simple question-like, 'What holds the clouds up?""Rosalind Franklin,the crystallographer whose early death deprived her of a share in the Nobel Prize for the discovery of the structure of DNA,one day was helping a young collaborator draft an application for research money,when she looked up at him and said,"What we can't tell them is that it's so much fun!"He still remembers her glint of mischief.The play of the mind,in an almost childlike innocence,is a pleasure that appears again and again in scientists'reflection on their work. The geneticist Barbara McClintock,as a woman in American science in the 1930s,had no chance at the academic posts open to her male colleagues,but that hardly mattered to her."I did it because it was fin!" she said forty years later."I couldn't wait to get up in the morning!I never thought of it as 'science'." Para.7:The exuberant innocence can be poignant.Francois Jacob2,who won his share of a Nobel Prize as one of the small group of molecular biologists in the fifties who brought sense and order into the interactions by which bacteria regulate their life processes,recently read an account I had written of that work,and said to me with surprise and an evident pang of regret,"We were like children playing!"He meant the fun of it-but also the simplicity of the problems they had encountered and the innocence of mind they had brought to them.Two hundred and fifty years before-although Jacob did not consciously intend the parallel-Isaac Newton',shortly before his dead,said:“This is terribly important.” Indeed, biochemists talk about “the cook-book.” Many a Nobel Prize has been awarded, not for a discovery, as such, but for a new technique or a new tool that opened up a whole field of discovery. “I am a theoretician,” Morrison said. “And yet the most important problem for me is to be in touch with the people who are making new instruments or finding new ways of observing, and to try to get them to do the right experiments.” And then, in a burst of annoyance, “I feel very reluctant to give any support to descriptions of ‘scientific method.’ The scientific enterprise is very difficult to model. You have to look at what scientists of all kinds actually do.” Para. 5: It’s true that by contrast philosophers and historians seem book-bound—or paper-blindered, depending chiefly on what has been published as scientific research for their understanding of the process of discovery. In this century, anyway, published papers are no guide to the way scientists get the results they report. We have testimony of the highest authenticity for that. Sir Peter Medawar has both done fine science and written well about how it is done: he won his Nobel Prize for investigations of immunological tolerance, which explained, among other things, why foreign tissue, like a kidney or a heart, is rejected by the body into which it is transplanted, and he has described the methods of science in essays of grace and distinction. A while ago, Medawar wrote, “What scientists do has never been the subject of a scientific … inquiry. It is no use looking to scientific ‘papers,’ for they not merely conceal but actively misrepresent the reasoning that goes into the work they describe.” The observation has become famous, its truth acknowledged by other scientists. Medawar wrote further, “Scientists are building explanatory structures, telling stories which are scrupulously tested to see if they are stories about real life.” Para. 6: Scientists do science for a variety of reasons, of course, and most of them are familiar to the sculptor, or to the surgeon or the athlete or the builder of bridges: the professional’s pride in skill: the swelling gratification that comes with recognition accorded by colleagues and peers; perhaps the competitor’s fierce appetite; perhaps ambition for a kind of fame more durable than most. At the beginning is curiosity, and with curiosity the delight in mastery—the joy of figuring it out that is the birthright of every child. I once asked Murray Gell-Mann, a theoretical physicist, how he got started in science. His answer was to point to the summer sky: “When I was a boy, I used to ask all sorts of simple question—like, ‘What holds the clouds up?’” Rosalind Franklin, the crystallographer whose early death deprived her of a share in the Nobel Prize for the discovery of the structure of DNA1 , one day was helping a young collaborator draft an application for research money, when she looked up at him and said, “What we can’t tell them is that it’s so much fun!” He still remembers her glint of mischief. The play of the mind, in an almost childlike innocence, is a pleasure that appears again and again in scientists’ reflection on their work. The geneticist Barbara McClintock, as a woman in American science in the 1930s, had no chance at the academic posts open to her male colleagues, but that hardly mattered to her. “I did it because it was fun!” she said forty years later. “I couldn’t wait to get up in the morning! I never thought of it as ‘science’.” Para. 7: The exuberant innocence can be poignant. Francois Jacob 2 , who won his share of a Nobel Prize as one of the small group of molecular biologists in the fifties who brought sense and order into the interactions by which bacteria regulate their life processes, recently read an account I had written of that work, and said to me with surprise and an evident pang of regret, “We were like children playing!” He meant the fun of it—but also the simplicity of the problems they had encountered and the innocence of mind they had brought to them. Two hundred and fifty years before—although Jacob did not consciously intend the parallel—Isaac Newton 3 , shortly before his dead, said: