UNTITLED, Vivian Lu

UNTITLED VIVIAN LU (23.5x31.5 inches)

24

25

2. Clarity: The Evidence Can Wait

It is a hallmark of any great scientific theory that it is supported by an abundance of data. And, yet, Watson and Crick became famous for a theory for which they gave next to no concrete proof. Both Wilkins and Franklin, in contrast, offer almost nothing but evidence, devoting little time to presenting and explaining their conclusions.

The Watson-Crick paper is largely devoted to describing the double helix structure. It does so in a casual manner, referring often to a picture that is not scientifically precise but “purely diagrammatic.” They build a visual rather than chemical picture of DNA’s double helix, promising that the latter “will be published elsewhere.” Perhaps most astonishingly, they acknowledge their lack of data: “So far as we can tell, [the double helix model] is roughly compatible with the experimental data, but it must be regarded as unproved [sic] until it has been checked against more exact results.” They even suggest referring to Wilkins’ and Franklin’s papers as sources of “more exact results.” The temerity of this approach aside, less discussion of evidence does allow for more time devoted to the theory and its implications.

Wilkins attempts to both present new X-ray data and suggest a helical structure for DNA. The result is nebulous at best. He uses some variation of the word “helix” thirty-five times in his paper, yet never directly to describe DNA’s structure as helical. Only a reader adept at interpreting X-ray crystallography could come to the correct conclusion. Wilkins also includes tertiary evidence to support his analysis and spatially separates his arguments, fragmenting the logical flow of ideas and making any single line of reasoning difficult to follow.

If Watson and Crick represent one side of the scientific rigor spectrum, Franklin is on the opposite end. Citing mathematical models, she limits herself to concluding only what the data say. Franklin is so careful to stay within the strict scientific bounds of her Bessel function analysis that she even points out the results apply only to the detectable portion of the molecule. Strictly speaking, this is true. But if the entirety of the DNA molecule is assumed to be helical, many of its structural and chemical properties fall into place—a reasonable logical jump to make. Moreover, in discussing Linus Pauling’s erroneous triple helix model, Franklin concludes it cannot be correct only after proving so mathematically. Watson and Crick dismiss this same model because “some of the van der Waals distances appear to be too small.” Franklin’s desire to be faithful to the evidence is admirable and proper scientific conduct; from a communication perspective, it makes her conclusions difficult to discern.

3. Write Like a Journalist, Not a Scientist

Watson and Crick’s writing flows rapidly, reading more like that of a journalist and allowing them to discuss their theory’s multiple implications. Their paper features short, minimalistic paragraphs—some no longer than a single sentence. In a few jaw-dropping lines, Watson and Crick anticipate two critical concepts in molecular biology: Chargaff’s Rule and the relationship between DNA and RNA. Their guess that “it is probably impossible to build this structure with a ribose sugar” is wrong. However, because they chose to express this idea in such a cursory manner, its validity became less important. Likewise, it is their quick, understated asides, such as “it has not escaped our notice that the specific pairing we have postulated immediately suggests a possible copying mechanism for the genetic material,” which make their paper uniquely memorable. Only by introducing such ideas briefly and in rapid succession could Watson and Crick suggest so many possible (and, it would turn out, mostly true) implications of 26

their work.

A glance at Franklin’s and Wilkins’ work is enough to establish that neither author achieves the succinct, flowing style of Watson and Crick. Rosalind Franklin’s last few paragraphs are among the most structurally rigid. Wilkins, attempting to extend his conclusion from the lab to life, closes by discussing sperm heads, wet bacteria pellets and partially dried DNA—an underwhelming denouement, to say the least.

The Legacy

Young scientists are told to look to Watson and Crick’s work as a sterling example of creativity and scientific ingenuity. The truth, however, is that it was more how their results were presented that was so unique. Their scientific work was haphazard and would hardly be remembered today were it not for the lucky fact that they happened to be right. The work done by Wilkins and Franklin was so much more scientifically proper that, by any fair standard, they deserve the credit for elucidating the structure of DNA. In particular, Franklin’s X-ray picture prompted Watson and Crick to test a double helix structure. The reality, rightfully and increasingly recognized today, is that Rosalind Franklin in particular was a world-class scientist—her work elucidating the structure of the tobacco mosaic virus alone was seminal. That her accomplishments came amidst an era rife with sexism, particularly within the sciences, makes her legacy all the more inspiring. When, in 1962, Watson, Crick and Wilson took to the stage in Stockholm to receive the Nobel Prize in Medicine, Rosalind Franklin did not join them. Four years earlier, she had died in a hospital bed, her abdomen caked with metastatic ovarian cancer likely brought on by the X-ray radiation that bombarded her during the long hours she worked.

27

Today, effective science communication has never been more crucial. The future of science—its public perception, support, and effective existence for posterity—is at stake. As Cornelia Dean, former science editor for the New York Times, put it: “As a society we need to adopt a broader view of what it means for researchers to fulfill their obligations to society. In my view, it is not enough for them to make findings and report them in the scholarly literature. As citizens in a democracy, they must engage” (Dean, 233).

Watson and Crick’s faults as scientists (and, it is now acknowledged, as human beings) are not mutually exclusive with the importance of their paper. They communicated the double helix theory through a writing style that sharply contrasted that of their contemporaries. Their skill as communicators helped make up for their scientific deficiencies. The lesson we must take from 1953 is twofold: First, we must accept that what is being said is as important as how it is being said—that, in the words of Francis Crick himself, “style… is as important as content” (Crick, 76). The second lesson is that the rules of scientific rigor must, at times, be bent into a different set of rules: one of science communication. Ideas need to be expressed, not in the language of science, but in the language of the everyday. New theories may need be anticipated before the present one has been confirmed. We need more often to stretch beyond the limits of the present and grasp for the future. Because it is just that—our future—that through our words is at stake.

28