Changing your field of research is not as difficult as you may think

To honor the memory and the spirit of innovation of a recently lost friend, Arturo Falaschi , a biologist who loved physics

A few years ago, I changed the focus of my scientific work—from hardcore physical chemistry (high-resolution IR molecular beam laser spectroscopy) to something best described as the applications of nanotechnology to medicine. My new field involves the nanomanipulation of biomolecules on surfaces and the development of nanovectors for drug delivery.

The change, though not easy, has not been as difficult as one might expect.

First, I had to learn the basic facts and the language of the land of biology. From personal experience I knew that learning a language is not difficult if you immerse yourself in the new country and make friends with the locals. So I did that, and found that portion of my transition proved not too difficult.

Second, I had to learn to use—or, more precisely, supervise the use of—a completely different set of instruments. Setting up a high-resolution laser spectroscopy experiment is very different from designing and performing a nanobiology experiment in solution using an atomic force microscope. That challenge also turned out not to be crippling because, quite simply, all instrumentation is noise limited and behaves as specified in the instruction book, provided acoustic and other noise is shielded properly.

After learning a new language and setting up a new lab, I found it necessary and thoroughly enjoyable to explore the frontiers of my new field. Having spent 50 years in science, I’ve experienced the sense of accomplishment and sheer joy that accompany even a small discovery. Those feelings are so fine that the hard work it took to earn them looks like a summer stroll on the beach!

The most difficult aspect of my conversion has been the need for recognition and acceptance by a completely new community of scientists, especially referees. That process is still under way. But if you search the Web for my most recent publications , you’ll see that even that notoriously arduous process turns out to be navigable.

Does the publication of a few papers mean that I am now a biologist? Not at all. To become a biologist was the last of my goals. It means simply that I am ready to bite on the hardtack that is biology with my sharp physics teeth and try to soften it a bit by chewing on it for as long as it takes to do the job.

So, why did I feel the urge to write this article? I decided to get out and shout about how essentially easy it is to change fields; the great majority of scientists expect such a change to be very difficult, and the prospect of making the switch fills them with fear and apprehension.

During the past 10 years I had many conversations with a soon-to-be-ex-friend, trying to convince him that his (or, out of kindness, ‘our’) field had lost its element of fun. My main argument was that computational science has advanced to the point that the behavior of molecules, atoms, or their assemblies can be predicted provided their size and electronic complexity don’t exceed those of biomolecules. At that point in the conversation, my partner usually left, with the belief, I presume, that old age had totally mixed up the few marbles left in my head.

I could provide more examples of what I mean with the expression “calculations that make the measurement not fun anymore,” but let’s assume the expression is true and that the only way to avoid duplicating a computer calculation is to ratchet up the complexity of a problem. I’ve had so many of these conversations about specific problems that even by sheer luck I’ve been right a few times. Invariably, however, I did not convince anyone.

So, here is a general, sociological case for why we researchers should always be ahead of our time, even at the cost of frustrating ourselves trying to solve insoluble problems. Suppose that the tank of a given field has another 10 or even 15 years of gas left in it. Why should we abandon the field and try to train our students in a different area? Good training in science doesn’t depend on the subject. But more important, why not enter a new field in which, like almost any subject in the life sciences, the time left to have fun does not have a foreseeable upper bound?

A dash too conservative

Let us try to imagine why scientists in their fifties and sixties are being a dash too conservative when it comes to switching fields.

Is it because they distrust Google, Google Scholar, Wikipedia, and other convenient sources of information about unfamiliar, jargon-filled fields? Possibly, but I doubt that Wikipedia is normally untrustworthy. There are too many crosschecking mechanisms available on the Web.

Is it because the best scholars shun superficiality and dilettantism as the worst of academic sins and take pride only in in-depth thinking and reasoning? I do not think so. In-depth thinking is certainly not a function of how many details you know in any given field. In fact, a good case can be made for claiming that a too-extensive knowledge of details may actually hinder instead of favor comprehensive thought.

After the rhetorical questions have been asked, I offer my opinion on the question at hand.

Scientists are conservative even when their job description could be succinctly summarized as “innovator” because the culture in which we operate is chock full of traditions that represent the opposite of innovation and intellectual freedom. We are still afraid of making mistakes—even simple terminology mistakes!—even though in the age of Google those can be corrected in an instant! We are still organizing our institutions of higher learning around power centers (the departments) that are built like fortresses meant to divide people instead of bringing them together!

Even banks have learned the advantages of small group divisions and flexible separations, but educational institutions are still building expensive, useless, mammoth structures that serve only to keep scientists separately competing for university resources. Several universities are still building libraries, for Pete’s sake!

In conclusion, let me offer a note of hope, but of caution, too.

Many of the scientific questions that await answers will, I hope, be solved in the second part of this century. Then, having solved the last of the big puzzles—that is, having explained the origin of life—scientists will turn their attention and the power of their quantitative tools toward explaining the sociological complications that arise when these very complex machines called Homo sapiens interact with each other. Let us hope the fruits of that research will respect the freedom of our minds—and of our bodies too!