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воспоминания и интервью
"Why Do People Think What They Think?" The American Historians of Science about the Life and a Profession
(M.B. KonasheVs1 Interview with L. Graham2 and D. Todes3)
1 St. Petersburg branch of the Institute for History of Science and Technology named after S.I. Vavilov, Russian Academy of Sciences, Saint-Petersburg, Russia; [email protected] 2 Massachusets Institute of Technology, USA; [email protected] 3 Institute of the History of Medicine, The Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, MD, USA;
In an interview the famous American historians of the Soviet science, Loren Graham and Daniel Todes have answered a number of questions on science history as scientific area and profession, on their ways in science and the relation to life, including such ones as: In what family you were born and grew? Whom did your parents want to see you? Whom did you dream to become? How you became the historian of science, why and when? Who gave to you lectures in university? What did attract you in the history of science in the Soviet Union (Soviet Russia)? And why after all history of science, but not history of policy, philosophy or art? Whether it was difficult to find a j ob after the university? Now do you think your choice to become the historian of science was correct? Are you satisfied what you have made as a historian? Are you proud of books and articles which you have written? Did and do you have pupils? How many times you were in the Soviet Union? What impression was made on you by the Soviet society, the Soviet people, in particular scientists, and Soviet orders? What most of all it was pleasant to you and it was unpleasant? What changed in Post-Soviet Russia in the best direction and in the worse one in comparison with the USSR? What most of all it is pleasant to you and it is pleasant in modern Russia? Is it difficult to be the professional, the historian of science? Is it difficult to be the citizen, the personality, the human being?
Keywords: Russian (Soviet) genetics and biology, lysenkoism, history of Soviet science.
Interview with Loren Graham
— At first tell a little about yourself. In what family you were born and grew? Where your family lived? Whom did your parents want to see you? Whom did you dream to become?
— I was born in a rural area, in a town of 280 people. My grandfather was a local farmer, my father was a local teacher. There was strong emphasis on education in my family and I always
knew that I would go to a university. At first I thought I would be a medical doctor, then an engineer, and then rethought the situation and became a historian of science.
— From what university you have graduated? Why this university? It was your choice or your parents, or your joint choice?
— I attended Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana, where I received my bachelor's degree. I received my Ph.D in history from Columbia University in New York City in 1964. I also attended a year (1960-61) as an aspirant-stazher at Moscow State University. All university choices were mine, not my parents'.
— How you became the historian of science, why and when?
— I became a historian of science because I loved science but soon learned that I did not wish to work in a laboratory, but instead to write about science at a desk.
— Who gave to you lectures in university?
— I attended lectures by Victor Albjerg, Alexander Dallin, Henry Roberts, Ernest Nagle, and others.
— What did attract you in the history of science in the Soviet union (Soviet Russia)? And why after all history of science, but not history of policy, philosophy or art?
— I was attracted to study science in the Soviet Union because almost no one in the US in my early years knew much about its history, and yet it was attracting great attention because of recent achievements (sputnik, atomic power, etc.). I made the choice to study science in Russia all on my own. My advisors were not influential on this question.
— Whether it was difficult to find a job after the university? Now do you think your choice to become the historian of science was correct? Are satisfied what you have made as a historian? Are you proud of books and articles which you have written? Did and do you have pupils?
— It was not difficult for me to find a job; in fact, I had several offers. I am very pleased with my choice to be a historian of science. And, yes, I have many pupils and graduate students; in fact, I created a school.
— How many times you were in the Soviet union? What impression was made on you by the Soviet society, the Soviet people, in particular scientists, and Soviet orders? What most of all it was pleasant to you and it was unpleasant? What changed in Post-Soviet Russia in the best direction and in the worse one in comparison with the uSSR? What most of all it is pleasant to you and it is pleasant in modern Russia?
— I have been in the Soviet Union and then Russia many, many times. I have lost count, but probably around 200 times. The most important visit I made to the USSR was as an aspi-rant-stazher at MGU in 1960-1961. My experiences in the Soviet Union were, on the whole, pleasant, although I disagreed strongly with the Soviet government. But Russian people, especially fellow scholars, were very good to me and I am grateful to them for their hospitality and kindness, even in difficult moments. The Soviet government in 1960-1961 would not give visas for my wife and child to be with me. I have been disappointed by the development of Russia since the fall of the Soviet Union. I hoped that Russia would become another European country — democratic, free, and prosperous. That did not happen and the current development is in the opposite direction. I am pessimistic about Russian politics in the short-run, but optimistic in the long-run.
— Why you organized a trip of young Soviet historians of science to the uSA in 1990? Whether those hopes which you laid on this trip and on these historians were equaled?
— I organized the trip of young Russian historians of science to the USA in 1990 because I wanted to help them become an integral part of the world community of historians of science after years of isolation in the Soviet Union. My hopes here have been at least partially realized.
I think that now similar trip of young Russian historians of science to the USA and also some young American historians of science to Russia would be desirable and even necessary.
— You are the oldest historian of Soviet science in the uS. What has changed for these three decades in the history of science and in education? What is good and that is bad from your point of view in modern history of science and in modern education? What you would change in the history of science and in education?
— On the whole, the profession of the history of science is healthy in the United States, much stronger than when I began. However, I have some disappointments: I am sorry that the rift between professional historians of science and the reading public is so large, and I am sorry that the rift between scientists themselves and historians of science is also large.
— What new articles and books are you going to write? What research do you do now and what do you write now?
— I never say what my next work will be. I do not work that way.
— Is it difficult to be the professional, the historian of science? Is it difficult to be the citizen, the personality, the human being?
— It is not difficult in a free country to be a historian of science.
— My next question is a philosophical or an abstract. What do you think about life? Is live a happiness, a damnation, a test, a game, a mix of bad and good, or something else? And what was your own life, the years lived by you?
— I prefer not to describe my personal philosophy. I work that out inside myself. What counts is what I do, not what I think.
— My second question is in some sense political. Who are you from political point of view? And why you are that you are?
— From a political point of view in the United States, I am a liberal Democrat. I believe in heterogeneity, diversity, free expression of all views, tolerance, kindness to the unfortunate, expansion of opportunity for the poor and under-privileged. Political and economic freedoms are wonderful things, and must be constantly defended because they are never safe.
— At last, aren't you sorry about anything?
— Am I sorry about anything? I am sorry that with all my work with Russians, relations between our two countries are still in bad shape.
Interview with Daniel Todes
— At first tell a little about yourself. In what family you were born and grew? Where your family lived? Whom did your parents want to see you? Whom did you dream to become?
— I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland. My father was an electrical engineer, my mother a social worker. They were both deeply humane people and intellectuals who were constantly reading (especially about History), and they encouraged me and my two siblings to pursue whatever interested us. My father, especially, loved his work and constantly reminded me that we spend a large part of our life working, so it was important to find something you enjoyed. As a boy, I dreamed of becoming a Major League baseball player; then, in high school, as an activist in the civil rights and anti-Vietnam-War movements, I thought I would become a politically-engaged lawyer.
— From what university you have graduated? Why this university? It was your choice or your parents, or your joint choice?
— I entered the University of Pennsylvania in 1970. I chose it because it had a great reputation, a very strong faculty in the humanities and social sciences, and my best friend had entered it the year before and recommended it highly.
— How you became the historian of science and when? On your page at the university website you write: "My interest in the history of science and medicine originated with my participation in numerous arguments about the Vietnam War in the 1960s and 1970s. I noticed that people rarely changed their minds during these heated debates, regardless of the factual arguments advanced. So, I became interested in the question «Why do people think what they think?»". But how it has been connected with war in Vietnam? People usually too seldom change their views, the outlook.
Who gave to you lectures on philosophy, psychology, sociology, and history? Why you have decided that in the history you will find the answer to that question which you had asked yourself: Why do people think what they think? And why you have decided so after or through acquaintance to history of Russia? What did attract or intrigued you in it? And why after all history of science, but not history of policy, philosophy or art?
— Yes, I arrived at University of Pennsylvania interested in the question "Why do people think what they think?" I had noticed during all the heated arguments about the Vietnam War that people very rarely changed their opinion because some new fact was brought to their attention. Rather, they usually produced new arguments to deal with that fact within their existing views. (I was sufficiently self-reflective to realize that this was true of me, too.) Also, I had been an avid member of our high school debate team. To prepare for tournaments, we collected file boxes full of data and citations from experts — and in debate tournaments, each team would use that information to argue successively both for and against the same proposition. That, too, I think, sensitized me to the flexibility of "facts" and their interpretation.
Nobody doubts that philosophy and art are deeply influenced by the broader context. Science — at least when I was in college — was thought to be somehow different. Because of the special status of science in modern society — its claim to "objectivity" — I thought that History of Science would allow me to explore an especially meaningful case of the interaction between "objective" and "subjective" elements in human thought.
I was not — and am not — a thorough-going subjectivist. I certainly believe that a "real world" exists independent of our consciousness. Yet the interaction between "the objective" and "the subjective" — whether in discussions of the Vietnam War or a scientist's framing and interpretation of experiments — is complex and itself embedded in context. In an infinite — and infinitely complex — world the identification of a "fact" (or a "good experiment") and assessment of its importance and meaning is to some degree a matter of interpretive judgment. It is true that people sometimes change their mind, but when the issue concerns subjects of emotional, political, ideological or biographical importance (people become invested in an opinion for any different reasons) this is rarely (if ever) a simple matter of the discovery and accumulation of new facts. That was true of the arguments among Turgenev's Fathers and Children and American families during the Vietnam War, of discussions of Darwin's theory in the 1860s and in both the U.S. and Russia today, and of every scientist that I have had the opportunity to study. But it is true in different ways at different times for different people. There are no formulas for the dynamics of human thought, let alone at the level of subtlety and nuance that makes scientific thought — at least for me — especially interesting.
I also entered university with a deep interest in Russia. One reason was certainly that I, as a politically alienated youth, was interested in Russia as a country with a social-economic system and culture very different from those in the United States. But this wasn't the only reason — as is evident from the fact that I was drawn especially to late Imperial (rather than Soviet)
history. For one thing, I was intrigued by the role that intellectuals and ideas seemed to play in Russian history and culture, and by their perspectives on Western society. Also, my paternal grandparents had been born in the Russian empire (they both left shortly before 1917) and often spoke of "the old country". Perhaps as a result of all these influences, I felt an emotional attachment to Russia even before I arrived here for the first time in 1976; something about it just felt familiar and comfortable. That feeling has deepened over the past forty years, and I have especially warm affection for St. Petersburg (where I lived for a year in 1976-1977, 1990-1991 and 2015-2016).
My favorite courses in my first years at Penn were Russian history with the inspiring Prof. Alfred Rieber and intellectual history with the excellent Prof. Alan Kors. I also took courses in philosophy, psychology and sociology, but found historical approaches to "why do people think what they think?" more emotionally and intellectually congenial. Al Rieber suggested that, considering my interests, I should take a course with the newly-arrived Prof. Mark Adams, a specialist in Russia in the Department of History and Sociology of Science. I hadn't heard of this discipline, but it turned out that Penn's Department was large, intellectually exciting, and at the cutting edge of the so-called "externalist" approach. And History of Science, I discovered, addressed an intriguing form of my old question: Why do scientists think what they think? The Department became my intellectual home, and Mark my wonderful mentor. I discovered the joys of the scholarly life — work was play! — forgot about law school, and remained at Penn for graduate studies.
— Could you tell more on your paternal grandparents who had been born in the Russian empire? Why they decided left Russia and went to the US? And why they spoke of "the old country", not of Russia or Russian Empire? At last did they say anything about "the new country", the USSR?
— My grandmother was born in Smolevich, a small town, as she always said, "mezhdu Min-skom i Pinskom". My grandfather grew up near Riga, the son of a rabbi. As he always told the story — his father was a Menshevik activist and, when the 1905 revolution failed in the cities, told his children that "there is no future here" and sent them to make their way abroad. My grandfather served in the Palestine Legion and as a translator for Lawrence of Arabia before becoming a Professor of Religious Studies at University of Rochester (in New York State). Both of my grandparents were socialists, and both were very critical of both Tsarist Russia and the USSR.
— Whether it was difficult to find a job after the university? Now do you think your choice to become the historian of science was correct? Are satisfied what you have made as a historian? Are you proud of books and articles which you have written? Do you have pupils? Aren't you sorry about anything?
— I was very fortunate to find a good position. It was 1979, I was completing my doctoral thesis, and the job market was beginning to contract. There was just one potential job that year — for a historian of medicine at the University of California, San Francisco. I have always thought of myself as a historian of science, but I had completed a field with the excellent historian of medicine at Penn, Charles Rosenberg. Furthermore, as a graduate student I worked on both the history of evolutionary theory and physiology in Russia, publishing my first article on the former (on the Darwinian paleontologist V.O. Kovalevskii) but writing my doctoral thesis on the latter (biological — mostly physiological — approaches to mind in Russia in the second half of the nineteenth century). Since Physiology was considered a medical science, it turned out that I was a bona fide historian of medicine, too! The chair of the Department of History of Medicine at University of California, Prof. Gert Brieger, was also interested in a product of the "Penn school" — so, fate smiled upon me and I was hired. I was very fortunate to have such a wonderful, wise, and understanding patron.
I am very proud of my scholarship. It represents constant work and reflection over the decades, my very best attempt to understand and communicate about some fascinating and complex subjects. And I regard the opportunity to work for more than 20 years on a biography of Ivan Pavlov — on such a compelling personality on his science, and on the almost one hundred years of Russian history in which he was embedded; and with such a wealth of archival material — as a rare scholarly opportunity and privilege. I've always had a biographical bent — I think biography is a great way to approach the complex relationship between context and scientific thought — but this was the first time I surrendered to it so completely.
Aside from teaching undergraduates at Johns Hopkins (where I have been a faculty member since 1984), I have also had the opportunity to teach a very fine group of graduate students. With the fall of the USSR, Russian studies lost a great deal of its popularity in the U.S., so I have had only one graduate student in the history of Russian science — though an excellent one, Lloyd Ackert — but have also had other fine graduate students interested in "why do scientists (and physicians) think what they think?", and we have worked together on the history of the biological and medical sciences, and the history of experiment and the laboratory.
Complaints? I wish that, especially when one is preoccupied with interesting work, time did not pass so quickly.
— Have you chosen subjects of the first article about V.O. Kovalevskii and books about Darwin in Russia by yourself? Or on the advice of Mark Adams? What was the ground for such choice?
— Mark Adams chose Kovalevskii for me I was a third-year undergraduate taking his seminar in the history of biology. I knew almost nothing about the subject and he was clearly delighted to have a student interested in Russian science. A few weeks into the semester I approached him nervously in his office to talk about a paper topic. He grabbed Kovalevskii's collected work off his shelf and placed the volumes on the desk in front of me with a thump. "Do Kovalevskii. You're interested in Darwinism — he was a Darwinist, a fine scientist and an interesting man". Noticing that all the books were in Russian, I reminded him that I had studied the language for only one semester. "You're right, — he replied. — You'll need a good dictionary. I recommend Smirnitskii". So, I set to work. Very slowly. With my limited knowledge of Russian, I often found myself in the middle of a sentence wondering how it would end (that is, after I had looked up the necessary words in Smirnitskii). But there was also an advantage to that: I learned the benefits of slow, careful reading of texts. Kovalevskii hooked me on History of Science. I loved the 1860s, the Darwinian paleontology, and the different ways that scientists approached fossils, and this was my first opportunity to explore the connection between context and the deep content of scientific thought.
— Why then you went in your research from evolutionary biology to physiology? And why Pavlov, not somebody other?
— There were two subjects in the biological sciences that, in Imperial Russia, both seemed intellectually interesting and were part of broader ideological-political-cultural struggles: evolutionary biology and biological approaches to mind. So, I saw both of these subjects as opportunities to investigate the relationship between the broader context and the content of scientific thought. I worked on Kovalevskii as an undergraduate and my first graduate student years; and decided on biological psychology in the second half of the 19th century for my doctoral thesis.
That thesis ended with a few pages on Pavlov. I did not deal with him in any depth, but just briefly, as an endpoint demonstrating the central argument in my thesis: that the highly polarized debates around physiological psychology in the 1860s and 1870s gave way to a less overtly politicized discourse as the century wore on; and that this change resulted from the rise of capitalist relations and of a more highly professionalized scientific community. Pavlov seemed
to bear this out: unlike Sechenov, for example, he denied that his physiological approach to mind implied a materialist outlook or rejection of free will. For him, rather, it was just a matter of "good science". I read the available scholarship on Pavlov at this time and noticed that it did not answer the questions I considered most interesting about him — but, perhaps because I lacked the confidence to tackle such a major figure, or perhaps because, in view of his iconic status in the USSR, I doubted that the necessary archival material would be available — I did not seriously consider pursuing him further.
Instead, after completing my thesis I returned to the history of evolutionary biology. On the occasion of the 125th anniversary of the publication of On the Origin of Species Mark organized a conference on the history of Darwinism in Russia, and invited me to participate. While working on this talk I became aware (both from primary sources and from Yasha Gall's excellent monograph on this subject) that Russian responses to Darwin featured particular attention to Darwin's Malthusian metaphor "the struggle for existence". I wondered why this was so, and, upon examination of this discourse and the works and biographies of the Russians who participated in it, came to the conclusion that Russians' critical attitude toward this metaphor was rooted in both the physico-geographical and political economic circumstances of the country, and that this imparted a particular "spin" to Russian investigations. This became the subject for my first book, Darwin Without Malthus: The Struggle for Existence in Russian Evolutionary Thought (1989).
By this time, Gorbachev's glasnost' had opened Soviet archives, making possible a full-length, archivally-based biography of Pavlov. Here was a great scientist — and an icon of "objectivity" — whose life began before the emancipation of the serfs and ended in Stalin times. I could not imagine a better subject for addressing the themes that interested me. The archival sources proved so rich that I was often too excited to sleep. When I began this work, I naively thought that I would finish it in about five years, but his life story and science proved so complex and compelling that I was intensely and happily engaged for the more than twenty years it took me to complete it.
— Do you think evolutionary theory and its history are important for education of biologists and have to be an obligatory element of the history of biology or at least as the subject a special facultative course in universities?
— I think that History of Science in general has much to offer scientists. It provides an opportunity for historically-informed reflection about the nature of science that, in my opinion, encourages creativity, independence and self-reflection. At Johns Hopkins I taught many undergraduate and graduate students in the sciences and always encouraged them to write research papers on the history of the subjects they were studying in the lab or the field. Many of them told me that they found this empowering — the realization, for example, that the "paradigm" they were learning was a historical product that both shed important light on their subject and averted their eyes from other, potentially fruitful lines of inquiry. History (particularly Biography) also reminds young scientists that the famously successful people like Pavlov were, at one time, confused, struggling, and obscure. As one of my science students at Hopkins Medical School remarked, "It is great to know that I have at least one thing in common with a Nobel Prize-winner!"
— You have been a historian of science for more than thirty years. What has changed for these three decades in the history of science and in education? What is good and that is bad from your point of view in modern history of science and in modern education? What you would change in the history of science and in education?
— I find History of Science as fascinating as ever. The field has expanded and developed quite a bit since I entered it in the 1970s. At that time, there was a strong disciplinary focus
on the history of scientific ideas and what we might term "historical epistemology". Many of what were then usually invoked as "external factors" in the development of scientific thought —institutions, disciplines, the politics and popular perceptions of science, science policy and national power, and so forth —have since emerged as independent subjects in our field. Many scholars study them independent of any connection to scientific ideas. These other subjects are genuinely important and interesting dimensions of History of Science, but I remain principally interested in the history of "elite" scientific thought and its relationship to various contexts. Most important for me is that there be room for a diversity of interests, approaches, and views; and, for a reflective style of scholarship.
Over the past decades, of course, the political economy and culture of the university has been changing rapidly. American educational institutions are increasingly run as businesses according to market principles and market values. (This is of course also happening in other countries.) Administrators treat students increasingly as "consumers" (and often refer to them and their parents this way, without irony). Undergraduates these days are encouraged to think of their education, not as an exciting journey or simply an opportunity to learn — but as an "investment". Graduate students and junior faculty, especially, are pressured to publish as quickly as possible in "high impact" journals, to constantly "network" and struggle for a "high professional profile", to compete constantly for grant money, etc. This commodification of scholars and scholarship is lamentable, and, in my view, profoundly damaging to the humanities. The scholarly quality of reflection — of taking the time to really engage with one's material and subject, to change one's mind, to explore nuances and contradictions in the hope of creating something of lasting value — receives increasingly less institutional and cultural support. Perhaps in a generation, most humanist scholars with a reflective style will find themselves — like musicians, artists and novelists — working outside academia. I don't know. I do know that too few of the many potentially very fine young scholars today are likely to acquire positions that will encourage the development of these qualities. What amazes and inspires me — call it the beauty of the human spirit, if you like — is that there are so many people who refuse to internalize these new values and who continue to create very fine scholarship.
— After all you have decided to retire. Why? What will you do being retired? Whether you will write new articles and books on science history and what ones?
— I decided to retire from Johns Hopkins because my wife Eleonora Filippova (a native St. Petersburger) and I are collaborating on a new research project and I want to be able to devote myself more fully to it; because we would like to divide our time more evenly between Baltimore and St. Petersburg, and because the prospect of having all my time at my own disposal is very appealing.
— What research do you do now and what do you write now?
— Eleonora, my wife, and I are working on the life and scientific work of Pavlov's fellow St. Petersburg physiologist and academician A.A. Ukhtomskii (1875-1942). As I was with Pavlov, we are intrigued by his life, his science, and the relationship between them. Like Pavlov, Ukhtomskii investigated reflexes and the psyche, but while Pavlov was a positivist inclined toward materialism and a mechanist, Ukhtomskii was a devout Old Believer whose epistemo-logical views and conceptions about the mind/body were rooted in Eastern Orthodox theory and practice. Both were sophisticated scientists, but they worked by very different paradigms and metaphors. Studying Ukhtomskii's life also allows us to engage with a dimension of Russian culture about which I, at least, knew very little — Eastern Orthodoxy — and to ponder he existential trials of deeply religious man living in secular society.
— My next question is a philosophical or an abstract. What do you think about life? The live is happiness, a damnation, test, mix of bad and good, something else? And what was your own life, the years lived by you?
— I have been very fortunate in every way, so my attitude of course reflects that. I was born into a middle-class family — with wonderful, wise and loving parents — at a time when the United States offered all sorts of opportunities for people like me. My parents could afford to send me to an excellent university, where I had great teachers and discovered a subject, that has fascinated me for decades. And I was fortunate enough to find a good job in that field. I have enjoyed the special satisfactions of living in and trying to understand a rich foreign culture. My personal life has always been full of loving relationships and extraordinary people.
For me, as a historian of science with a traditional American professorial position at a fine university, being a professional has been a great privilege. I have earned a good living while engaging in almost completely "non-alienated labor". That is, I have researched subjects of my own choosing, have had the time and funding to pursue them in a way that I find very satisfying; and have also enjoyed teaching many fine students. Since I never had any interest in academic or professional politics nor any ambition to become a Dean or even a department chair, and since, when I was making my career, American universities (especially elite ones like Johns Hopkins) rewarded scholarship and teaching — I have had the rare privilege of getting paid to do what I love.
As an individual, then — aside from the unavoidable problems inherent to being human — my main "problem" — the problem of a very fortunate person — has been to avoid as much as possible the grey, time-killing parts of life to maximize my time with the people, work, and other activities that I love.
We all, however, of course, also live in a broader social context — in a world that treats huge parts of humanity in an atrocious, exploitative, profoundly inhumane manner; that spends obscene amounts of money on weapons and is constantly at war, and that now faces the prospect of catastrophic climate change. These broader issues have always mattered deeply to me — and living in such a world inevitably impoverishes us all. I have enjoyed profoundly the life of a scholar, but I do wish that I had found a way to help improve our world in the ways I dreamed of as a young man.
And of course the deterioration of relations between Russia and the United States pains me deeply. I do not see any legitimate national interests underlying the current tensions, which are dangerous and wasteful of our nations' resources. We will hope for better times. In the meantime, I look forward to my fifth decade of rich friendly and collegial experiences in your country.
"Почему люди думают то, что они думают?" Американские историки науки о жизни и профессии
интервью Михаила Б. Конашева1 с Лорен Грэмом2 и Даниэлем Тодесом3
1 Санкт-Петербургский филиал Института истории естествознания и техники им. С.И. Вавилова Российской Академии Наук, Санкт-Петербург, Россия; [email protected] 2 Массачусетский технологический институт, Кембридж, Массачусетс, США; [email protected] 3 Институт истории медицины, Университет Джонса Хопкинса, Балтимор, Мэриленд, США;
В интервью известные американские историки советской науки Лорен Грэм и Дэниел Тодес ответили на ряд вопросов, касающихся истории науки как научной области и профессии, их пути в науке и отношения к жизни, в том числе таких как: «В какой семье вы родились и выросли? Кем ваши родители хотели вас видеть? Кем вы мечтали стать? Как вы стали историком науки, почему и когда? Кто читал вам лекции в университете? Что действительно привлекало вас в истории науки в Советском Союзе (советской России)? Почему именно история науки, а не история политики, философии или искусства? Трудно ли было найти работу после университета? Как вы теперь думаете, ваш выбор стать историком науки был правильным? Удовлетворены ли вы тем, что вы сделали как историк? Вы гордитесь теми книгами и статьями, которые вы написали? Есть ли у вас ученики? Сколько раз вы были в Советском Союзе? Какое впечатление произвело на вас советское общество, советские люди, в особенности ученые и советские учреждения? Что больше всего вам было приятно, и что было неприятно? Что изменилось в постсоветской России в лучшем направлении и в худшем по сравнению с СССР? Что больше всего для вас приятно, и что, может быть, неприятно в современной России? Трудно ли быть профессионалом, и легко ли было стать и быть историком науки? Трудно ли быть гражданином, индивидуальностью, человеком?»
Ключевые слова: российская (советская) генетика, лысенкоизм, история советской науки.
