“Of course,” Lakin shot back. “But are they right?”
“I submit that this question is not what we are considering. This is a candidacy examination. We pass on the suitability of a topic—not on the final outcome.”
Gates nodded. Then, to Gordon’s surprise, Carroway did, too. Lakin was silent. As though the question had been settled, Gates asked Cooper an innocuous question about his setup. The examination wound down. Carroway slumped in his chair, eyes half-closed to his own interior world, the spark gone out of him. Gordon thought wryly of what the taxpayers would think of their half-awake public servant, and then recalled that Carroway followed what were, for theoreticians, standard working hours. He would arrive at noon, ready to substitute lunch for breakfast. Seminars and discussions with students took him into evening. By then he was ready to begin calculations—that is, real work. This early afternoon exam was, for him, a waking-up exercise.
Gordon’s real work began as Cooper left the room. This was when the thesis professor listened carefully to the comments and criticisms of his colleagues, ostensibly for future use in directing the thesis research of the candidate. A subtle tug of war.
Lakin opened by doubting Cooper’s understanding of the problem. True, Gordon conceded, Cooper was weak on the overall theory. But experimental students were traditionally more concerned with their detailed lab work—“stroking their apparatus,” Gordon called it, to provoke some much-needed mirth—than with the fine points of theory. Gates bought this; Carroway frowned.
Lakin shrugged, conceding it as a tied point. He paused while Carroway, and then Gates in turn, expressed some misgivings over Cooper’s occasionally sloppy work on basic physics problems—the two electrons in a box, for example. Gordon agreed. He pointed out, though, that the Physics Department could only require students to take the relevant courses and then hope that the knowledge sank in. Cooper had already passed the department’s Qualifying Examination—three days of written problems, followed by a two-hour oral examination. The fact that Cooper’s grasp of some points was still slippery was, of course, regrettable. But what could this candidacy committee do? Gordon promised to press Cooper on these subjects, to—in effect—browbeat the student into making up the deficiency. The committee accepted this, rather standard reply with nods.
So far Gordon had skated on relatively firm ice. Now Lakin tapped his pen reflectively on the table, tick, and slowly, almost languidly, reviewed Cooper’s data. The true test of an experimenter, he said, was his data. The crux of Cooper’s thesis was the spontaneous resonance effect. And this was precisely what was in question. “The thesis is an argument, let us remember, not a stack of pages,” Lakin said with dreamy ease.
Gordon countered as best he could. The spontaneous resonance phenomenon was important, yes, but Cooper was not primarily concerned with it. His topic was much more conventional. The committee should look at the spontaneous resonances as a kind of overlay, occasionally obscuring the more conventional data Cooper was trying to get.
Lakin countered in earnest. He brought up the Physical Review Letters paper, which carried the names of Lakin, Bernstein, and Cooper. The final thesis would have to mention it. “And this, of course”—a sad, weary glance toward Gordon—“means that we must bring up the entire issue of the… interpretation… which has been placed upon these… interruptions… of the resonance curves.”
“I disagree,” Gordon snapped.
“The committee must consider all the facts,” Lakin said mildly.
“The fact is that Cooper is going for a standard problem here.”
“It has not been so advertised.”
“Look, Isaac, what I do has no connection with this thesis and this committee.”
“I really rather believe,” Gates broke in, “we should focus on the possibilities of the experiment itself.”
“Quite so,” Carroway muttered, rising from his half-sleep.
“Cooper will probably not deal with the, ah, message theory at all,” Gordon said.
“But he must,” Lakin said with quiet energy. “Why?” Gordon said.
“How can we be sure his electronics gear is functioning right?” Gates put in.
“Exactly,” Lakin said.
“Look, there’s nothing that special about his equipment.”
“Who can say?” Lakin said. “It contains a few modifications above and beyond the usual resonance rig. These—if I understand them correctly—” a slight note of sarcasm here, Gordon saw “—were designed to increase sensitivity. But is that all they do? Is there not some unforeseen effect? Something which makes this experiment, this apparatus, pick up new effects in the solid in question—indium antimonide? How can we say?”
“Good point,” Gates murmured.
“What sort of effect are you thinking of, Isaac?” Carroway said, genuinely perplexed.
“I do not know,” Lakin conceded. “But this is the issue. Precisely the issue.”
“I disagree,” Gordon said.
“No, I think Isaac is dead right,” Carroway murmured.
“There’s some justice to it,” Gates said, reflecting. “How can we be sure this is a good thesis topic until we know the equipment will do what Cooper says it will? I mean, there’s Isaac here, who has doubts. You, Gordon—you think it’s okay. But I feel we ought to have more info before we go ahead.”
“That’s not the purpose of this exam,” Gordon said flatly.
“I believe it to be a legitimate issue.” Carroway said.
Gates added, “So do I.”
Lakin nodded. Gordon saw that they were all uncomfortable, not wanting to broach the issue buried under the detail of Cooper’s apparatus and the niceties of theory. Still, Gates and Carroway and Lakin thought the message hypothesis was bullshit, pure and simple. They weren’t going to let the issue slide by. Cooper couldn’t explain all his data, not the interesting parts, anyway. As long as that riddle hung in the air, this committee wasn’t going to pass on a thesis. Also, it was not simply a question of conflicting theories. Cooper was weak in some important areas. He needed more study, more time peering at textbooks. He had never been a particularly brilliant classroom student, and here it showed up in spades. That, plus the muddy issue of the messages, was enough.
“I move that we fail Mr. Cooper on this first try at the candidacy examination,” Lakin said mildly. “He needs more preparation. Also, this matter of the spontaneous resonances—” a glance at Gordon—“should be resolved.”
“Right,” Gates said.
“Um,” Carroway said drowsily, already picking up his scattered papers.
“But look—”
“Gordon,” Lakin murmured with a kind of tired friendliness, “that is a majority of the committee. Could we have the forms?”
Gordon stiffly handed over the University form for the examination, on which faculty could sign and write out either “yes” or “no” to the question of whether Cooper had passed. The form came back across the table with three nos. Gordon stared at it, still off balance, still not sure the whole thing was over. It was the first time he had shepherded a student through this examination and now the student had failed—a rather uncommon event. The candidacy was supposed to be a putz of an exam, for Chrissakes. Gordon thought suddenly of the conventional theory of scientific revolutions, where paradigms overtook each other, old replacing new. In a way the message theory and the spontaneous resonance theory were paradigms, erected to explain one bunch of mysterious data. Two paradigms, arguing over a scrap of experimental bread. It almost made him laugh.