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  classifications are into two kinds, one more worthwhile, the
other less so.  If people use these distinctions in discussions
without making their implicit criteria explicit, much talk is
likely to be at cross purposes.  If they do make the criteria
explicit, we spend a great deal of time disagreeing about the
criteria.

The reason for the difficulty is plain.  The drawing of
intellectually satisfactory sharp lines is virtually impossible.
Moreover, no distinction corresponds exactly with any other;
each criterion divides the total field up in a different way, so
that the classifications never coincide.  In discussion, fuzzy
edges and awkward overlaps can be concealed, ignored or
passed over in polite silence; at worst, they confuse an
audience or allow us to achieve a misleading degree of
agreement.  But we are concerned with practical issues.
How should research be organised and supported? When it
comes to political and administrative issues about the
allocation of resources, —jobs, buildings, equipment,
organisation,—practical distinctions must be drawn.  Firm
working rules can never avoid all anomalies; and some
anomalies may carry serious consequences.  All the same,
distinctions are often taken for granted as though they were
clear and self evident when in fact they are not, and I hope
by making some of them explicit at least to open up
discussion.

I list five criteria for distinguishing types of research.  Each
criterion can be used, though not always sensibly,—to
divide research into paired opposites.

(i) Academic disciplines—the traditional divide between arts
and sciences.

(ii) Usefulness,—pure and applied research.

(iii) Cost,—the range for millions of dollars to a bare income
for the research worker, and the cost of his books, paper and
ink, costly and cheap research.

(iv) The scale of organisation,—individual and team
research.



 



  (v) Objectivity,—the problem of covert or open moral or
political implications; value free and value loaded research.

Each of these criteria draws lines of different kinds in
different places; and none of them avoids the problems of an
area of fuzziness on the boundaries.  Yet when we attempt
decisions about resources, we find the criteria tend to tangle
with each other.  If, for example, we compare say a
chemistry project and a history project, we can expect that
the chemistry project is more likely to be useful, is more
expensive, is more likely to involve team research and
organisational support (i.e.  laboratories), and more likely to
appear objective and value free.  More likely, but by no
means certainly.  History requires libraries and archives, and
may use very expensive techniques for, say, archeological
evidence.

(i) The classification of research by academic subject
involves plenty of knotty problems I know full well that art
and literature, not only the culture of the elite, but the whole
field of the creative activities of the people are not merely
worthy of study; they constitute the end and aim to which
the production of material wealth is no more than the means.

The way we divide the manifold complexities of academic
activities is fairly arbitrary, and no classification is without
conceptual and practical disadvantages.  The popular and
ubiquitous division into arts (or humanities), and sciences is
not very helpful.  Is Engineering science? Are social
sciences Sciences or Arts? Or on their own? Is law a social
science? Where do mathematics, or psychology or
architecture fit it? In Britain, since the funding of the social
Science Research Council in 1965, the number of disciplines
defining themselves as social science has increased
remarkably.  But boundary disputes continue.

Two tendencies make the problems worse.  First, people
argue that existing boundaries are inhibiting and silly, and
advocate, —not always cogently,— 'interdisciplinary
studies'.  But while some work to destroy boundaries,
established disciplines grow and divide up internally,
creating new boundaries; paradoxically, the interdisciplinary



 



  initiatives themselves create new fields,—biophysics,
ethology, control chemistry.  Indeed, the multiplication of
subjects can be confusing.  Tribology, which I discovered
the other day, is not the study of tribes, but of friction, thus
bringing together friction.  lubrications and wear which were
formerly separated in different laboratories and different
people.

The names of subjects, and the names of groups of subjects
are not then agreed, precise or stable.  This living confusion
must make the life of those who decide policy and the
distribution of resources difficult.

(ii) My second criterion for classifying research usefulness,
is normally and widely discussed in terms of a simple
contrast between pure and applied.  This simplicity obscures
complex issues.  People constantly point out that
overcoming practical problems often requires research of
great theoretical interest, and that disinterested theoretical
research may turn out to have all kinds of unexpected
applications to practical problems.  Moreover, the range
from solving intellectual puzzles to the technological
development of specific products,—aircraft, computers,
insecticides, oil rigs,—is wide and should not be thought as
a simple linear continuum.

I comment on three suggested revisions of this common
Pure/Applied contrast.  The first shifts the whole criterion
away from what the researchers are thought to be doing to
their legal commitments.  The contrast then becomes
research for its own sake, as against Customer-Contractor
research; that is to say, we separate all research, whatever
the subject or purpose, for which someone is prepared to pay
in order to achieve specific results, from all other.  The
implications of drawing the line in this way are economic
and political.  Governments and foundation would still
support research for its own sake by giving salaries and
facilities to people whose job is to invent and carry out
research projects,—university staff and special institutes, for
example.  But for commercial or policy purposes,
companies, agencies and ministries would enter into clear
contracts with the lowest competent bidder, and expect clear



 



  results on time.  Customer-Contractor research would
become a much more commercial affair, and its efficiency in
theory would be guaranteed by the laws of market
economics.

Other ways of revising the pure/applied contrast are more
conventional and simply provide more steps along the
continuum.  'Pure' should be distinguished into 'Pure Basic'
which for the time being developing nations would do well
to avoid, and 'Strategic', that is, basic research which is
likely to have relevance to their problems.  The advantage of
this distinction would be to encourage 'basic' research in
areas which the industrialised nations neglect, but which
could be of direct interest to the developing countries,—for
example, in nutrition, in agriculture, in what is cat
'intermediate technology’ and so forth.

Equally, the 'applied’ end can be divided into two; research
of a general kind about practical matters, and highly specific
problems of the development of particular products,—the
'development' part in the phrase 'research and development'.

(iii) A third distinction is price.  Much academic research
costs very little; but some research is colossally expensive
Moon walks and sophisticated weaponry are only possible
for the governments of industrialised countries When
research needs cash, even modest cash, we have to face
questions of administrative control and of cost/benefit
estimates.  I shall argue below that one aim of less developed
countries should be to build up and employ organised
professions of specialised scientists.  The use of scarce
resources to train and employ as many scientists as possible
per unit of government funds seems to me one important
criterion to be added to others in choosing how to spend
research funds; in the short run many medium or small
projects,—with fairly tight controls,— would seem wiser
and more fruitful than a few expensive, but perhaps more
prestigious projects.

(iv) Some research is individual, and many of the best ideas
come to single minds working alone.  Yet clearly much of
the technology of most modern scientific research requires
both team work and organisation.  One comment that was



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