Back to the thesis
Francis Collins shakes his head in bewilderment as he flicks through the pages of his thesis. “At this point it looks very much like another language,” he says, looking with puzzlement at page 71, which contains far more equations than text. The PhD was on theoretical quantum chemistry, and had “absolutely no practical application”, Collins says. Looking at it now, “it does feel a little bit like this was another person”.
Collins was in his early 20s when he was studying for his doctorate at Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut, modelling how small groups of atoms interact. “A lot of what I did was pencil on paper, trying to solve really complicated calculus equations. It was a little lonely at times,” he says. Then, about halfway through his studies, he decided to quit his PhD and transfer to medical school. He ended up finishing the thesis in his spare time. “I spent many nights and many weekends trying to get this written out,” he says, with something of a grimace. “I made myself a schedule and tried to stick to it, with my little electric typewriter, banging away.”
The writing machines have changed, but the slog is the same. Completing a thesis is a huge undertaking for PhD students, and many struggle to get that far: only around 70% of UK students who embark on doctoral studies actually emerge with a PhD, and the rate is just 50% in the United States. Many of those who do finish move on to careers outside academia; even those who stay sometimes wish they'd spent more time writing papers — the currency of career progression — instead.
So what value does the thesis retain, and what lessons does completing one impart? To find out, Nature asked three prominent scientists to dig out their theses, thumb through the pages and reflect on what they — and the world — gained from them. What did they learn that could be of value to students who are writing up today? Their reflections, sometimes surprising, are recorded in three short films that accompany this article.
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