The Baltimore Case: A Trial of Politics, Science, and Character

by Daniel J. Kevles

The most significant clash of science and principle in our time-a dramatic witch hunt played out in the scientific arena. David Baltimore won the Nobel Prize in Medicine in 1975, at the age of thirty-seven. A leading researcher and a respected public figure, Baltimore rose steadily through the ranks of the scientific community; in 1990, he was named president of the world-renowned Rockefeller University. Less than a year and a half later, Baltimore was forced to resign amid public allegations of fraud. Daniel Kevles's penetrating investigation of what became known as the Baltimore case reveals a scientific inquisition in which Baltimore and Thereza Imanishi-Kari, former colleagues at MIT, were unjustly accused and vilified in the name of scientific integrity and the public trust. While never accused of wrongdoing himself, Baltimore had staunchly defended the work and integrity of Imanishi-Kari when her findings came under attack from postdoctoral fellow Margot O'Toole. Backed by fervent fraud-seekers at the National Institutes of Health, a congressman eager to unearth scientific misconduct, and a media gone out of control, O'Toole's whistle-blowing played perfectly to a public that did not fully understand the methods of science. Kevles's eloquent and absorbing work vindicates Baltimore and Imanishi-Kari after their decade-long battle. But Kevles also raises critical questions about the way science works and about the complex discord between the public's right to accountability and the scientist's need for autonomy in the laboratory.

Genres: Science, Nonfiction, History, Biology

509 pages, Hardcover

First published September 1, 1998

About the author

Daniel J. Kevles (born 2 March 1939 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) is an American historian of science. He is currently the Stanley Woodward Professor of History at Yale University (a position he assumed in 2001) and an Adjunct Professor of Journalism at Columbia University. He was previously a professor of the humanities at the California Institute of Technology, where he also served as faculty chair, from 1964 to 2001.

His research interests have been primarily on the history of science in America, the interactions between science and society, and environmentalism. He is best known for his survey works, which generalize large amounts of historical information into readable and coherent narratives. His books include The Physicists (1978), a history of the American physics community, In the Name of Eugenics (1985), currently the standard text on the history of eugenics in the United States, and The Baltimore Case (1998),[1] a study of accusations of scientific fraud.

The mathematician Serge Lang subsequently waged an unsuccessful campaign to prevent Kevles from being granted tenure at Yale, claiming that Kevles' book was too sympathetic to David Baltimore.[2] Although sharply criticized by Lang and some others as well,[3] it was generally praised for meticulous scholarship and detailed reporting.[4][5][6]

In 2001 Kevles was awarded the Sarton Medal by the History of Science Society. Recently he has been working on a history of the uses of intellectual property in relation to the life sciences from the eighteenth century to the present.

Reviews

[Anna Savage · Rating 3 out of 5]

If you don't live in the inbred world of scheming, backstabbing unprofessionalism that academia can sometimes be, you might not appreciate or even believe that this is a dead-on portrayal of the scientific community, but I do, and it is. The most remarkable part of this story is that -- although major allegations of fraud presented to the right people at the right time turned one lab's dispute into a national trial -- all of the precipitating events are commonplace, perhaps even typical characteristics of American research labs. Postdocs accused of unfair treatment due to personal involvements with senior scientists? Colleagues with competing interests spreading rumors and rushing to judgment without knowing any of the facts? Frustration over failed experiments and lack of career advancement leading to irrational, surreptitious behavior? Senior authors being so distanced from bench work that they have no idea whether data may be inaccurate? Check, check, check and check. I'm not saying that these scenarios lead to fraudulent acts of science, in this case or in any other lab. But the personal costs and myopic dedication necessary for survival make extreme infighting and emotional turmoil normal components of the academic world. This particular conflict only drew headlines due to the political climate in the late 1980s regarding regulation of publicly funded science, not because of any aberrant behavior.

I have no idea whether fraud was committed by the central figures of this book, intentionally or otherwise. Kevles has clearly decided which version of events he believes and makes every attempt to convince the reader of this perspective, which has the converse effect of making you look for ways in which he might be exaggerating or unfairly portraying events. He also provides technical detail to such a degree that I had to re-read more paragraphs than not. I'm not sure that the nuances of identifying antibody types and subtypes that form the central controversy of the book are something that anyone without a background in immunology could (or should want to) grasp. At the same time, I don't think such knowledge is necessary to appreciate the complexity of the situation or the ridiculous way in which controversy over the specificity of a reagent within one lab turned into a national scandal that took ten years of investigations, subcommittee hearings, and New York Times articles before it was resolved. It's a compelling story, and for me the fascination far outweighed the tedium and made it well worth the long read.

[dejah_thoris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ok, just from the size of the book, this isn't one for the casual reader. This also isn't one of those books I'd recommend to someone without a strong science background, preferably in biology or microbiology. The first couple of chapters that discuss the crucial experiment at the crux of this controversy are challenging to understand and that evidence will be referred to frequently throughout the text. So, if you're not comfortable with scientific terms or good at remembering them, there is a glossary in the back to jog your memory, but be prepared to read the first couple of chapters that cover the experiment more than once because you'll really want to understand the central argument before the barrage of people start marching all over the timeline.

Duly noted, if you can follow the science the scandal is amazing. I found it doubly interesting because I remember John Dingall campaigning in our area of Michigan in the 1990s when I was still in high school and didn't understand all the ruckus. Kevles account leaves no stone unturned either, so be prepared to sit through multiple accounts of testimony, evidence, and continually invented charges against Imannishi-Kari. Overall, not bad, but tends to tediousness.

[Rossie · Rating 4 out of 5]

In many ways, this book was fascinating. If the author is correct and there was no fraud, it is a tale of just how fallible our legal, moral, and scientific judgments (both individual and collective) can be. I will admit that I didn't pay enough attention to every nuance of the evidentiary arguments to be really convinced that the author is right that Imanishi-Kari's was innocent and O'Toole/Maplethorpe/Hadley were deluded. I think he makes this hard, because he tends to drop unfavorable characterizations of these players -- not all of which I think are fair -- throughout the book. And I didn't give enough attention to that because I think the book's just overflowing with unnecessary, unhelpful detail. He is an historian and a professor, and while I appreciate his inclination to justify his narrative with references to the record, I think a better writer would have made better judgments about what to exclude.

[Scott · Rating 2 out of 5]

Written in such a way that someone not familiar with academic research (with it's massive egos and petty behavior) might actually think there was something going on here. For me, it's quite the opposite. This sort of thing happens every day, and I'm not sure why this one became (literally) a federal case.