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PAUL BERG
There is more than one man dubbed the “father of genetic engineering,” but if there were such a thing as a DNA test for banal metaphors, we’re betting that Paul Berg will emerge as the real dad. Dr. Berg is the Cahill Professor of Biochemistry, Emeritus, at Stanford University. He was attracted to graduate study at Western Reserve University after reading a series of groundbreaking papers issued from the biochemistry department, led by the late Harland Wood. After receiving his Ph.D. in biochemistry in 1952, Dr. Berg began a fruitful career that included election to the National Academy of Sciences before he was forty and culminated with the 1980 Nobel Prize for chemistry. He earned the Nobel for his pioneering work in recombinant DNA science. Responding to concerns about the safety of his work, Dr. Berg spearheaded a moratorium on, and examination of, genetic experiments, culminating in the 1975 Asilomar Conference, which determined that recombinant DNA science can proceed safely. In 1991, Dr. Berg was picked to chair the U.S. Human Genome Project Scientific Advisory Committee.
Science is not easy. Notebooks are filled with experiments that didn’t work.
Successful scientists, more often than not, choose the path that leads to major breakthroughs. I sometimes refer to it as a “nose” for the right way to go.
You must have the passion to come in and work long hours, oftentimes without succeeding. When I was a graduate student, I wanted to do research more than anything. I spent long hours at the lab. I worked evenings. I worked on weekends, always trying to move ahead and solve the problems that were left the night before.
Success is a very heady experience.
I’m often trying to encourage research people in my lab. I’ve developed different tricks. One of my favorites is to discuss an experiment with them and to bet on the outcome. I often take what I’m reasonably convinced will be the losing side. If the experiment goes well, I get to pay off. The researcher gets a little boost.
Harland Wood was just a remarkable guy, and everybody who knew him, loved him. So you couldn’t help but try to emulate him, or at least try to live up to his standards.
The Asilomar meeting really was a historic event. But if you ask now if it’s a model for being able to resolve other kinds of science public-policy issues, the answer is probably not. That was a unique occasion. The issue was clearly safety. Safety could be evaluated in terms of the kinds of risk you could imagine. On the other hand, today, we’re debating embryonic stem cells—not an issue of risk. That’s an issue of faith, religion, and values. There’s no way those kinds of differences can be resolved by getting together and talking. We’ve been doing that for three years. It’s been impossible to shake people from their bedrock faith that stem cells are immoral.
The public must have a huge say in the application of scientific knowledge, but not in its acquisition. Some say that, because the public is funding science, it should be able to decide against certain areas of scientific discovery. There is an unfortunate concern that is expressed as, “Please don’t open doors. We don’t want to know what’s on the other side. We’re better off not knowing.” If people believe that ignorance is better than knowledge, then we’re in bad shape.
I believe embryonic stem cell research is an imperative. I think we must move on it, because of the potential it has for being able to alleviate life-threatening diseases for hundreds of thousands of people.
I learned a long time ago that there is no end to what-ifs.
People grant Nobel Prize winners with infinite intelligence, wisdom, and insight. That’s so overblown that it’s been an amusement to me. In a Nobel Prize winner’s specialty, they’re incomparable. Outside that specialty, they’re plain old ordinary folks with the same kind of dumb ideas and dumb viewpoints.
I once had an experience at a dinner party. I sat next to a woman from Hollywood. She’s quite a prominent woman. We had a wonderful conversation. My son was in the theater business, and we talked a lot about theater. We talked about art. She happened to be a major art collector. We had a wonderful evening, and, when she left, we acknowledged that we enjoyed talking to each other. She came running back five minutes later and told me she was terribly upset, because I had never mentioned that I was a Nobel Prize winner. And I said, “What difference did that make?” 
As told to Joseph Malcolm McClain
Photograph by Glenn Matsumura
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