Tomorrow, I sit as an examiner in a Master of Science thesis defence. The student worked for two years on a complex, original piece of research, and a month ago delivered 100 pages of text and figures and tables for dissection by committee. His defence is imminent, and he is probably now descending into the bowels of panic, and may not sleep until it is all over. We cannot give any indication, right now, that he has done a splendid job. The sweat is part of it.
The thesis defence is a narrow doorway that most in science must squeeze through at least once, the hounds of academia snapping furiously at their butts. To earn a PhD, you may have to go through it a second or even a third time. It is terrifying. You work for two years or five years or ten years on some obscure topic, transcribing results from lab books or post it notes, refabricating what you neglected to write down as it happened. Then you stand in a room before a group of professors whose job is to attack. Attack you and what you wrote. Attack all those years you worked. Attack your logic and your ability to express yourself. Attack the way you look, the way you speak, your clothes, your friends, your ...
At the first PhD defence I attended, wanting to witness such a confrontation before enduring it myself, the candidate was asked, "Can you relate your results to the persecution of Jews in Nazi Germany?" After agonizing hesitation, the student found the right answer, a respectful "No." Then he faced a second examiner who was clearly drunk, who thought the whole thesis was based on flawed ideas and a complete waste of time. After several hours, most behind closed doors away from the public eye, the student emerged successful. He had just 24 hours to make the required changes to his 400 page opus because he had a nonrefundable flight to return to his wife and kids. This was before word processors. He had to retype complete pages, or insert previously typed pages into the typewriter and wriggle them around until the letters lined up so that he could type over the original lines, which were painted over with White Out. He did not have the luxury of sleep after his defence.
My own MSc thesis defence is not even a blur, it is obliterated from my mind. I only recall standing in the hallway afterwards, waiting for the profs to pass judgement, a condemned man waiting for the gallows. Other students passed me in the hallway, but none made eye contact. I realize that I must have gone through the standard routine and given a ten minute summary of my research. The examining committee took turns grilling me, twice around the table. I don't remember the questions or the answers, only the overwhelming feeling that it needed to be over as quickly as possible.
The memories of my PhD defence are much clearer. In Europe, it is a public event attended by your family, friends and colleagues. The formal rituals, processions of professors in robes and mortar boards, my own tuxedo and the dresses of my female colleagues, amused me greatly. Unlike Canadian defences, which go on for hours, the six examiners had only 48 minutes to attack me and my work. After my brief presentation, I used up ten minutes with a verbose, meandering answer to the first question, to the horror of my supervisor, who was signalling me to shut up. The next examiner focused his interrogation entirely on details from one page, obviously the only one he had read.
Since then, I've been the supervisor, the ordinary committee member, and the external examiner. As supervisor, you are defending your academic child, aware that the quality of your mentorship is being evaluated by the board more than the quality of the thesis. As a committee member, you usually don't understand the thesis very well, and try to ask questions that won't reveal to the student or the supervisor that you are a complete ignoramus. The external examiner function is even weirder; you were not involved in the research at all, and are invited to provide an impartial assessment. You are an expert but a stranger; the reputation of the university, the department, the supervisor, the committee and the student are on the line. If you don't praise the thesis, they will hate you.
Everyone sits in the examination room, playing their role. The student is the focus, everyone is actually on his or her side, but the student believes everyone is the enemy. They emerge feeling attacked by lions in a coliseum, academic limb torn from academic limb. Rationally, they know that if the thesis was inadequate, they would never be allowed to defend. But that doesn't count for much when you hear teeth snapping in your face and smell that rabid academic breath.
Tomorrow, everyone but the student knows that this thesis will pass, and that a Master of Science degree is certain for this bright and happy young man. Hopefully, the trauma will not discourage him from a life in science. I hope he will join us on the dark side, but don't expect an invitation to the party afterwards.
