Scientific writing reveals and reflects research practices, and the image of research which emerges from scientific papers should worry researchers and

citizens, for a number of reasons.

Scientific papers buzz with a lot of noise: “it is clear that much additional work will be required before a complete understanding of …”, “it has long been known that …”, “very few studies have been conducted on the effect of …” and so on, creating verbosity and dullness.

Because articles are written in the third person, authors appear absent from their papers: who writes the results, analyses the samples or speculates, then? Most often, a spectral “it” (“it might be suggested”) or an adjective “putative” (“the putative role of”) seems to be responsible.

^{Picture by Georges Waysand}

Some other obscure servants are also at work, like mice: “after analyzing the samples, the mice were given a cafeteria-type diet”. The same players are also seemingly forced into self-surgery: “after opening its stomach and closing the wound, the dog was placed in a cage”.

Researchers also allow themselves to speculate wildly by accumulating modifiers: “it might be possible to envisage further research on the putative key role of a on b”. In research proposals, they are not afraid of using hype: “The proposed conference will thus also stimulate high-calibre personnel to work together to the benefit of European research in all fields of science.” Proposals teem with promises to “disseminate best-practices” (what about good ones first?), to enhance cooperation, skills, etc. Will the proposers meet the expectations they have impersonally raised?

Such “distinctive” features of the scientific style are, to me, much more than stylistic flaws. They are features of “hedging”, providing evidence that researchers do not commit themselves to their writing and do not take responsibility for their claims – a major obstacle to building trust with society.

These examples of scientific writing are segments borrowed from the literature and reproduced by generations of researchers, either because scientific ideology lures them to believe it makes their writing look much more scientific, or just because they have not fully mastered the English language and such ready-to-write artifices are indispensable linguistic crutches. By using them, researchers do not construct their discourse knowingly: the mental and intellectual operations which are at the core of the scientific activity and which should be revealed in the choice of words (especially verbs), constructions and links, and the key competences expected from a researcher remain hidden. Researchers’ capacity to formulate a problem, a question and hypothesis, their capacity to critically analyse their own work and the work of others are not fully in evidence.

Finally these features of the scientific style of writing reveal a lack of quality of the research. Why speak about excellence when quality has been left in the shadow for so many years? Quality criteria are well established and concern all aspects of scientific activity from the formulation of problems and hypotheses to the communication of results. Still, reintroducing them seems a huge task asking for careful pedagogy and preparation. Researchers’ responsibility is thus challenged both in the training of younger generations and in their willingness and ability to communicate effectively with their fellow citizens.

Scientific writing and communication need urgent overhauling, with one objective: to release the hidden researcher!