Women, science and the price of integrity

From the shadow of the Acropolis to the forefront of nuclear materials research, Professor Konstantina Lambrinou reflects on ambition, injustice and moral choice in male-dominated scientific institutions. Drawing on a celebrated career spanning international laboratories, leadership roles and hard-won recognition, she examines what it truly costs women to succeed without compromising integrity, and why remaining faithful to one’s principles remains essential for those who wish to lead without losing themselves

My biological life started in the shadow of the Acropolis, the ancient citadel perched on a weathered rock above the city of Athens, the capital of modern Greece. The Acropolis was home to the Parthenon, a temple dedicated to the goddess Athena, one of the twelve Olympians — the most important deities of the ancient Greek pantheon — and the divine personification of wisdom, courage and strategic warfare. Since childhood, I have felt a strong and inexplicable connection to the goddess Athena; for this reason, I believe the best way to preface my brief autobiography is to jot down a few lines describing some of the personality traits of this most important source of inspiration, so closely linked to my roots. After all, what inspires us and ‘puts our hearts on fire’ says a great deal about the constitution of our spirit — the subtle aspect of self that connects us to the divine.

Athena, born in full armour from the forehead of Zeus, the sky father and chief deity of the ancient Greek pantheon, was the patroness and protectress of the city of Athens, which took its name from the goddess. She was often referred to as Athena Promachos, leading soldiers into battle in a disciplined and strategic manner, in contrast to her brother Ares, god of war, who was notorious for his fiery and aggressive temperament and his delight in violence and bloodshed. Athena was believed to support only heroes fighting for a just cause, viewing war solely as a means of resolving unavoidable conflict. In my mind, the words that best describe the essence of this formidable goddess are wisdom, strategy, protection, courage and fairness.

Walking a path that honours such a divine essence comes with a price, and that price increases the closer one wishes to remain to the inconceivably high standards the goddess represents. Paying a price should not come as a surprise, as human beings are well acquainted with the sacrifices required to achieve their life goals. The higher the goal, the greater the sacrifices. An athlete awarded a gold medal at the Olympic Games, for example, will almost certainly have adopted a disciplined lifestyle of years of relentless training, personal sacrifice, physical pain and injury before stepping onto the highest podium of honour and recognition.

In the pursuit of scientific knowledge, intelligence, hard work and scholarly achievement alone do not suffice to honour the spirit of Athena if arrogance lurks in the shadows. The explanation is simple: scientists — even the most brilliant minds — should work from the premise that knowledge is vast and remain humble in its pursuit. The only Being inherently privileged with complete knowledge, including perfect understanding of the laws governing the universe, is God, for those who believe in God. Scientists are instead granted the exhilaration of discovery, the wonder of marvelling at the universe’s governing laws, and the opportunity to invent ways of making human life better, easier, safer and healthier.

Scientists are human, however, and self-confidence and pride in intellectual achievement can sometimes go hand in hand with arrogance. Athena was known to loathe and punish hubris; the fate of the talented mortal Arachne, whom she transformed into a spider after a weaving challenge, is a well-known example. The story illustrates the high moral standards imposed on those with intelligence: to enjoy the journey of discovery, learning and teaching others, while resisting excessive focus on personal achievement, as pride and arrogance ultimately endanger spiritual integrity.

Hearing the “call” of the goddess Athena from a young age, I developed a voracious appetite to learn and to understand the laws governing the universe and human behaviour. I greatly enjoyed learning at school, with interests ranging from philosophy, literature, languages and religion to mathematics, physics and chemistry. Overall, I would say that I had an immense love of symbols — both using them and deciphering them — a fascination that found its fullest expression in mathematics and, perhaps unsurprisingly, languages.

It took me some time to fathom this seemingly bipolar attraction to such different symbolic systems, but today I understand that letters are themselves symbols, used to construct words and phrases whose pronunciation produces sounds that convey meaning, both concrete and abstract, enabling human communication. For those familiar with the Holy Bible, one might recall that God ‘spoke the creation’; from a physics perspective and in my view, these spoken ‘words’ could be perceived as distinct vibrational frequencies, sufficiently powerful to generate ripples in the fabric of the all-encompassing void that preceded the moment of creation known as the Big Bang.

I was, unsurprisingly, considered a ‘nerd’ by my fellow pupils, but I never cared nor aspired to become particularly ‘popular’. In retrospect, I believe I was instinctively following the life path laid down before me by my spirit. At the end of my final year of high school, I successfully took the national university entrance examinations in mathematics, physics, chemistry and written essay, and began studying at the Department of Mining and Metallurgical Engineering at the National Technical University of Athens (NTUA). From the third year of my five-year study programme onwards, and alongside the mandatory courses, I chose electives in extractive metallurgy, thermodynamics and materials science.

I worked hard throughout my undergraduate studies, knowing even then that I would pursue postgraduate education abroad, where such programmes typically demand high grade point averages from applicants.

My efforts were rewarded when I received a Marie Curie Research Training Grant from the European Commission to pursue a PhD on SiC fibre-reinforced glass-ceramic matrix composites for aerospace applications, more specifically for the outer protection of space shuttles during atmospheric reentry. My doctoral research was completed at the Department of Materials Engineering (MTM) at KU Leuven in Belgium and focused on ceramic matrix composites (CMCs) and materials characterisation using techniques such as X-ray diffraction (XRD), scanning electron microscopy (SEM), electron probe microanalysis (EPMA) and transmission electron microscopy (TEM).

After almost two years of post-doctoral research, funded by a European Research & Training Network, on the structural integrity of ceramic multilayers and coatings — studied primarily through non-destructive techniques such as impulse excitation — again at the MTM department of KU Leuven, I began working full-time as a scientific collaborator at imec (the Research Centre on Microelectronics & Nanotechnology) in Leuven, Belgium. My research and development activities focused on microelectronics reliability, including the impact reliability of lead-free solders introduced in response to the RoHS directive (restriction of hazardous substances), which limited the use of lead (Pb) previously common in Pb-Sn solders. I recall spending long hours in clean rooms, becoming proficient in sophisticated techniques such as nanoprobing SEM for the electrical stressing of electronic devices.

At this stage of my career, I was deeply driven to succeed. I began working many additional hours, often leaving the laboratory after midnight, and deliberately took on demanding challenges that would allow me to prove myself and, perhaps, advance professionally. In retrospect, this was the point at which I began sacrificing increasing amounts of personal time in the pursuit of success. I remember vividly that during the group’s annual social outing, while my colleagues were resting and enjoying themselves, I remained in the clean room to perform the first successful in situ electromigration experiment on a copper (Cu) conductor line at 300°C, using a heating stage I had personally installed in the nanoprober SEM.

Did this advance my career? Surprisingly, it did not. It became apparent that not everyone is inclined to reward an intensely hardworking, intelligent and ambitious individual who operates at an unconventional pace and places work above social norms. Such individuals may even unsettle others, particularly group leaders who begin to fear for their own positions when faced with exceptional motivation and talent. This, of course, remains speculation, as it is impossible to know the precise thoughts of others, especially within a multicultural environment.

What I can speak to with certainty is what motivated me. I was seeking an opportunity to succeed on the basis of hard work, talent and intellectual capacity — a legitimate aspiration for any researcher — while remaining unwilling to compromise on two fronts: science, and authenticity of expression. The first meant a desire to engage deeply with the science itself, to understand and explain the mechanisms underlying in-service material degradation, rather than simply ‘ticking boxes’ on a consortium partner’s wish list. This stemmed from a fundamental drive to understand why things happen, and to find ways of improving products and processes in radical, sometimes unconventional, ways. It also reflected the exhilaration of discovery, the satisfaction of problem-solving and of going the extra mile, and the hope that genuine effort and contribution would be recognised.

“The most important question we must be prepared to answer during our pursuit of success is this: does our moral compass point to true north?”

The second principle meant refusing to cultivate artificial familiarity with superiors in order to advance. I wanted professional relationships to be genuine, free of ulterior motives. Looking back, I recognise that I may at times have been overly rigid, too narrowly focused on the work itself, and that I may have neglected certain interpersonal relationships that might have protected me from later injustice. At the time, however, I believed that in a meritocratic environment, scientific achievement should be judged by performance rather than personal preference.

Because I wished so strongly to succeed purely on merit, I avoided any behaviour that might be misinterpreted, including excessive deference or flattery towards authority. I now understand that this perspective was idealistic, and perhaps naïve. Human emotion cannot be fully separated from interaction, even within the ostensibly rational world of scientific research. When injustice arose, my response was anger followed by renewed determination, even to the extent of considering a complete change of research field. I was unable to accept or forgive unfairness. I believed that defending fairness wholeheartedly would ultimately prevail over injustice. Only later did I learn that light cannot exist without shadow in a universe governed by duality — light and dark, hot and cold, yin and yang, good and evil. In such conditions, human judgement is frequently shaped by emotion and impression rather than logic or fairness.

The consequence is a working environment governed by relative morality and constant compromise. When, then, is it time to move on? When enduring another day costs another fragment of self-respect. I moved on — and I do not regret it.

A unique opportunity in my career arose with the development of the MYRRHA test reactor at SCK CEN (the Belgian Nuclear Research Centre) in Mol, Belgium. MYRRHA is an accelerator-driven system (ADS) that uses liquid lead–bismuth eutectic (LBE) as both primary coolant and spallation target. Owing to the inherent corrosiveness of liquid LBE towards most structural and fuel-cladding steels, it is essential to understand — and where possible mitigate — the liquid-metal corrosion mechanisms responsible for the in-service degradation of the stainless steels selected for reactor construction.

I was recruited to study liquid-metal corrosion effects on MYRRHA candidate steels, contributing to the materials qualification programme for this Gen-IV lead-cooled fast reactor (LFR) system. As I had little prior exposure to corrosion science, the learning curve was steep — and so, too, was my development as a scientist. I began by designing experimental setups and methodologies to investigate aggressive steel corrosion mechanisms, including dissolution and pitting, under conservative conditions, thereby generating material-specific data required for calculating corrosion allowances during reactor design.

My research and development activities subsequently expanded to include the design of corrosion-resistant materials, such as compositionally tailored MAX phases, for specific reactor components including pump impellers, bushings and bearings. This work later transitioned into the development of accident-tolerant fuel (ATF) cladding materials for Gen-II/III light water reactors (LWRs). Driven by a continued desire to succeed, I worked intensely and submitted numerous research proposals, many of which were funded. This led to my role as coordinator of large-scale international collaborations — including H2020 IL TROVATORE, HORIZON SCORPION, I-NERI PERSEUS and the Westinghouse-led GAIN VOUCHER — involving academic and industrial partners from the European Union, the United States (including several national laboratories), Japan, the United Kingdom and Switzerland, all aimed at enhancing nuclear energy safety in the aftermath of the 2011 Fukushima Daiichi accident.

This all-consuming journey brought significant challenges, both personal and interpersonal. On a personal level, operating at maximum capacity for years on end forces one to confront physical limits, repeatedly approaching the brink of burnout, stepping back briefly to recover, and then pushing forward once more. On an interpersonal level, working as a dynamic and driven woman in a traditionally male-dominated field required me to confront the shadowed aspects of human behaviour. Put simply, I lost a degree of innocence and naivety but gained wisdom in return. I am now more accepting of human weakness, recognising that the level of ‘perfection’ any individual attains depends on the standards they are willing to impose upon themselves. Ultimately, people accept both the good and the bad, and I can reasonably expect no more than that.

After around ten years working in the demanding and intellectually rich world of nuclear materials at SCK CEN, academic recognition followed when the Dean of the School of Computing and Engineering at the University of Huddersfield offered me the position of Professor of Advanced Materials. Having spent approximately fifteen years within the academic sphere by that point, I accepted with enthusiasm, embarking on a new phase that combined teaching with research. While I remain most energised when immersed in research and innovation through collaboration with academia and industry, I also take great satisfaction in passing knowledge on to the next generation. I strive to guide young scientists not only in technical excellence but also in ethical conduct, encouraging them to work hard and to reach their better selves without fear or hesitation.

In my view, the role of mentor or supervisor extends beyond rigorous scientific guidance; it also carries a quasi-parental responsibility to protect and support those in one’s care when the need arises.

We have been told from a young age that ‘we need to pay the price to succeed’. This sounds like a perfectly fair statement, yet it carries dangers, depending on how that message is interpreted. The most important question we must be prepared to answer during our pursuit of success, without shame or remorse, is this: does our ‘moral compass’ point to ‘true north’, to the best of our understanding? Why is answering this question without hesitation more important than success itself? Because the purity of our spirit or soul is the highest achievement and the most valuable treasure any human being possesses. In my view, it is our strongest connection to the divine.

All the money and power in the world will offer little consolation if, in pursuing our goals, we lose our goodness and the courage to care for others. If we knowingly harm others and act unfairly in service of our own interests, there is nothing trivial we can do to lift the weight that settles on the heart. One recognises such failure each time one looks in the mirror. True repentance is always possible, but the road to redemption is far more arduous than most expect. It is no coincidence that civilisations across history have warned of the dangers of wrongdoing. Karma is not to be trifled with. From a physics perspective, human interactions involve the exchange of energy and follow the law of cause and effect. The image is familiar: throw a stone into a calm lake and concentric waves radiate outward from the point where the surface is broken.

When someone knowingly and intentionally harms an innocent person to serve their own agenda, the victim will undoubtedly suffer, even if the perpetrator escapes social punishment. Yet the waves of negatively charged energy, after striking their intended target, return again and again as a reverberating echo, on a subtler energetic plane, to the person who set them in motion. The ancient Egyptian goddess of truth, balance, harmony, morality and justice, Ma’at, was said to weigh the hearts of the dead against her feather before granting entry to the afterlife. Only the truly virtuous, it was believed, possessed hearts light enough to pass the test.

“All the money and power in the world will offer little consolation if, in pursuing our goals, we lose our goodness and the courage to care for others.”

In the competitive world of academic excellence and cutting-edge research, power struggles are very real, particularly when institutional recognition translates into positions of authority — group leaders, institute directors — and often higher salaries and influence over others. While I have never feared competition, being a natural “go-getter”, I remain wary of environments where the game is played unfairly and meritocracy is quietly abandoned. As a woman in a man’s world, I was often passed over in favour of less competent, less diligent but more aggressive male colleagues who were willing to ‘play dirty’. To my surprise, the system itself often rewarded such individuals, whether because they reinforced male dominance in conservative sectors or because they were adept at whispering into the ears of senior figures what those figures wanted to hear.

I can almost hear the familiar refrain: ‘wake up, this is the real world; you are too old to be naïve’. While I hold genuine respect for pragmatic people — many of them highly successful — I struggle with the idea of simply ‘throwing in the moral towel’.

This brings me to a central dilemma faced by many ambitious, capable and hard-working women who have been wronged: do we become the same? Do we suppress our caring, sensitive and nurturing qualities in order to survive and succeed? Following in the footsteps of the goddess Athena, I have no hesitation in going to battle for a just cause. I have done so on more than one occasion and have often been vindicated in the face of overt male aggression and unfair treatment, including bullying. Women must stand up for their rights, because no one else will do it for them.

What I refused to do, however, was favour women over men in positions for which I was responsible. During the recruitment of PhD students, for example, I always sought to appoint the best candidate, irrespective of gender, skin colour, religion or country of origin. Justice may be blind, but science should be blind as a bat when it comes to rewarding genius, talent, drive and competence. I would have felt deeply uneasy had I favoured a less qualified woman over a more capable man simply because women have historically been treated unfairly. Injustice is not corrected by replicating it in another form. For me, the so-called ‘battle of the sexes’ has outlived its usefulness.

I fully recognise that in some cultures women are still treated as second-class citizens, denied equal rights and fundamental freedoms such as the right to work or to speak freely. These injustices must be corrected with urgency, and once women recognise their collective power, they will fight for freedom. Some struggles — the truly meaningful ones, for freedom and for the right to exist without abuse — are worth pursuing to the very end in defence of a life worth living. In everyday, peaceful contexts, however, we must remember that we are all human beings, not defined solely by gender. We need to recognise each other’s strengths, offer support where it is needed, and work together for a better future.

In a universe defined by duality, yin (female) and yang (male) are both essential to a complete whole, not only in society but within each individual. Everyone must learn to awaken the warrior within when treated unjustly, while also remembering the healer when compassion is required — preserving our humanity and resisting the pull towards unnecessary cruelty.

Everyone loves a success story. We all want to celebrate those who have made it, and we are quick to turn them into role models. Yet we need to be forewarned before embarking on the treacherous journey to the ‘top’. Even if we manage to resist the sirens tempting us to do ‘whatever it takes’ to succeed and find ourselves enjoying high levels of responsibility and well-deserved recognition, we must be prepared to sacrifice far more than we might expect in order to sustain such positions.

Very often, there is no such thing as ‘free time’, weekends or holidays. Arguments about work–life balance quickly fall away when you are required to remain constantly at the forefront of the ‘battle’, ensuring that the people in your team or consortium can continue their work without distraction from legal, administrative, coordination or reporting burdens, or from the demands of defending that work to funding authorities. The ‘stars and stripes’ may look impressive, but they must be defended with inner strength and courage, frequently at the expense of personal wellbeing and private life.

The greater the success, the higher the price one is asked to pay. Think carefully before saying, “I want that.” If, after reflection, the fire in your heart still says, ‘I am not scared — I am doing it’, then go forward.

One final thought is worth quiet consideration. After walking away from a ‘battle’ in which we were badly and unfairly wounded by others acting from envy, hidden agendas or ill intent, we must eventually find the strength to forgive. Harbouring resentment is poison to the soul. Someone once told me, “Your enemies are your cosmic best friends”, and over time I have come to recognise the truth of this. In many ways, my greatest strength emerged when certain individuals — particularly poor leaders — treated me unfairly and forced me to become the strongest version of myself.

While we must never retreat from battles that threaten our sovereignty or sense of self-worth, once the dust has settled and we have emerged, we need to begin the process of healing. That process starts with tending to our wounded hearts.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Produced with support from Professor Konstantina Lambrinou, Professor of Advanced Materials in the School of Computing & Engineering at the University of Huddersfield, UK. Professor Lambrinou’s research spans nuclear materials, corrosion science and advanced structural materials, with previous roles in international research centres across Europe. She has led and coordinated major collaborative programmes involving academic, industrial and governmental partners and is committed to mentoring the next generation of scientists with a strong emphasis on ethical practice and scientific integrity.

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