On the Genesis of Technoscience: a Case Study of German Agricultural Education

On the Genesis of Technoscience: A Case Study of German Agricultural Education

Jonathan Harwood University of Manchester Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021

Though many are agreed that “technoscience” is a signiªcant phenomenon, little systematic attention has yet been paid to the circumstances under which it has emerged. Technoscience is conceptualized here as the outcome of a process of convergence in which technological knowledge acquires many of the characteristics of scientiªc knowledge while the latter shifts in the opposite direction. The analytical problem is then a matter of understanding why such “drift” has occurred at particular times and places. The drift of higher technical education toward science has been observed in a variety of domains including engineering and medicine, but in this paper I identify such a trend in late nineteenth and early twentieth century agricultural education, with particular reference to Bavaria. The process is interpreted using a model of institutional dynamics loosely based upon Bourdieu’s concept of the academic “ªeld.” The contributors to this volume are agreed that technoscience is a signi- ªcant phenomenon deserving analysis. For historians one of the most interesting questions is necessarily: under what circumstances has technoscience emerged? Few answers have as yet been proposed to this question, and they have necessarily been brief and quite general. In this paper I will offer a more systematic explanation based on a book-length study of the evolution of German higher agricultural education from the late nineteenth century to the Second World War (Harwood 2005). The central problem in the book is to account for the fact that the curriculum and research conducted at some agricultural colleges was more tightly tied to “practice” while at others the approach to problem-solving was more heavily science-based. Moreover, over time there was a tendency Of several contributors to this volume who offered helpful comments on a draft of this paper, I would especially like to thank Ursula Klein and John Dettloff. Thanks, too, go to Skali Sigurdssou for extensive feedback.

329 330 On the Genesis of Technoscience for the more practically oriented institutions to “drift” closer to science. The explanation for these phenomena, as I will argue below, lies in the interaction among three interest groups: academic staff at the colleges, state governments, and user-groups within the local agricultural economy. In the ªnal section of the paper I will illustrate how this model works by comparing Bavaria’s two agricultural institutions at that time: a “scien- tiªc” one at Munich and a “practical” one at Weihenstephan. Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 Before looking in detail at this process, however, we need to address several conceptual issues. To begin with, there is the meaning of the term “technoscience” itself. Often the term is used to mean little more than the fusion of science and technology as forms of knowledge: i.e., the result of a process in which their differences have become eroded (e.g., Hong 1999). For John Pickstone the term has a more speciªc meaning; technoscience entails the making of “knowledge commodities,” albeit of diverse kinds (Pickstone 2000). Such commodities would include naturally occurring species of plants and animals, analytical methods, and artiªcially synthe- sized entities, all of which were of both scholarly and utilitarian interest. Characteristic of all of them, he argues, is that they undermine the cate- gorical distinction between “science” and “technology,” embracing tech- nologies highly dependent on science, forms of science highly dependent on technology, or forms of knowledge which are perceived at one and the same time by scientists as “fundamental” and by engineers or industrialists as useful. Both the general meaning of the term, as well as Pickstone’s more speciªc usage, suggest that (since the mid nineteenth century at least) technoscience can be seen as the outcome of a process of convergence in which scientiªc knowledge acquires some of the characteristics of technology while technological knowledge shifts in the opposite direction.1 If so, we need to focus upon the process of convergence and what drives it. Although most recent discussions of technoscience (including almost all of those in this volume) address only one aspect of this process—what we might call the “technicization” of science—in this paper my concern is instead with the changing character of technological knowledge and practice, namely the drift toward science-based research and teaching in agriculture. If we are to study technological drift, however, we need to be clear about the nature of technological knowledge itself. Whether we think of

1. Obviously this conception—as well as the related notions that technoscience is a “hybrid” subject or that it represents the “fusion” of science and technology—can only ap- ply to a relatively recent period in which science and technology were already separately institutionalized. As Klein’s paper in this volume shows, it would make no sense to speak of convergence or fusion in eighteenth century chemistry since that discipline was constituted by reference to medicine and the economy from its inception. Perspectives on Science 331

technoscience as the blending of science and technology or merely as a closer linkage between the two, in each case both parties to the equation are portrayed as homogeneous (if only for convenience, given the purpose at hand). This tendency has probably been encouraged by the sustained attention given by historians of technology during the 1970s and 1980s to the demarcation of “science” from “technology” as bodies of knowledge.2

But at the same time it is also clear from the historical literature that tech- Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 nological knowledge—e.g., as institutionalized in engineering colleges since the early nineteenth century—has actually been a highly diverse category, with some forms much closer in character to scientiªc knowledge than others (e.g., Vincenti 1990, Ferguson 1992). In this paper, too, I distinguish between “scientiªc” and “practical” forms of problem-solving in the technological disciplines. Characteristic of the “scientiªc” approach to problem-solving is that academics working in this tradition took scientiªc knowledge as their model, albeit in a variety of ways. For example, they sometimes took their research questions from the basic sciences and attempted to solve them through application to data or problems from the practical realm. In other cases they took their research problems from the practical realm but were convinced that their solution lay merely in the correct application of scientiªc theory. (An example of this category might be the Norwegian, Vilhelm Bjerknes, who, during the early part of his career in meteorology, drew upon his original training in theoretical physics in order to develop a precise and quantitative mechanics of the atmosphere from which he hoped it would be possible to predict future atmospheric states.3) Yet others were enamored with the methodological apparatus of the sciences, making a point in their research or teaching of deploying the techniques, concepts, laws, data, and instruments from one or other basic discipline. Thus there were a number of forms which the “scientiªc” approach to problem-solving might take (suggesting that we might do well to think of technoscience as a population of cognitively distinct forms of knowledge rather than as a unitary entity.)

2. See the literature discussed in Staudenmaier 1985. Since the aim of this literature was to fend off a well-known form of epistemological imperialism which has deªned technology as merely applied science, these historians argued that technology is just as complex as science but that the aims of science and technology are different and that much of the knowledge upon which technology draws does not come from the sciences. 3. Interestingly, as Bjerknes became involved in weather forecasting, he gradually aban- doned his earlier theoretical aims, and his approach to meteorology became less deductive and more empirical and qualitative in order that he could better meet the needs of farmers, ªshermen and the military. In my terminology, therefore, he moved from a scientiªc approach toward a practical one. See Kranakis 1992 whose account is based on the work of Robert Marc Friedman. 332 On the Genesis of Technoscience

At the other end of the spectrum were those academics whose approach was strongly practice-oriented. This group generally took their research questions from the practical domain, and in attempting to solve them, they often drew in part upon theories and methods from the basic sciences, though without assuming that these alone would be sufªcient for a solution. Instead these academics were attentive to what was both economi- cally feasible and practically realistic under the particular circumstances in Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 which their “clients” in the practical domain were working. (An example of this type of problem-solver is the design-engineer whose inventions must take into account not only scientiªc and technical possibilities but also the practical circumstances in which the artifact will be manufactured and used as well as economic—and sometimes aesthetic—constraints.) On other occasions, however, solutions were derived merely from empirical experience or from modifying existing technical practices, with no re- course to scientiªc knowledge. Like its “scientiªc” counterpart, therefore, the “practical” approach also embraced a variety of speciªc strategies, but common to all of them was the subordinate role assigned to science in the problem-solving process. Notice that when I describe an institution’s orientation as “scientiªc,” I do not mean that its staff were necessarily uninterested in problems of “practice.” On the contrary, many were, but the point is that they regarded science as by far the most important element in the solution to such problems. Conversely, when I describe an institution’s orientation as “practical,” I do not mean that its staff were either ignorant of, or made no use of, scientiªc theories, methods, concepts, etc. Instead their staff regarded science as just one resource among many for the solution of practical problems. Thus to use the language familiar to historians of technology, we might say that “scientiªc” institutions embodied the notion of technology as applied science while “practical” ones saw something analo- gous to “design” as the essence of technical innovation. From another an- gle, “scientiªc” and “practical” institutions held differing conceptions of the proper relationship between academe and user-groups in the wider economy. At “scientiªc” institutions the nature of problems and accept- able solutions were deªned primarily by academics, users playing a relatively passive role. At “practical” ones, in contrast, users played a far more active role, deªning both problems to be solved and workable solutions. Once we recognize the existence of such diversity among technological knowledges, we can begin to ask how the “scientiªc” variant emerged. And in so doing we gain a handle, in part at least, on the problem of the genesis of technoscience. But what do we know so far about this genesis? Although it is occasionally suggested that technoscience is a product of the last few decades, Perspectives on Science 333

this view ignores earlier instances of what might equally be regarded as “technoscience.”4 As the papers in this volume by Ursula Klein and An- drew Pickering demonstrate, for example, various areas of eighteenth and late nineteenth century chemistry were integrally concerned with, broadly speaking, economic problems. And those historians who have developed more general accounts of the origins of technoscience are agreed. Hong,

for example, sees the convergence of science and technology since the Re- Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 naissance as taking place in three arenas: (1) the emergence of the experimental method brought scientists and technologists together through a common interest in instruments; (2) the increased status of the artist- engineer made social contact with natural philosophers possible, as did the formation from the late seventeenth century of institutions where they might meet (coffee-houses, salons, pubs); and (3) “hybrid” individuals in the nineteenth century drew equally upon both science and technology in their work (e.g., the early electrical engineers).5 Pickstone, on the other hand, emphasizes the importance of late nineteenth century institutions which fostered collaboration—between academe and either industry or government (sometimes both)—in promoting the formation of technoscience (Pickstone 2000). While acknowledging occasional such arrange- ments as early as the eighteenth century (e.g., in voyages of discovery which brought together naturalists, government patrons, and commercial interests), he argues that they have only become predominant in the twentieth. There is little doubt, therefore, that instances of technoscience go back well before 1900. What these preliminary attempts to sketch the emergence of technoscience have not yet attempted, however, is to identify the speciªc kinds of circumstances which have fostered those collaborations from which technoscience has emerged. In what follows I will show how the study of regional economic and political conditions, along with the institutional dynamics of the higher education system, occasionally led to the formation of a “technoscientiªc” form of teaching and research at some agricultural colleges ca. 1900.

4. During the 1990s a number of writers on science policy have argued that radically new forms of knowledge are emerging, with discipline-oriented basic research being dis- placed by problem-oriented research which is conducted in contexts of application. The authors of one such work, for example, though not using the term “technoscience” as such, remark in passing that the “distinction between [science and technology as forms of knowledge] is becoming in most regards highly questionable” (Gibbons et al, 1994, p. 24; see also Shinn 2002, p. 605). Critics have dismissed these and similar claims as historically uninformed since they overlook the existence of comparable forms of knowledge in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Weingart 1997; Shinn 1999; Weingart 2001). 5. Hong 1999. On the social status of early modern artist-engineers and natural philosophers, see the paper in the previous issue by Gideon Freudenthal (2005). 334 On the Genesis of Technoscience

1. “Science” and “practice” in agricultural higher education The institutions of higher agricultural education in Germany during the period in question were exceedingly diverse, not least in their formal organization. Eight of them, for example, were agricultural departments in universities; four were independent agricultural colleges (one of them at Weihenstephan); and the last was an agricultural faculty at the engineering college in Munich. In this section, however, I will focus on several Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 other differences among them—e.g., their demonstration facilities, the structure of their teaching programs, and certain features of their research activity—which provide clues as to their orientations toward science and practice. In terms of facilities for teaching and research, all of these institutions possessed science laboratories, but they were very unequally equipped with facilities used for demonstrating agricultural practices in teaching or for investigating them in research. Thus almost all of the colleges had their own model farm, but very few university departments did (a fact which prompted concern that academics at the latter were in danger of withdrawing into the splendid isolation of the ivory tower). And although all institutions possessed experimental ªelds, these varied enormously in scale, varying from less than one hectar (e.g., at Munich) to over 100 elsewhere. In addition, some colleges (e.g., Weihenstephan) beneªted from the existence nearby of state agricultural institutions which were afªliated to the college and thus offered additional facilities for practice-based teaching and research. Teaching programs at these institutions varied in terms of the qualiªcations offered, the entry requirements for students, and the structure of the curriculum. Two kinds of qualiªcation were offered, and the differences between them illustrate clearly the distinctions, both intellec- tual and social, which are still drawn today between what is called “education” and “training.” The more academic of these took three years and was of higher status. Students who had completed the full nine years of secondary school and passed the Abitur examination (the standard prerequi- site for university admission) were entitled to embark upon this course, even when they had no practical experience of agriculture. A relatively large amount of time in the curriculum was devoted to the basic sciences, and graduates generally took up jobs in teaching or as administrators, either in government or in private-sector agricultural organizations. The more practically oriented qualiªcation took two years and devoted more attention to agricultural subjects and less to the basic sciences. Students admitted to this program had generally passed only an intermediary examination after six years of secondary school (mittlere Reife, which entitled them to study vocational subjects but not at a university) and were ex- Perspectives on Science 335

pected to have practical experience of agriculture prior to entry. Graduates of this program often went on to run their own farms or to manage large estates. (Before the First War the more “scientiªcally” oriented Munich offered only the three-year degree while Weihenstephan offered the more practical two-year qualiªcation.) Even within a given type of degree, however, some curricula were more

“scientiªc” than others. At some institutions, for example, ªrst year stu- Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 dents took courses exclusively in basic sciences (and sometimes economics) as these were thought to provide a foundation upon which agricultural subjects would later build. At others, by contrast, the sciences were conceived as “ancillary” subjects: in their ªrst year students took not only sciences but also forestry, animal-breeding and other agricultural subjects. Here the aim was to familiarize students right from the start with agricultural problems so that they were equipped to gain maximal beneªt from the basic sciences. The varying emphasis placed upon practical matters can also be seen in the teaching of a practical subject like farm management. Although it was generally taught at the universities before the First War, many had no post speciªcally dedicated to it. In contrast, all of the colleges (including Weihenstephan) had dedicated posts, latest by 1910. Apart from the structure of the curriculum, the manner in which some standard subjects were taught could be more or less removed from “practice.” At the universities (as at Munich), for example, the courses in basic sciences offered to agriculture students were the same ones provided for science (or medical) students and were taught—with no particular reference to matters agricultural or medical—by staff from the science departments. Colleges such as Weihenstephan, on the other hand, had their own science staff who were expected to tailor their courses to the concerns of agriculture students. Characterizing the orientation of research activity at these institutions, on the other hand, is a good deal more difªcult since no single historian is likely to possess the requisite familiarity with the entire array of disciplines involved (embracing such disparate ªelds as agronomy, agricultural engineering, agricultural chemistry, and farm management). Nonetheless I have looked in some detail at the plant-breeding work conducted at both types of institution, and it is noticeable that breeders at science-oriented institutions after 1900 placed more emphasis upon the new Mendelian theory as a guide to allegedly more powerful breeding practices than did those at practical institutions. At the latter, breeders were skeptical whether Mendelism actually pointed the way toward new practices and were more inclined to recommend the continued use of pre-Mendelian methods (mass selection, individual selection) on grounds of cost and sim- plicity (Harwood 2005, chapter 4). 336 On the Genesis of Technoscience

One indicator of the general character of an institution’s research is the types of publication in which its staff tended to publish. Journal outlets ranged widely from the popular to the strictly academic. At one extreme there were the national agricultural newspapers aimed at farmers and other general readers (e.g., Deutsche Landwirtschaftliche Presse, Illustrierte Landwirtschaftliche Zeitung) as well as the regional agricultural newspapers

(Landwirtschaftliche Wochenblätter) published in many states. At the other Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 end of the spectrum were journals in the basic sciences (e.g., in genetics where the occasional paper in plant-breeding was published). In between was a wide range of technical journals probably read by government agricultural ofªcials, technical personnel in agribusiness, and academics (e.g., Journal für Landwirtschaft, Jahrbuch der Deutschen Landwirtschafts- Gesellschaft). The choice where to publish, therefore, was an indication of which audience an academic wished to reach. To refer to “research” in the context of agricultural education, of course, is only part of the story. For publication of research results was not the only way in which many of these academics sought to reach wider audi- ences. Advisory work (or “extension”) was another. And it is noticeable that some colleges (among them, Weihenstephan) made a greater attempt to maintain close ties to the farming community than did others (e.g., Munich). Before the First War, for example, some institutions contributed to short courses for farmers during the winter while others did not. So far we have been considering institutions’ orientations toward science/practice from a bird’s eye view, but much can also be learned from looking at the careers of individual staff. Interesting in this regard is that unlike most disciplines in German universities ca. 1900, there was no standard career route into the agricultural sciences. To be sure, some individuals did follow an educational trajectory little different from that taken by their contemporaries in the basic sciences: namely, educated middle class family origins, nine years of secondary education at a classical gram- mar school (or after 1900 increasingly at a modern school), doctorate at a university, qualiªcation for university teaching (Habilitation), and then an academic appointment. But many others entered academe by completely different routes: e.g., six years of secondary schooling at an agricultural school, higher education at an agricultural college culminating in a non- research degree (Diplom), employment in some agriculture-related capac- ity—school-teaching, estate-management, working in an agricultural ªrm, administrator in an agricultural association or government agency, etc—before ªnally acquiring an academic appointment. Although career trajectories of this latter kind won little esteem in German university cir- cles at that time, they were more likely to secure the respect of farmers and industrialists. In Bavaria the career-trajectories of staff at Munich were Perspectives on Science 337 closer to the former model while those at Weihenstephan approximated to the latter one. That career-trajectories varied by institution suggests a consistent bias in the appointments process. Any reader who has ever sat on an appointments committee might be forgiven for doubting that its minutes would tell us much about what actually went on in the committee. But in fact the minutes of German committees during this period are a remarkably Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 rich source. Little attempt seems to have been made to disguise conºicts within the committees, and the arguments of individual committee members for and against various candidates are often recorded. Furthermore candidates were often assessed by the committees in terms of their “scholarly” (wissenschaftlich) and “practical” merits, so the minutes can be helpful in illuminating an institution’s perceptions of the ideal balance between theory and practice. In interpreting this source, of course, one needs to distinguish between rhetoric and actual decisions. For example, many committees declared their intention to nominate candidates who were strong on both the “scholarly” and the “practical” side; this is hardly sur- prising given that the minutes would be seen by the Minister in question (who was accountable to farmers) as well as—in the case of university appointments—by the Faculty of Arts and Sciences. But in practice the available candidates did not always match up to this balanced ideal, so appointments committees were often forced to compromise, and the key question is how they did so. At Munich committees were more prepared to turn a blind eye to the candidates’ lack of familiarity with Bavarian agricultural conditions while at Weihenstephan committees were readier to appoint candidates with relatively modest academic backgrounds. The relative importance assigned to scientiªc knowledge versus practical experience at these institutions, therefore, can be judged from a wide variety of their features. Moreover, when all of these are taken into account, most institutions can be classed broadly as “scientiªc” or “practical” in orientation. The key question then becomes: how did such distinct orientations arise?

2. Understanding the dynamics of institutional change One can imagine that a whole host of circumstances—economic, political, geographic, psychological, etc.—might have played a formative role in bringing about such orientations. In order to decide which of these various contributory factors were most important, I looked at seven institutions comparatively. These were chosen, partly because they displayed a “scientiªc” or “practical” orientation, but also because they varied in a number of respects which I thought might be important in explaining their orientation toward science or practice: 338 On the Genesis of Technoscience

• the province or state in which institutions were located. • whether they were situated in a city or the country. • whether they were administered by a ministry of agriculture or of education. • whether they were a separate college or part of a university. • the geographical origins of their students.

• their position upon the academic status hierarchy. Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021

When I compared “scientiªcally” oriented institutions with “practical” ones and looked for their distinguishing features, however, there were a couple of surprises. For one thing, the ministry responsible seemed to make no difference: institutions funded by Ministries of Agriculture were no more practical than those funded by Education. Moreover there were no obvious differences between the educational policies of one province and another; Prussia and Bavaria, for example, maintained both scientiªc and practical institutions. Nor was it decisive whether an institution was a specialist agricultural college or a university department. (I had originally assumed that the ideology of purity which dominated the nineteenth century universities would mean that the orientation in university departments would generally be more “scientiªc” than at the colleges, but this was not always the case.) As far as students’ backgrounds are concerned, colleges which recruited predominantly from their region were no more practical than those with a cosmopolitan student body. A few of my hunches, however, were borne out. There was a certain tendency for institutions in urban areas to be more scientiªcally inclined than those in rural ones. And an institution’s location upon the status-hierarchy correlated quite strongly with its orientation: high-status places tended to be outposts of science while those at the bottom of the heap were more practical. This exercise helped in singling out which factors were important in shaping educational institutions, but it conveyed little sense of the process of historical change, nor did it give much of a feel for the relations of these institutions to one another, i.e. for the dynamics of the higher education system as a whole. In order to get round these limitations, therefore, I studied two institutions in particular detail—Munich and Weihen- stephan—and followed their development over a longer period (Harwood 2005, chapter 5). Since both were in Bavaria, comparative analysis was that much easier, and it also meant that their histories were closely inter- twined. This allowed me to see more clearly how each institution developed within an evolving ªeld of possibilities, a ªeld deªned partly by the position of other competing academic institutions but also by the presence of potential patrons who could be mobilized for support. Perspectives on Science 339

As the term “ªeld” suggests, the approach I have developed is loosely based on the work of Pierre Bourdieu (Bourdieu 1975, 1988, 1993). I will ªrst outline the general features of the model, and then we can consider how it works in the case of Munich and Weihenstephan. For analytical purposes, it is convenient to distinguish between the narrower academic ªeld of higher education institutions and the wider politico-economic ªeld in which each had to operate (Figure 1). We can think of the academic ªeld Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 as a constellation of the academic institutions involved in higher agricultural education. The politico-economic ªeld can be seen as a cluster of economic “clienteles” or “constituencies” in the region inhabited by an institution which took an interest in its teaching and/or research, as well as the Ministry which funded the institution, approved its appointments, and generally oversaw its activities. The model assumes that each agricultural institution had to seek legitimacy, whether in the intangible form of “approval” or in the material form of resources, from one or more of the agents in either of these ªelds. Thus the staff at every institution, faced with its particular constraints and resources as an organization but also with its location within both of these ªelds, had to “decide” what strategy to pursue in order to obtain approval and funding. And whether an institution developed more in a scientiªc or practical direction depended on the strategy which it was able to pursue. Consider the academic ªeld. A key feature of it was the fact that its constituent institutions competed with one another for status. The existence of this status-hierarchy is evident not only from the periodic upgrading of engineering and agricultural academic institutions since the late nineteenth century (often termed “academization”), but especially in the socially-charged language in which historical actors referred to it— ”increased value” (Aufwerten), “equal entitlement” (Gleichberechtigung), “of equal birth” (ebenbuertig).6 At the top of this ladder were the universities since they were generally the oldest academic institutions, and it was there that the higher civil service and the professions had been educated. Fur- ther down the hierarchy came the engineering colleges (which had acquired the status of higher education institutions only from the 1870s), and at the bottom were the more specialized colleges of agriculture, forestry, or veterinary medicine which were the last to achieve this status. Given the marked status associations of “pure” versus “applied” knowledge—above all in nineteenth century Germany—one might be inclined to assume that the status hierarchy was nothing more than a statement of

6. Such social sensibilities were evident at the founding of the engineering college at Hannover when it was announced that the new college would be producing the “scientiªc ofªcers for the army of commerce” (Manegold 1970, p. 42). 340 On the Genesis of Technoscience Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021

Figure 1. An institution (X) in its academic ªeld, politico-economic ªeld and geographical circumstances. the obvious fact that some institutions were engaged in “pure” scholarship while others were devoted to “applied” subjects. It is important to recognize, however, that although “purity” helped to confer status, it was by no means the only determinant thereof. This can be seen in the career aspira- tions of scholars ca. 1900. For generally speaking, whether they worked in “pure” physics or in one or another “applied” science such as agriculture, most academics preferred jobs in universities to those in engineering colleges, and even the latter were preferable to the lowly colleges of agriculture, veterinary medicine or forestry. Thus all of the organizational features which distinguished universities from such colleges were seen as signiªcant indicators of status: e.g., the right to award the doctorate, an elected “rector” rather than an appointed “director” as the head of the in- Perspectives on Science 341 stitution, the right to award the status of Privatdozent to junior staff who had successfully completed the second dissertation (Habilitation), the right to nominate candidates for vacant posts to the minister of education, the right to demand the most advanced secondary school diploma (Abitur) for entry, the rights of staff to teach whatever they wished, and the right of graduates to qualify for jobs in the higher civil service. Finally the ministry to which an institution was accountable was also important; the trans- Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 fer of the Prussian engineering colleges in 1879 from the ministry of commerce to the ministry of education, for example, was reckoned to have given a major boost to their academic status.7 Institutions petitioned the respective ministry for such “rights” but did not acquire them overnight; they were instead conferred only gradually, often over several decades. Thus agricultural institutions found themselves within a status hierarchy over which they had little control but which nonetheless had conse- quences for their recruitment of both staff and students as well as for the legitimation-strategies available to them. Institutions ranking high in the status hierarchy, for example, enjoyed a legitimacy in the eyes of the higher civil service, the academic community and sectors of the public. As a result, they rarely requested improved practical facilities or introduced more practical subjects into their curricula since (a) they had relatively little need for additional recognition (from the economic realm), and (b) in any event such “improvements” would only have compromised their academic status by reducing the differences between them and those institutions at the bottom of the ladder. For those at the bottom, by contrast, there was little point in seeking to enhance academic status through mim- icking the universities; this would have been at best a long-term strategy. The only realistic source of legitimacy available to such institutions over the medium term was to try to come to terms with their position on the academic status-hierarchy and concentrate instead upon expanding their utility in order to secure recognition from the economic realm. Obtaining this form of legitimacy, of course, required agricultural institutions to look beyond academe and to engage with the wider politico- economic ªeld. The key elements of this ªeld were the Ministry to whom each institution was accountable as well as those organizations within the regional agricultural economy which either took an active interest in the institution’s work and sought to inºuence it (and whose support could be enlisted by the institution in its search for legitimacy). The composition of this ªeld, therefore, partly depended upon the institution’s geographic location since the agricultural economy varied from one region to another.

7. On the rights of colleges vs. universities see Manegold 1970; on the transfer of 1879 see Manegold 1978, p. 149. 342 On the Genesis of Technoscience

Similarly, being located in a city or the countryside conferred both constraints and opportunities. Institutions in big cities were less likely to have substantial practical facilities nearby because of the cost of land, and staff found it harder to stay in touch with the region’s farmers (though ac- cess to branches of agricultural industry was sometimes easier). On the other hand, proximity to cultural amenities enabled urban institutions to emphasize the “well-rounded” education and cultivation which students Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 would obtain there. At the other extreme, those institutions which were located near small towns in rural areas were usually endowed with excel- lent practical facilities, and it was much easier for staff to make contact with the farming community. But nearby universities and cultural attrac- tions were few and far-between. As a result, such institutions were more likely to attract students who came in search of a practical training rather than an all-round education. At the same time, it is important not to exaggerate the importance of geography. Though critics accused the urban colleges of turning out “as- phalt farmers” and dismissed the rural ones as being “hopelessly isolated,” the reality was rather different. Since the rural colleges were at most only a 30 minute train ride away from major cities, staff and students could en- joy the advantages of living in the metropolis and working at well- equipped colleges. Nor were urban colleges necessarily devoid of good demonstration facilities, provided the Ministry was willing to pay. Thus geography was as much a rhetorical tool as it was a material constraint in the struggle for resources within higher education. Thinking about geography leads us naturally to think about the state as an agent within the politico-economic ªeld since each institution’s geographic location was, after all, the result of a prior decision by state ofª- cials. But just how important the state was in shaping agricultural education is not entirely straight-forward. At ªrst sight, it appears to have been very signiªcant. After all, it was state action which granted a college more generous practical facilities (or declined to), approved the appointment of new staff, pushed for closer ties to the farming community, or upgraded colleges on the academic status-hierarchy. On the other hand, it is also clear that in taking such decisions, ministerial ofªcials routinely consulted ªrst with various interested agricultural organizations and were certainly not indifferent to political pressure. Thus one might with some justi- ªcation conclude that the state is better conceived as a mediator of powerful groups in the agricultural economy rather than as an independent agent. Judging from the German case, it seems to me that only an intermedi- ate position on this issue is tenable. That is to say, there is no doubt that in cases where powerful interest groups endorsed a particular policy, minis- Perspectives on Science 343 ters were not able to ignore such pressure. But there were also a number of instances where the state was still obliged to act, even though the arguments of lobby-groups did not point clearly toward a particular policy. For example, what is to be done when: • two major interest groups are in conºict over policy? (e.g., during the 1920s the main farming organizations in Bavaria were divided over the question of which of its colleges of agriculture Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 should be closed.) • highly complex decisions must be taken, on which even the ex- perts cannot agree? (e.g., at the start of the twentieth century what was the most effective way to increase the prosperity of peasant farmers: encourage the use of intensive agricultural methods or promote the formation of cooperatives so that peasants could buy and sell more efªciently?) • different ministries are divided over the correct course of action? (e.g., after the First War the Agriculture and Education Minis- tries in Prussia could not agree on how best to improve agricultural education). Despite the conºict and ambiguity in all three of these situations, the ministry responsible must still act. And in the absence of clear signals from the agricultural economy, that decision will have to be based on the ministry’s judgment. It is for this reason, therefore, that we can think of the state as an occasionally autonomous factor shaping educational institutions, even if in other instances it did little more than implement the de- mands of major interest groups. If the role of the state in shaping institutions is complex, that of farmers is more clearcut. Obviously the farming community’s willingness to call for—or condemn, as the case may be—increased appropriations for educational institutions was crucial, and some colleges were able to attract more support from this constituency than others. To refer to farmers as a “community,” however, is seriously misleading for they did not speak with one voice. Instead the very different economic circumstances of small and large farmers made for different needs and thus quite different expecta- tions of agricultural policy and institutions. In general, it was only large farmers who could afford to invest in intensive science-based agriculture (e.g., the use of hybrid seed, synthetic fertilizer, machinery). This meant that large farmers were a good deal more sympathetic than small ones to those agricultural colleges with a “scientiªc” orientation. Thus the composition of the farming community in the region helped to shape a college’s curriculum and research. Farmers, of course, were not the only economic interest group who kept 344 On the Genesis of Technoscience a watchful eye on higher agricultural education. Plant-breeding ªrms, various branches of the food and drinks industry, and fertilizer companies were also important clienteles for particular colleges. Besides funding the research of individual academics, industry was prepared to lobby for new posts or improved practical facilities at various institutions. So much for the main players in the politico-economic ªeld. How, then, can one account for the existence of “scientiªc” and “practical” insti- Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 tutions in terms of the agents in both ªelds? The argument is a simple one: that an institution’s development is shaped by a small number of countervailing forces. On the one hand there were moves by staff who almost invariably sought to enhance their institution’s status. The conse- quence of doing so was to push the institution in a “scientiªc” direction since many of the organizational changes which upgrading entailed either reduced the institution’s accountability to the Ministry—and thus to agricultural interest-groups—(e.g., by replacing a director with a rector, awarding the rights of staff to nominate candidates for vacant posts or to teach whatever subjects they wished) or in other ways distanced its activities from practical agriculture (e.g., by granting the rights of the institution to award the doctorate and to demand the Abitur of applicants). These pressures were stronger toward the top of the status hierarchy and weaker at the bottom but strongest of all in the middle of the ladder. For it is there that staff were particularly desperate not to be confused with those on the lower rungs and most anxious to be recognized by their “superiors.” Whether an institution actually succeeded in moving in a “scientiªc” direction, however, also depended upon the composition of its politico- economic ªeld. For such a trajectory could be strengthened if the major economic interest groups in the region were sympathetic to “science” but stymied if they were suspicious thereof (as was the case at those colleges situated in regions where the peasantry predominated). Let us now explore in more detail how the model works by applying it to the Bavarian situa- tion.

3. The evolution of agricultural education in Bavaria To begin with, consider the main features of Bavaria’s two agricultural institutions. Weihenstephan was an agricultural college situated in a rural area 40 km north of Munich. Having been founded as a mere secondary school (which it remained until 1895 when it acquired the status of an institution of higher education), Weihenstephan enjoyed less academic status than any other agricultural institution in Germany. It was, however, exceptionally well-endowed with practical facilities and made a particular point of providing services for Bavaria’s peasant farmers. Its curriculum and research were unambiguously practical in orientation. Munich, in Perspectives on Science 345 contrast, was an agricultural faculty within an engineering college; as such, it occupied a middling rung upon the academic status ladder. Its practical facilities, however, were exceedingly poor, and its teaching and research were markedly scientiªc in orientation; thus Munich was an institution in which technoscience was well-established. Nevertheless it enjoyed support from Bavaria’s estate-owners and attracted students who were not particularly concerned to get a utilitarian education. Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 How did these two institutions acquire such different orientations toward science/practice? Like many of the new departments of agriculture which were created in German universities from the 1860s, the Faculty at Munich started life as an institution in which the basic sciences were to play a far larger role than practical subjects. Moreover the structure of the politico-economic ªeld in Bavaria at that time was supportive, for the only quasi-ofªcial body then representing the farming community was the Ag- ricultural Association. Dominated by estate-owners and agricultural civil servants, the Association looked favorably upon scientiªcally-oriented and high-status educational institutions. Nor was there much ministerial pressure for Munich to develop in a more practical direction during the 1870s and 1880s since the government was not then much concerned with agricultural issues. As peasant unrest emerged in the countryside during the 1890s, however, the politico-economic ªeld shifted markedly, and there were calls for Munich’s closure (since it was perceived to be the less “practical” of Bavaria’s two agricultural institutions). The government did not comply, declaring instead a “division of labor” in which Weihenstephan was designated as a “practical” institution and Munich as a “theoretical” one. Although this strategy managed to protect Munich against closure, it also laid down a marker for future development: henceforth Munich would remain much less well endowed with practical facilities than Weihenstephan. After the First War, to be sure, some of Munich’s newly appointed staff tried to break out of the institution’s historical trajectory by calling for expensive new practical facilities. But by then the politico- economic ªeld had changed yet further; with the peasantry strong in the Bavarian Legislature, the Agricultural Association marginalized, and public spending curtailed, any future investment in facilities was likely to go to Weihenstephan. The calls for Munich’s closure recommenced in the 1920s, but it had by then lost a good deal of room for maneuver. Stuck with its legacy as a “scientiªc” institution as well as a political climate in which that legacy lacked credibility, Munich’s best hope of survival during the 1920s was to resurrect the notion of a “division of labor,” argue that the two institutions complemented one another, and hope to survive through a merger with Weihenstephan. That Weihenstephan became a very different kind of institution over 346 On the Genesis of Technoscience the same period also owed a great deal to the changing structure of the politico-economic ªeld in Bavaria at that time, but also to the college’s location within the academic ªeld. Staff there no doubt smarted at their lowly position within the status hierarchy, but there was no realistic way in which Weihenstephan could hope to move up the ladder by attracting staff or students who had strong academic qualiªcations since Munich held the stronger hand in that respect. On the other hand, as an institu- Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 tion which had once been a secondary school, was attached to a state farm and other state testing stations, and had been channeled in a practical direction by the Ministry, Weihenstephan had an advantage from the outset in appealing for support from peasants’ organizations who seem to have perceived it, not as a lofty and inaccessible ivory tower, but as an alto- gether down-to-earth place which was receptive to their needs and from which they might actually beneªt. By pursuing a “practical” strategy, therefore, Weihenstephan was able not only to corner the market in resources from the Bavarian state, but by the 1920s it even managed to enhance its formal academic status (acquiring the right to award the doctorate), thanks to an increasingly militant peasantry before the First War (and a politically powerful one thereafter) whose wishes the Ministry of Education could not ignore. Thus in deciding which development-strategy to pursue, both of the Bavarian institutions needed to take into account, not only the shifting array of interest groups from whom support might be sought, but also the equally ºuid positions occupied by their academic competitors. As long as Weihenstephan was merely a secondary school, for example, Munich enjoyed a certain amount of latitude in the strategy its staff chose to pursue. As Bavaria’s only higher educational institution at that time, it might have opted to move in either a scientiªc or a practical direction. But once Weihenstephan had entered the ranks of higher education (1895) and especially after it was formally constituted as a college (1919), Munich’s freedom for maneuver was more limited. Faced now with a direct competitor, it was under pressure to differentiate itself by adopting an orientation toward science/practice which was distinct from Weihenstephan’s. Thus in deciding how to design the curriculum, which problems were worthy of research, or whom to appoint to vacant posts, the members of these two institutions had to size up the shifting possibilities presented by the politico-economic ªeld while keeping an eye on simultaneous moves being un- dertaken by competitors and taking into account their own historical trajectory as well as the competitor’s. In this way the ªeld-model embodies the general principle that human beings “make their own history but not necessarily as they would have chosen.” Perspectives on Science 347

4. Conclusion In this paper I have discussed the diverse forms which academic knowledge in the agricultural sciences took in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, ranging from a strongly “scientiªc” orientation at some institutions to a more “practical” one elsewhere. I then identiªed the features—organizational, geographical, economic and political—which seemed most important in shaping an institution’s orientation toward Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 science/practice. And focusing upon the “ªelds” in which each institution had to operate, I proposed a model for conceptualizing the historical process by which institutions develop a particular orientation. In so doing, I hope to have provided a way of thinking about the conditions under which “technology” has sometimes drifted closer to “science.” To be sure, the approach I have taken here offers only a partial solution to the problem of the genesis of technoscience. For one thing, we still need to understand why scientiªc knowledge, at certain times and places, has come to resemble technology more closely. And the model may not be ad- equate, as it stands, to account for this process. For another, “technoscience”—as usually deªned—has not been generated solely in academic settings; both government and industrial laboratories have been equally important sites for this process. On the other hand, the model outlined here appears to be applicable well beyond the domain of agriculture. As I have discussed elsewhere (Harwood, submitted), the contrast between “scientiªc” and “practical” orientations, along with the drift toward “science,” is also evident in nineteenth and twentieth century engineering education and practice in Ger- many, Britain, France and the United States. And the literature on the rise of “laboratory medicine” in Britain and the United States from the late nineteenth century indicates that very similar phenomena can be found there, too. In both cases, however, very little use has yet been made of comparative institutional history in order to develop a general understanding of the institutional dynamics underlying these processes. But there is something to be said for deªning “technoscience” yet more broadly. Discussions of technoscience often seem to centre around a limited number of classic instances, such as the intimate connections between molecular biology and biotechnology in the last three decades or the links between organic chemistry and the dyestuffs or pharmaceuticals industries ca. 1900. It would be unfortunate, however, if analyses of technoscience in future were to be restricted to the natural sciences and their cognate tech- nologies in engineering, agriculture and medicine. For this would be to overlook the resemblances between these disciplinary groups and a much wider array of practical knowledges, all of which are constituted in an in- 348 On the Genesis of Technoscience stitutional and cognitive space lying between the basic sciences (or social sciences) on the one hand and the world of “practice” on the other. Take, for example, the management sciences (i.e., the group of disciplines central to higher business and commercial education). Here is a body of knowledge which draws (in part) upon “fundamental” disciplines (e.g., economics, sociology, psychology) but is expected to yield techniques for the solution of commercial problems. When the ªrst German Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 business schools (Handelshochschulen) were founded in 1898, they enjoyed little recognition from either the universities or the Education Ministries. And as with agricultural education, the early business curriculum varied signiªcantly along the science/practice spectrum from one school to the next.8 But the pressures on all of them to conform to academic norms were nonetheless soon apparent. Before the First War, for example, most schools placed economics and law at the centre of their degree-programs, partly because these disciplines were well-recognized within the universities. Similarly, attempts to develop a coherent discipline of “business economics” which staff at the schools could call their own were then underway, but its promoters were worried that their young discipline would never be accepted within academe if it took mere proªt as the measure of a ªrm’s success. So they declared the measure instead to be “efªciency” or “produc- tivity” (Wirtschaftlichkeit).9 This concern with status meant that, as with agricultural and engineering education, business schools also underwent a process of academization, achieving by 1930 the ultimate mark of academic respectability: the right to award the doctorate (Franz 1998, Tribe 1994b). The history of business education, therefore, looks as though it, too, could be a productive arena in which to study the formation of technoscience. Finally, it is worth asking who gains (and who loses) from technoscience. As academics we are perhaps naturally inclined to celebrate those

8. At Leipzig and Cologne, for example, economics was regarded as the core of the curriculum with commercial subjects subsidiary while at Berlin the core consisted of commercial subjects (Handelswissenschaften) with economics and law as subsidiary disciplines (Tribe 1994a). Tribe hints that different organizational features may have been responsible, making for tighter links between the college and the business community in Berlin than in Co- logne. But the issue is not explored at any length since his main interest is the evolution of business economics rather than the institutional history of commercial education as such. See also Redlich 1971. 9. By the 1920s the new business economics was well enough regarded that university economists were prepared to teach it, but status-insecurity continued to take its toll. Heike Franz has argued that one particular theoretical development was resisted by business economists (until after 1945) because it would have made their discipline directly useful to businessmen, thereby [!] undermining its credentials as impartial scholarship (Franz 1998, pp. 100–103). Perspectives on Science 349

instances where science has converged upon technology. When solid state physics yielded the semi-conductor or molecular biology spawned biotechnology, many spokesmen for the scientiªc community cited this as conªrmation that basic science, despite the reservations of some politi- cians, was after all a sound investment. But the other side of the technoscience story which I have been discussing here—the drift of technical

knowledge toward “science”—has been cause for concern. Over the last Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/posc/article-pdf/13/3/329/1789359/106361405774288017.pdf by guest on 27 September 2021 generation interested parties in several ªelds and countries have com- plained that technical education is out of touch with “the real world.” In- dustrialists in the United States, Britain and France, for example, have ob- jected that the curriculum and research of the engineering colleges are excessively theoretical (Ferguson 1992, pp. 159–168; Divall 1991; Grelon 1994, p. 383). During the 1980s and 1990s, similarly, reports by Ameri- can and British medical organizations called for less time in the medical curriculum to be devoted to specialist knowledge and laboratory sciences and more to be spent on teaching basic practical skills (Rothstein 1987, Mahadevan 2002). Keeping institutions of technical education on track so that they train graduates in useful ways is evidently not a straightforward matter. If such cases of drift are to be avoided in future, we will need a better understanding of how such institutions work. For that purpose, studying the genesis of technoscience might not be a bad idea.

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