Brooks Autobiograhy.Pdf

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AUTONOMOUS SCIENCE AND SOCIALLY RESPONSIVE SCIENCE: A Search for Resolution

Harvey Brooks Kennedy School of Government, Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138; e-mail: [email protected]

Key Words nuclear energy, reactor safeguards, energy and environment, technology assessment, science, and public policy ■ Abstract I reflect on a career that has featured developing an advanced torpedo for submarine warfare during World War II, designing alternative nuclear reactors at the advent of nuclear power, guiding the development of the first institutions for technology assessment, assisting several of the early efforts at environmental policy analysis, and promoting experiments that have led to insights regarding the humanization of work. A recurring concern of mine, still unresolved, is how to give due weight, simultaneously, to two different visions of the scientific enterprise: an endeavor that must remain autonomous and an endeavor that must be driven by societal needs.

CONTENTS FAMILY BACKGROUND AND EARLY EDUCATION ...... 30 GRADUATE EDUCATION AND WORLD WAR II ...... 30 POSTWAR AND GENERAL ELECTRIC—EARLY INVOLVEMENT WITH NUCLEAR POWER ...... 32 HARVARD ...... 35 ADVISORY COMMITTEE ON REACTOR SAFEGUARDS ...... 35 THE PRESIDENT’S SCIENCE ADVISORY COMMITTEE ...... 36 COMBINING NATURAL AND SOCIAL SCIENCES ...... 38 INTERNATIONAL VENTURES: OECD, GERMAN MARSHALL FUND, IIASA, ICIPE, AND VITA ...... 42 COMMISSION ON SOCIOTECHNICAL SYSTEMS ...... 44 CONAES ...... 44 1980–1990: R&D AND INTERNATIONAL COMPETITION ...... 45 THE HARMAN PROGRAM ON TECHNOLOGY, PUBLIC POLICY, AND HUMAN DEVELOPMENT ...... 46 REFLECTIONS ...... 47

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FAMILY BACKGROUND AND EARLY EDUCATION

I was born and brought up in Cleveland, Ohio, the oldest child in a relatively well-off household. Both of my parents were from old Cleveland families, going back several generations. My grandfather on my mother’s side was the owner of a shipping line, the Harvey H. Brown Company, which carried iron ore from Duluth, Minnesota, on Lake Superior to various Lake Erie ports on its way to the midwest iron and steel cities. I have vivid memories from my early boyhood of taking several summertime family expeditions from Painesville, Ohio, east of Cleveland, through the locks at Sioux St. Marie, to Duluth, and back in rather plush family quarters on one of my grandfather’s boats. My grandfather on my father’s side was a partner in a luxury furniture business, and my father a mechanical engineer who, after graduation from Yale, took a masters degree in mechanical engineering at Case Institute of Technology in Cleveland. After finishing his degree, he joined the National Malleable and Steel Castings Company, a small specialty steel company in Cleveland, which mostly made equipment for the railroad industry. I was educated in a newly launched private school, the Hawken School, in about the fourth class to enter after it started. The classes were small and the education was classical, with lots of personal attention from very good teachers, some of whom later went on to become well-known scholars. I remember that my first grade class was very small and that I had the incorrigible habit of constantly raising my hand with the correct answer ready should any child falter in his or her recitation. I then went to The Hill School, a boys’ private boarding school in Pottstown, Pennsylvania, and from there I went to Yale, in the Class of 1937. I skipped the seventh grade at Hawken but took a postgraduate year at The Hill School before going to college. As a boy I was quite bookish. From an early age I read semipopular books on philosophy and science—Eddington, Bertrand Russell, Alfred Whitehead, Einstein—and I was always at the top of my class. At about the age of 12, I became fascinated with theoretical physics and from that time on thought I would be a physicist. As my father and most of the males in my mother’s extended family had gone to Yale, it was regarded as natural that I would follow in their foot- steps, which I did. At Yale I majored in mathematics but took all the physics I could, including the advanced course in theoretical physics given by Leigh Paige, which was mainly for graduate students and which solidified my interest in a physics career.

GRADUATE EDUCATION AND WORLD WAR II

At the end of my senior year at Yale, I was awarded a Henry Fellowship to attend Oxford or Cambridge, which included enough money for travel in Europe. I spent the year 1937–1938 in Cambridge, afﬁliated with Clare College, taking theoretical 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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physics courses at the Cavendish Laboratories. It was a very exciting time to be in physics at Cambridge, and I reveled in lectures from Dirac, Rutherford, Fowler, and many others. I still have the notebooks I kept. There was not much personal contact, however. My tutor at Clare was H.M. Taylor, who had numerous college administrative duties and whom, as a result, I saw relatively infrequently. The most outstanding lecturer was Dirac, whose lectures were very polished. However, I think I got the most out of Fowler’s course in statistical mechanics, based on his monumental book. The class was often disorganized. He would start a derivation on the blackboard and then get fouled up. But by the time he had straightened it out, with frequent assistance from his listeners, I felt I had mastered the material. It was almost as though he had done it intentionally as a teaching device, though I doubt that was the case. At the end of my year in Cambridge I did a good deal of soul searching about whether to stay on for two more years to get a degree, because by that time war clouds were gathering and the future of graduate study looked very uncertain. At the same time, one of the physics books I had been reading on my own with particular interest and attention was J.H. Van Vleck’s Theory of Electric and Magnetic Susceptibilities. I decided that I might want to go to Harvard and work with Van Vleck, whose work particularly intrigued me. This I ultimately did, finishing a Ph.D. with “Van” in 1940. At that time I was elected to the Society of Fellows at Harvard, which assured me of at least three years of support and even the possibility of a second three-year term if things worked out. It was very stimulating being among a group of scholars from many different disciplines. We met together at weekly dinners with the Senior Fellows, such as Alfred North Whitehead, Crane Brinton, L.J. Henderson, and Arthur Darby Nock, with exciting cross-disciplinary discussions on every conceivable subject. One by-product of this was the kindling of an interest in geophysics that resulted in a collaboration with David Griggs, a second-term Junior Fellow, in a theory of convection in the earth’s mantle as a component in the explanation of what later became known as the theory of plate tectonics. Because of the war in Europe and the general opinion that the United States was almost certain to get involved eventually, my experience in the Society of Fellows was short-lived. The National Defense Research Committee had been formed, and I soon began consulting with the secret Harvard Underwater Sound Labora- tory (HUSL) under the direction of Professor F.V. Hunt, Professor of Acoustics, in the basement of the Cruft Laboratory. This had been organized under a contract with the US government to be devoted to antisubmarine warfare. When the United States entered the war after Pearl Harbor in 1941, I took a leave of absence from the Society of Fellows to join HUSL as a full-time employee, where I remained employed until VJ day. My main job at HUSL, for most of the war, was as associate head (and essentially field director) for a group developing an acoustic homing torpedo known as Fido. It was designed to be launched from an antisubmarine (ASW) aircraft and to circle at a fixed depth until it detected the noise emitted by an enemy submarine. The torpedo would then steer toward 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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the noise source in both azimuth and depth until it came into actual physical contact with the target, at which point it was supposed to explode and fatally cripple the target. This weapon was engineered for manufacture by Bell Labo- ratories and put into production by Western Electric, the manufacturing arm of American Telephone & Telegraph (AT&T). I am told it was quite effective during the closing months of the war in Europe, mostly in the Bay of Biscay off the coast of Spain and France. Operationally it became known as the Mark 24 mine. The development and testing of experimental models of Fido was conducted ﬁrst from small boats off the coast near Boston, and then, when the weather got too rough and cold, at a new ﬁeld station in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. For most of one winter, I commuted weekly between Boston and Miami in Eastern Airlines’ DC3s, carrying secret electronic equipment in my lap because security regulations forbade my checking it with my luggage or even letting it out of my sight in the cabin luggage bin. While working with HUSL I met Helen Lathrop, who was acting as executive secretary to the Associate Director, Prof. C. Paul Boner, an acoustics professor on leave from the University of Texas at Austin. Helen was born and brought up in Fall River, Massachusetts, and was a graduate of Smith College. When she was transferred to New London at the end of the war, I soon found myself commuting between Cambridge and New London at every available opportunity. Before long we were engaged. We were married in Fall River on October 20, 1945.

POSTWAR AND GENERAL ELECTRIC—EARLY INVOLVEMENT WITH NUCLEAR POWER

When the end of the war became certain, Harvard made a decision to disband all its war laboratories. The Fido project was transferred to Pennsylvania State University at State College, Pennsylvania, destined to evolve into the Ordinance Research Laboratory, which still exists today. At Penn State I helped Eric Walker draw up a long-range research agenda for the new laboratory. I had, in the meanwhile, been interviewing for future jobs and had received offers from the Shockley group at Bell Labs and from the General Electric (GE) Research Lab in Schenectady, New York. By that time I had become interested both in the new developments in semiconductor physics under Lark-Horowitz at Purdue and under Shockley, Bardeen, and Brattain at Bell Labs and in the possibilities of civilian applications of ﬁssion physics as stimulated by the Smyth report, released after the disclosure of the atomic bomb. GE offered the prospect of working at a new laboratory to be set up under contract with the new Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) while continuing to working part time with a newly created semiconductor group at the main GE Research Laboratory. I had found during the war that I enjoyed development work, especially the opportunity for long-range strategic thinking about development based on applications of new fundamental science. Like many others, I perceived 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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a great opportunity in the peaceful applications of nuclear energy, particularly in a civilian nuclear power industry. In addition, I anticipated that I would find it difficult to play second fiddle to such a dominating and competitive personality as William Shockley, whom I had known when he was at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). I agreed to move to GE by the spring of 1946 and began commuting to Schenectady in March of that year, even though the Schenectady works were then on strike and the Laboratory was effectively closed. Despite this, Dr. Suits, the Director of the Laboratory, arranged for a spectacular series of seminars for the senior staff, to be delivered by several prominent veterans of the Manhattan Project, including Hans Bethe, Richard Feynman, Edward Teller, George Placzek, Philip Morison, and several others, mostly physicists. The small group of ten or so staff who attended those seminars ultimately formed the nucleus of the Knolls Atomic Power Laboratory (KAPL). KAPL eventually acquired its own new building in the country east of Schenectady and a total staff of about 2000, largely supported by an AEC contract with GE. I was asked to head a theoretical physics group and eventually became Associate Laboratory Head under Kenneth Kingdon, a long- timer from the GE Research Laboratory in the great days of Langmuir, Coolidge, Hull, and Dushman. GE’s receipt of the contract for KAPL was conditional on its taking over management of the Hanford Engineering Works, in Washington State, with its dozen plutonium production reactors and associated chemical separation facilities. KAPL would provide technical support services for Hanford, and in return, KAPL, with government support, would be allowed to develop an independent research and development (R&D) program oriented toward a future civilian nuclear power industry, with a great deal of freedom (indeed remarkable in retrospect) to set its own agenda and objectives. There was considerable pressure at the time to produce a quick demonstration that nuclear fission could be used for peaceful purposes (“Atoms for Peace”), not just weapons of destruction. At KAPL, work began on what was intended to be the design for a prototype of an intermediate neutron energy spectrum breeder reactor cooled with molten sodium. At the time it was believed that usable uranium resources were scarce, so that a civilian nuclear power industry would only be viable in the long term if it were possible to develop a breeder reactor fueled with plutonium. (A plutonium breeder would produce more Pu 339 through capture of neutrons in U238 than were burned up—i.e., fissioned—in the reactor. In this way all the uranium isotopes could eventually be used, instead of just the fissionable isotope, U235.) Pioneering work had already been done with reactor cooling by molten sodium by Walter Zinn, Director of the Metallurgical Laboratory of the University of Chicago, where Fermi conducted the first demonstration of a fission chain reaction during the Manhattan Project. Zinn worked at the experimental breeder reactor (EBR)-1, a small, low- power reactor with a fast neutron spectrum, fueled with highly enriched uranium (about 90% U235). EBR-1 was a potential prototype for a fast breeder reactor, fueled with Pu and cooled with sodium, that would have to be surrounded by 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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a “blanket” either of normal uranium or uranium depleted of the U235 isotope (depleted uranium). The intermediate neutron spectrum was chosen because it allows the reactor to be less compact and lower in power density, thus making it easier to engineer the cooling for a given total power output. The reactor was also something that had not been tried before, and this was an added attraction. However, laboratory measurements soon showed that Pu239, the fissionable isotope of Pu, had an extremely strong absorption resonance just above the thermal neutron energy range and that the resonance had a very high capture-to-fission ratio. These data doomed our prototype reactor and any other breeder having a neutron energy spectrum with a significant component in the range of 1–2 eV. Because at this point the prospects for an intermediate breeder looked dim, and there was thus insufficient justification for building a prototype fueled with enriched uranium (HEU), as had been planned, and because my main interest was in civilian applications of nuclear energy, I began shifting my personal interests to the main GE Research Laboratory and the semiconductor group there. However, subsequently the engineering group at KAPL talked with Admiral Rickover about the possibilities for using an intermediate, neutron energy, liquid metal–cooled reactor as an alternative nuclear power plant for a submarine. The Navy already had a contract with Westinghouse to develop a pressurized water reactor power plant for submarines. This had many advantages, especially in terms of simplicity of design and the obvious advantage of a coolant that was safer and easier to handle. The disadvantage was that the whole reactor vessel had to be contained at high pressure, but the thermal efficiency of the power plant depended on the tempera- ture and hence on the pressure at which it was practical to contain the reactor. In practice this meant that the pressurized water reactor required a regression in the power plant design, which had recently been moving toward higher temperatures and superheat. The use of a liquid metal coolant offered the possibility of not accepting this regression in power plant design. I will not go into all the pros and cons of the complex trade-offs that went into the decision to go forward with a parallel nuclear power plant development because I was not involved. Suffice it to say that GE was able to rescue much of the learning that had gone into the intermediate sodium-cooled breeder by transforming it into the submarine intermediate reactor. A prototype reactor was actually built and operated at West Milton, New York, a site some miles north of KAPL with sufficient exclusion area for safety. This reactor operated successfully after I left GE to go to Harvard. It eventually became the prototype for the power plant of the Sea Wolf, which was operated in the US nuclear submarine fleet until the core was sufficiently depleted to require replacement, at which time the Sea Wolf was refitted with a pressurized water reactor plant. At the same time, this reactor failed to meet all its design goals, in that problems with the nonnuclear part of the plant caused it not to reach the full design steam temperatures and the highest possible thermal efficiency. Nevertheless, the Sea Wolf became famous for traversing the North Pole under the arctic ice pack, the only submarine ever to do this. 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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HARVARD

In 1950, I received an offer to return to Harvard as Gordon McKay Professor of Applied Physics. One of the attractions of this offer was that a large increment to the Gordon McKay bequest had become available to Harvard, and President Conant had appointed an external advisory panel, chaired by Vannevar Bush, to recommend to the University how the funds should be used. This so-called Bush panel (whose work was completed in 1949 and published in 1950) recommended that Harvard use the increased endowment to enlarge the small core of existing professors in the Cruft Laboratory of electronics and electrical engineering to form a new department of applied sciences. It described applied science in the following terms (1): A science, such as physics or chemistry or mathematics, is not the sum of two discrete parts, one pure and the other applied. It is an organic whole, with complex interrelationships throughout. There should be no divorcing of applied science from its parent systems.... Certainly, whatever the organization, there should be a community of interest, vigorous interchange of ideas and students, between the department of mathematics and the applied mathematicians of whatever stamp who are operating directly in the ﬁeld of applied science and engineering and this same principle should apply elsewhere. This description derived from Bush’s personal experiences in World War II, in which “pure” scientists, mainly physical scientists and mathematicians, had been successfully mobilized, primarily through contracts of the government with uni- versities, to work on advanced military systems ideas. Because of their experience in these specially created wartime laboratories, many formerly “pure” scientists became interested in applied work and continued in a full- or part-time capacity their involvement with military and later other practical problems. I had become attracted by this symbiosis of the theoretical and the practical both in HUSL during the war and in KAPL after the war, and the agenda laid out in the Bush Panel report presented a new and intriguing challenge. As a result we moved to Cambridge in 1950, and I began a new career.

ADVISORY COMMITTEE ON REACTOR SAFEGUARDS

At Harvard my research and teaching activities were focused mostly in solid state theory and applied mathematics, but I continued some outside interests inherited from my work at KAPL, becoming a member of the original Advisory Committee on Reactor Safeguards (ACRS) for the newly formed Atomic Energy Commis- sion (AEC) under the chairmanship of Rogers McCullough. This became perhaps my most important contribution in the ﬁeld of nuclear energy. The task of this committee was to review plans mainly for civilian reactors from the standpoint of public safety. This was a new ﬁeld, and it involved, for example, the establishment 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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of general standards for exclusion areas with limited public access around reactor sites, the speciﬁcations for reactor containment, and the design of fail-safe control systems. The overall objective was to guarantee that the public not be exposed to unsafe cumulative doses of radiation resulting from either a “maximum credible accident” or long-term normal operation. An interesting side issue in my work with the ACRS was the notorious Detroit Edison hearings. A proposal was made by the Detroit Edison utility company to build a liquid metal–cooled reactor near Detroit. This proposal resulted in endless adversarial hearings in front of a special subpanel that had been set up by the ACRS. As chair of this subcommittee, I was asked to testify as a (supposedly neutral) witness, in effect arbitrating between the pro-utility witnesses and the critics. The witnesses on the side of the company included such distinguished physicists as Hans Bethe. The testimony of witnesses on the side of the anitnuclear position was more or less masterminded by a lawyer (Ralph Nader) who worked for the United Automobile Workers Union (UAW). I found this a frustrating enterprise, even though I tried to explain, which was my function, the pros and cons of both sides. One question raised by the existence of ACRS was whether a regulatory body should be separated from a promotional body or whether it should be part of a promotional body. Of course, at that time it was part of the promotional body, because the AEC had the responsibility both of promoting the use of atomic energy and of regulating its use. This was generally regarded as an inherent conﬂict of interest, which in many respects it was. Subsequently, the regulatory function was separated and set up in the form of the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Having observed the operation of reactor safeguards in both regimes, I am not entirely convinced of the merits of the argument for separation. I still feel that in retrospect the ACRS did a better job than the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. The separation between regulation and promotion created an adversarial relationship between industry and government, which plagued the nuclear industry from its beginning and, in my opinion, was largely responsible for the demise, or near demise, of the nuclear industry. One could say this was the industry’s own fault, but I think more important was the fact that all the regulator’s incentives led them to act in an adversarial mode rather than a cooperative mode with industry.

THE PRESIDENT’S SCIENCE ADVISORY COMMITTEE

After arriving at Harvard, I became involved in various advisory roles to government and industry. My ﬁrst advisory work came out of my experience at HUSL. As soon as I left GE, I was invited to become a member of a Committee on Undersea Warfare of the National Academy of Sciences (NAS) and the National Research Council. I subsequently became chairman of that committee, and I think it was largely because of that job that I was originally invited to join the President’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC). I started with PSAC during the Eisenhower 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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administration and served as a member from 1958 to 1964. The original exploita- tion of high-level advice by the federal government really could be described, I think, by saying that scientists were used to advise on alternate means to generally agreed-upon ends. That meant, in the 1950s and 1960s, defense and space. At that time the objectives of the Cold War were generally taken for granted, not necessarily by the entire public but as far as the government was concerned, and scientists were used to choose or help in the choice of alternate means to these given ends. The immediate reason for focusing on choosing among alternatives was, in fact, that there were at that time first two, then three military services that were competing, each claiming that their means ought to receive the bulk of the resources from government, leaving the administration to decide which of these claims were most justified. This does not necessarily mean that all the members of PSAC and all the members who became involved at the NAS agreed on the goals, only that they were willing to advise on alternate means to these ends. As a matter of fact, Jerome Wiesner, who was chairman of PSAC and the director of the Office of Science and Technology in the Kennedy Administration, took a poll of the members of PSAC and asked them whether the bulk of the goals made sense. The vote on that was a unanimous “no.” There was considerable skepticism, for example, about the wisdom of manned space flight to the moon. However, Kennedy, I guess quite properly, took the attitude that the decision to go for the moon was a political decision. He thanked PSAC for its advice but said that he was going to make the political decision and asked us to please help him carry it out in the most cost-effective way. Of course the moon launch did become a reality, which brings me to a short anecdote related to my work with PSAC. James Webb, NASA administrator from 1961–1968, organized an invitation for various members of PSAC to go to Lyndon Johnson’s ranch in Texas to meet the team of Apollo 11 astronauts. I remember riding in style in a large, white Lincoln Continental while L.B.J., with great pride, gave us a grand tour of the ranch where he grew up. I also remember some months later being given, completely illegally, a tour of the Apollo 11 spacecraft and the launch pad at Cape Canaveral. Then, in July 1969, Helen and I were invited with many others to witness the actual launch. The spectacular sight of the spacecraft taking off was memorable, as was our view of innumerable movie stars and other notable public figures among the spectators. In the transition from the Eisenhower administration to the Kennedy Admin- istration, which took place in the wake of the Sputnik crisis, PSAC was the only organization in the White House, literally, that spanned the change from a Repub- lican to a Democratic administration. (PSAC was created by Eisenhower through executive order.) All the original work of PSAC had to do with “science for policy,” but in fact, the subject of science policy really contains two branches that are distinct but not completely separable in practice: “policy for science” and “science for policy.” Jerome Wiesner wanted PSAC to get into the policy for science area, so he asked me to chair a committee, the rest of which was composed of 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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full-time government officials, to query all government agencies about where the federal budget for science and technology was likely to go in the next five years. During this time the science advisor, who had been entirely in the White House as opposed to the executive office, was given a dual function. The science advisor became head of a new Office of Science and Technology, which was created as part of the executive office to deal with policy for science, and remained chair of PSAC, dealing only with science for policy. This arrangement persisted until Nixon abolished both PSAC and the Office of Science and Technology in 1972. At any rate, my particular assignment had the value of exposing me to Richard Neustadt, who at that time was in the President’s office working on government organizations. I negotiated with him over the formulation of the Reorganization Act, which created the Office of Science and Technology. I was a full member of PSAC from 1958 to 1964. Subsequently a few members of PSAC were invited to remain on as senior consultants, an arrangement that persisted until Nixon abolished the whole office in 1973. So I continued to have frequent, though less, contact with the White House throughout that period. I observed the gradual disaffection between PSAC and the Administration, and I think primarily, but not entirely, this occurred as a consequence of the growing involvement of the United States in Vietnam. There were also other issues, such as the supersonic transport plane and the antiballistic missile, where PSAC and the Administration became increasingly at odds. This brings up the question: What is the duty of a science advisor? Should he give his advice to the administration in confidence, and if the administration says “Thank you, but no thanks,” should he then shut up and loyally support the administration? Kennedy did not necessarily believe this, but Johnson did and, even more so, Nixon. That was really the issue on which the PSAC idea finally foundered. Several members of the committee, in fact, testified against both the supersonic transport and the antiballistic missile program. They argued that since they wore two hats, as members of PSAC and the Office of Sci- ence and Technology, and since they used only publicly available information that anybody could read, they should be at liberty to testify to Congress against administration programs. I myself did not think that was a viable position in the long run.

COMBINING NATURAL AND SOCIAL SCIENCES

As a result of my experience on PSAC, I was invited by Don Price and Bernard Cohen, who had started a Science and Public Policy Seminar in 1958 in the old Littauer School, to join the faculty of that seminar. That was a fruitful collaboration from which I think I learned a lot more than they did. I would like to pay tribute, because I feel it has been forgotten in the history of subsequent developments, to the pioneering work that Don Price did in creating an intellectual framework for this ﬁeld. Don Price had previously been an advisor to the Truman administration and 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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was the anonymous author of the Truman Veto Message, which vetoed the first bill for the creation of a National Research Foundation. Originally, the administration of the National Science Foundation was put in the hands of a part-time outside committee of scientists who elected its director, and the director was not to be confirmed by the Congress. The argument in the veto message was precisely that in a democracy, public institutions should be politically accountable, not based solely on expertise. In 1962, in the aftermath of the Cuban missile crisis, I was given the thankless job by President Conant of being chairman of the Harvard Civil Defense Committee. This committee was formed after the civil defense scare following the Berlin crisis. As an offshoot of that activity, a small, informal group was formed called the Zacharias Committee, consisting of physicists and social scientists. The social scientists included Eric Erikson and Douglas Bond, a psychiatrist from Western Reserve University in Cleveland, who flew to Cambridge every weekend to meet with this committee. That was my first eye-opener to what the social sciences might have to contribute to defense policy and was a very significant learning experience for me personally. The Committee on Science and Public Policy (COSPUP) in the NAS was the invention of George Kistiakowsky, who had succeeded Killian as the last science advisor to President Eisenhower, and he became the first head of this committee. He had persuaded Detlev Bronk, President of NAS, to create this nongovernmental committee, which was composed entirely of NAS members, one from each section of the academy, to advise on national science budget matters and broader science policy issues, mainly on questions of policy for science, but also to some extent on science for policy. I followed Kistiakowsky as its chairman and served in that capacity for five years, stepping down in 1971. During that period, COSPUP conducted studies of the future of various disciplines of science, including physics, chemistry, and mathematics. All these studies were eventually published in some form. I was most involved in the general reports, “Basic Research and National Goals” (1966) and “Applied Science and Technological Progress” (1967). COSPUP also did one more pioneering piece of work: At the time there were few social scientists in the NAS. An exception was Herbert Simon, who at the time was also chair of the Social Sciences Research Council. He and I plotted to conduct a joint study of the future of the social sciences. I really did get my nose rubbed in the social sciences during that period but that was part of my education, and of course Herbert Simon was an ideal source because he understood the thinking and language of “hard scientists” as well as social scientists. COSPUP during my chairmanship set up a contract with the Daddario Subcom- mittee of the House Science and Astronautics Committee to study the idea of an Office of Technology Assessment. (It is interesting that the idea had been proposed to Daddario originally by Charles Lindberg.) We set up a special, separate panel of which I was the chairman, and this eventually resulted in the report “Technol- ogy Processes of Assessment and Choice,” which was published by the NAS in 1969. Two people were key in the formulation of that report. One was Milton Katz, 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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a Harvard Law School professor, who was a member of that panel and whose guid- ance was invaluable. The other was Laurence Tribe, a young man who had just graduated from Harvard Law School and was looking for a temporary part time job—he was subsequently appointed as the executive officer of that committee and drafted most of the text of the final report. It was around this time, actually in 1968, that Thomas Watson, chief executive officer (CEO) of IBM, conceived the idea of setting up at Harvard a program that went under the name of the Program on Technology and Society. I think the original motivation for this rather open-ended ten million dollar grant to Harvard was a guilty conscience on the part of Mr. Watson, prompted by popular predictions that computers were going to cause massive unemployment—a notion that was all the talk in the early 1960s when the first commercial computers (the 360 series) began to reach the market. Watson wanted us to study the potential effects of the new technology on employment, but by the time we got the program started, the economists had decided that this would not be a problem, and therefore we designed a much more comprehensive program focused on how the social sciences should deal with technology and the social changes likely to be brought about by its introduction. This study originally was led by a committee that was chaired by George Baker, Dean of the Harvard Business School, at which the program was centered, but Baker stepped down after a few years and asked me to take over. I remained quite heavily immersed in the program until a decision was made to close it out in 1972. There was some money left, and Nathan Pusey, the president of Harvard at that time, set up a committee to decide how it should be spent. This committee, chaired by Hendrik W. Bode, decided that a major part of it should be used to endow three new, part-time professorships, one to be held by me, the second to be held by Tony Oettinger, and the third to be given to a full-time member of the Kennedy School, taken up by William Hogan. That’s how I came to be formally affiliated with the Kennedy School. When Don Price stepped down as head of the Science and Technology Program, I took that program over, and then when I went on half time in 1982, I spent my time entirely at the Kennedy School until I formally retired in 1986. From 1972 to 1975, I worked on a project on “fragile values” and environmental decision making, where another set of issues at the intersection of the natural and social sciences was confronted. The project was organized at the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, in Boston, during the period (1971–1976) when I was its president. (I had been a member since 1951.) The work was supported by a grant to the American Academy from the National Science Foundation. The organizer of the project was Murray Gell-Mann, a physicist at Cal Tech, who became concerned that the public policy aspects of environmental problems, like wilderness preservation, would be analyzed with excessive attention given to what could be quantified as compared to what was clearly important to most people but was not readily quantifiable. Gell-Mann recruited Robert Socolow, a physicist at Princeton University, as well as Tribe, and in the end Socolow and Tribe organized two volumes of essays 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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(2, 3). Socolow (with Harold Feiveson and Frank Sinden) edited a volume present- ing a case study, Boundaries of Analysis: An Inquiry into the Tocks Island Dam Controversy (2). Tocks Island Dam was a dam slated for the Delaware River near the Delaware Water Gap that would have resulted in a lake almost 40 miles long, transforming a relatively undeveloped area at the border between New Jersey and Pennsylvania. The case study showed how poorly designed the analytic methods of the experts were (hydrologists, economists, ecologists, energy analysts) for cap- turing the critical issues politicians and the public needed to understand to decide whether to build the dam. In the end the dam was not built. The second volume (3), When Values Conflict: Essays on Environmental Anal- ysis, Discourse, and Decision (edited by Tribe, with Corinne Schelling and John Voss,both on the American Academy staff), presented essays exploring the underlying issues. I wrote a chapter of When Values Conflict, entitled “Environmental decision making: analysis and values” (4). In it, I reflected on the meaning for policy analysis of the wholesale rejection of authority that had characterized the 1960s. I wrote (4, pp. 130–32): In the United States, political preference has tended to alternate between political participation and professional management. When the public at large becomes disgusted with the paralysis of decision making occasioned by excessive deference to parochial interests and political logrolling, it opts for the technocrats; when it becomes disillusioned with the arbitrary and impersonal power of the technocrats, it opts for greater participation. The present emphasis on participatory decision making (the opposite of technocratic decision making) is a reaction not only against Vietnam but also against the technically oriented public authorities with minimal political accountability who were so much a feature of public works projects in the 1930s and 1940s (and to some extent even into the 1950s). ...A central question, of course, is whether the new mode of participatory decision making is any more viable than was the old one of engineering and economic autonomy. ...I have yet to hear of an example in which public participation in the sense desired by its strongest advocates has accelerated a technological project that was badly needed. Since 1976, when this last statement was written, several states, including California, Texas, and Colorado, have legislatively mandated and achieved the construction of wind farms as a source of energy on the electric grid. This might be cited as an exception to the above statement, although it still remains to be seen whether this will grow into an example of new technology that has been deployed in response to public participation in technology and decision making. I have returned again and again to the importance of finding the right balance between expert and lay input into decision making. In a 1994 essay, “Evolution of the U.S. Science Policy Debate from the Endless Frontier to the Endless Resource” (H. Brooks, unpublished paper; see also 5), I focused on the determination of R&D priorities. Let me explain my title. The occasion was the publication of a Clinton- Gore report (6), Science in the National Interest. This report describes science as an 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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“endless resource,” deliberately making the contrast with Vannevar Bush’s 1945 description of science as an “endless frontier” (7). In choosing the word “resource,” President Clinton and Vice President Gore call attention to the usefulness of science and its role in society. Summarizing my concern for finding “the appropriate level and mode of participation of non-scientists and politically accountable generalist policymakers in the design and evaluation of research programs,” I wrote: If one thinks of the process of using science for social purposes as one of optimally matching scientific opportunity with social need—as it were, solutions in search of problems (opportunity) with problems in search of solutions (need)—then the total evaluation process must embody both aspects in an appropriate mix, whether successively or simultaneously. Experts are generally best qualified to assess opportunity, while experts in combination with broadly representative laymen in dialogue with appropriate experts may be best qualified to assess need as well as the best balance between opportunity and need.

INTERNATIONAL VENTURES: OECD, GERMAN MARSHALL FUND, IIASA, ICIPE, AND VITA

My chairmanship of the Office of Technology Assessment (OTA) report led the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) to ask me to head a new international committee to study the internationalization of OTA and the general problems of the interactions between technology and society from an international perspective. The committee operated between 1969 and 1972 and resulted in a report called “Science, Growth and Society,” known as the Brooks report. I’m sure it was my authorship of the Brooks report that eventually led to my involvement with the German Marshall Fund of the United States, established in 1972 by the Federal Republic of Germany as an effort to set up an American private foundation to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Marshall Plan. I got involved largely through Guido Goldman, who was looking for a neutral American figure to act as chair, somebody who would be politically acceptable to everyone involved. I was invited to be the first chairman. General George Marshall first announced the Marshall Plan at Harvard in 1947; the inauguration of the German Marshall Fund took place at Harvard commencement in 1972. Prior to commencement, special events took place, including a memorable dinner at the Busch Reisinger Museum, hosting Willi Brandt and other German dignitaries. Another organization that I had a good deal to do with, although I cannot claim to have been a major figure, was the International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis (IIASA) in Laxenburg, Austria. The idea was originally proposed by Pres- ident Johnson (actually by Francis Bator who wrote a memorandum to Johnson), as an international institution to make a bridge between East and West and to 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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study problems of modern industrial societies. The view at that time, popularized by Professor Jay Forrester of MIT and bought by President Kennedy, was that the problems of modern society were technical problems, not necessarily technical in the narrow sense of hard technology but in the sense that they could be approached dispassionately and did not involve values. Kennedy more or less said that society was too complex to be governed by purely political considerations and that most of the problems (urban problems, race problems, etc.) were really technical problems and could be approached with new techniques, such as systems analysis, which Forrester and others had popularized. Needless to say, that proved not to be a very viable idea. Howard Raiffa, IIASA’s first director, essentially created the research agenda, which it still follows. Raiffa, who was an American, as were all of the directors who followed him, was sensible enough not to follow that original concept. Unfortunately, some of the European countries bought into that concept. It was, of course, especially appealing to the Russians because they thought that the management of society by scientific methods was just what Marxism was all about, and now at last here was a technique endorsed by the Americans that could make communism work! The low point for IIASA came during the Bush Administration when the Republicans wanted to get rid of it. I was closely involved in the “rescue operations.” A lot of credit goes to Allan Bromley, who had taken a leave of absence from Yale, where he was professor of Physics, to act as senior advisor in the Bush Administration. He worked hard behind the scenes to keep IIASA going. Another organization I worked with that I would like at least to mention is the International Center for Insect Physiology and Ecology (ICIPE). It originated in April 1970 on the campus of the University College of Nairobi, Kenya. The American Academy of Arts and Sciences, as well as the NAS and several European Academies, began working with ICIPE soon after its founding. The idea was that scientists from developed countries would cooperate with Kenyan scientists in the study of indigenous ecological and agricultural problems related to insect pests. Two central figures of this organization were Robert Frosch, Deputy Director of the United Nations Environmental Program, and an African insect physiologist by the name of Thomas H. Odhiambo. There were great hopes that ICIPI, when DDT became an issue, would develop some sort of substitute for pesticides. I made several trips to Nairobi and became quite familiar with the many issues involving local insects. I particularly remember being given a tour of a remarkable colony of giant termites. The American Academy bowed out in the late 1970s owing to administrative tensions between the Kenyan and American scientists. At that point the Kenyan government took over the organization. VITA,Volunteersfor Technical Assistance, is another international organization with which I was involved early on. It was started by Roland Schmidt, who was employed by GE Research Laboratories. The purpose of VITA was to develop new ideas about US foreign aid. Because I was at GE at the time and found this idea very interesting, I got involved. This was perhaps the beginning of many such ventures in the course of my career. 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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COMMISSION ON SOCIOTECHNICAL SYSTEMS

In about 1972 I was asked by Philip Handler, then President of the NAS, to take over the chairmanship of the largest division of the National Research Council (NRC), eventually called the Commission on Sociotechnical Systems. It included such activities as the Building Research Advisory Board, the Highway Research Board, later converted to the Transportation Research Board (TRB), and many other NRC committees that dealt with what might be called low-technology, mainly civil engineering activities. There was a general feeling that many of these committees were too parochial and too specialized in outlook, that they needed to be more receptive to exploration of the possibility of application of newer technologies and of modern systems methods, and that they had to take more seriously energy, environmental, and resource issues. In many ways this assignment was a logical outgrowth of my experience with the IBM Program on Technology and Society at Harvard, which had opened up many of these issues. This was the period of crisis created by the 1973 oil embargo and the growing public concern with the environmental impacts of urban development and automobile and truck transportation. The 1970s were a time of great social turmoil, political uncertainty, and deep controversy about future directions of Ameri- can society and industrial societies in general. The exhaustion of energy and other natural resources and unsustainable environmental pollution arising from economic growth were much discussed. By 1976 there was also a crisis about the future of nuclear energy. A worldwide shortage of oil was generally anticipated, yet no nuclear plants were being built because of political opposition. The Rasmussen report on nuclear power plant safety appeared in 1975, but its reassuring conclusions were widely disputed by environmentalists. All this led to the emergence of the “precautionary principle” and a host of ensuing literature on the subject.

CONAES

In 1976 the NAS and the NRC commissioned a study called CONAES—the Com- mittee on Nuclear and Alternative Energy Systems. Edward Ginzton and I were cochairmen of this study, and Jack Hollander was the Study Director. The result was a 700-page report entitled “Energy in Transition, 1985–2010,” and it occu- pied much of my time and emotional energy from 1976 to 1979. It was perhaps the most complicated and costly study ever conducted by the NAS, and as John Holdren has humorously observed, it was during this period that my hair turned white. In March 1979, while the report was being completed, the Three Mile Island incident occurred, which complicated matters further. There were no casualties, and radiation exposure was very minor, but much dispute took place over “what 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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might have been” had the sequence of events or weather conditions been some- what different. Of course, this incident gave the already vocal antinukes much more credibility and a larger public audience, although early (and for that matter subsequent) analysis did not change the cautiously reassuring conclusions of CONAES. Lack of a guaranteed solution to the final disposition of nuclear waste helped to perpetuate public skepticism and policy-maker caution throughout the 1980s and 1990s. In addition, pessimism about future fossil fuel resources gradually dis- appeared, as new discoveries were made, encouraged by high oil prices. Global warming was not taken seriously until the 1990s and still remains controversial, reducing pressures to find alternatives to fossil fuels, of which nuclear power was the only alternative that stood a chance of being economically viable in the near term (aside from hydropower, which was, if anything, even more objectionable to environmentalists). The most dramatic positive change that addressed global warming was a gradual conversion to natural gas, with additional sources being found. My involvement with energy problems had a scholarly component as well. Annual Reviews is a publisher of review journals in more than 20 fields of science; in many fields it publishes the most prestigious journal. In 1976 Annual Reviews added a new series, the Annual Review of Energy (ARE). Hollander was involved in ARE well before he became involved in CONAES: He was its editor for the first 17 issues, from 1976 through 1992. Hollander asked me to join its editorial committee in 1979, and from 1982 through 1988 I was an associate editor. My main contribution was to suggest topics for review and to identify authors. I also helped define how much of the environment agenda would be included within the series, a question whose answer kept changing toward ever more inclusiveness.

1980–1990: R&D AND INTERNATIONAL COMPETITION

The 1980s was a period of rising Japanese and European economic competition (especially Japanese). Suddenly, public policy altered its focus to the competitive performance of the US economy, especially in automobiles, consumer electronics, and mass-manufactured goods in general. During the 1980s and the early 1990s, I shifted my own attention to studies of competitive performance of the US economy. I sought to understand why the dominance of the United States in world science seemed no longer to be a guarantee of the competitive performance of US industry in global markets—as it was widely believed to have been in the 1950s and 1960s. In fact, I had never assumed it was such a guarantee, but I wanted to diagnose precisely where the problem lay, knowing that it was probably multifaceted and might be different in different industries. It seemed that the problem lay at the interface between industries and involved not only a ﬂow from R&D into design, production, and marketing but also a feedback from “downstream” back into R&D, both before and after diffusion into the market. 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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THE HARMAN PROGRAM ON TECHNOLOGY, PUBLIC POLICY, AND HUMAN DEVELOPMENT

My early work at the ACRS on the safety of nuclear power proved to be the beginning of a long education in what later came to be known as technology assessment, particularly the assessment of situations in which highly improbable but potentially high-impact events figure as prominent considerations in the societal acceptance of a technology. As the field of technology assessment grew in importance, so did the issue of safety in the workplace. Concern over the quality of working life and the experiences of people in the workplace led to a whole new area of study, which was explored in the Harman Program. Let me backtrack for a moment to explain how the Harman Program came about. The Program on Technology, Public Policy, and Human Development was started in 1970 by Michael Maccoby as the Project on Technology, Work, and Character. The intention was to study the “social character”—the values and motives—of managers and engineers involved in creating new technology. This project originally received its funding from the Harvard Program on Technology and Society in the late 1960s and early 1970s. The long-range goal of the Maccoby project was to gain a better understanding of how technology and organization influence both human development and productivity. The findings of this initial exploratory study were published in a book authored by Maccoby (8). The Gamesman pointed toward promising new approaches to work and technology in the United States and Scandinavia. In 1971 the Project organized a full-day symposium at the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science on “Humanizing Technology.” Partly as a follow-up to contacts made at that meeting, the Project was jointly contracted by Harman International Industries and the UAW to help design what we believed to be the first joint effort between a union and management in the United States to improve the quality of working life. The study site selected was an auto parts factory in Bolivar, Tennessee, and the project became known as the Bolivar Project. Project staff worked as educators and researchers in the factory, with the advice and help of Professor Einar Thorsrud of the Work Research Institute of Oslo, Norway. The participant-observer research focused on the development of new work structures that facilitated increased participation by workers in decision making. Project staff also interviewed employees using a sociopsychoanalytic method developed by Erich Fromm and Michael Maccoby for the study of peasant societies in Mexico. The interview data proved useful for understanding differences in workers’ and managers’ attitudes, values, and expectations from work. We found that there was not a single best way of organizing work or of motivating workers. Improving the quality of working life meant both respect for differing values among individual workers and flexibility in the design and use of technology sufficient to accommodate these differences. It was at this time that the Bolivar Project became affiliated with the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard through the Seminar on Science, Technology, 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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and Public Policy led by Don K. Price and myself. I became an advisor to the project along with David Riesman, Irving Bluestone of the UAW, and Sidney Harman, CEO of Harman International Industries. The Bolivar project became a model for a new type of union-management cooperation, first in the auto industry (General Motors and Ford) and then in the Bell System where, in 1981, Dr. Maccoby was invited by AT&T Communications Workers of America to advise their joint National Committee on Working Conditions and Service Quality Improvement. In recognition of the Project’s constructive role in Bolivar, and with a far-sighted commitment to educating future researchers and educators, Sidney Harman made a gift to Harvard University in December 1977 to endow the Program on Technology, Public Policy, and Human Development within the Kennedy School of Government as a part of the Program on Science, Technology, and Public Policy. Dr. Harman believed that the approach developed in the Bolivar Project would fit the needs of the United States in a new era of increased competition, growing emphasis on rights of individual workers, and new values. Within the new Program, the Project on Technology, Work, and Character, housed in Washington, DC, would continue to be an independent but affiliated research unit under the direction of Dr. Maccoby, and Maccoby would become the director of the Program and a Research Fellow in the Kennedy School. The School set up an advisory committee of which I was the chairman. The other members were Michael Maccoby, Donald Price, David Riesman, George Lodge, and Richard Walton of the Harvard Business School, as well as Irving Bluestone and Einar Thorsrud. The new Harman Endowment supported the operations of this committee, a Harman fellowship program, and a lecture/seminar series at the Kennedy School. Since 1978, the Program, working partly through the Washington-based Project, has pioneered in efforts to improve work and management in the federal government at the Departments of Commerce and State, the ACTION agency, the US Postal Service, and the Library of Congress. In all these agencies the emphasis was on achieving a deeper understanding of people and on replacing rigid rules and control mechanisms with flexible, participative approaches based on explic- itly articulated and shared principles. Such understanding and flexibility could the bring about the commitment of the workers in a government bureaucracy to the realization of its potential for effectiveness and productivity.

REFLECTIONS

As I look back over this sketch, I note the progression of my career from submarine warfare to nuclear power, to technology assessment, to environmental policy analysis, to the humanization of work. This progression was fueled both by my own intellectual curiosity and by the sociopolitical preoccupations of a particular period of history, but it is difﬁcult to say in retrospect which type of motivation predom- inated at any one time. Most frequently, new societal needs opened new windows of intellectual exploration, which were not apparent or obvious at the outset. Thus, the struggle between the Bernal philosophy and the Polanyi philosophy of research 28 Sep 2001 9:51 AR AR143-02.tex AR143-02.SGM ARv2(2001/05/10) P1: GSR

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[for an excellent summary discussion of the Polanyi-Bernal debate of the 1930s in the light of subsequent developments in science policy, see Freeman (9)] formed a continuing, underlying leitmotif that never found any permanent resolution in my own intellectual agenda. Rather, one could say the tension between scholarly autonomy and societal responsiveness was itself the agenda.

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LITERATURE CITED 1. Bush V, et al. 1950. Present-day engineering 5. Brooks H. 1996. The evolution of U.S. and applied science. In Report of the Panel science policy. In Technology, R&D, and on the McKay Bequest to the President and the Economy, ed. LR Bruce, CE Barﬁeld, Fellows of Harvard College, Sect. 4, p. 7. pp. 15–49. Washington, DC: Brookings Cambridge, MA: Harvard College Inst./Am. Enterprise Inst. 2. Socolow R, Feiveson H, Sinden F, eds. 6. Clinton WJ, Gore A, Jr. 1994. Science in the 1976. Boundaries of Analysis: An Inquiry National Interest. Washington, DC: Execu- into the Tocks Island Dam Controversy. tive Off. Pres., Off. Sci. Technol. Policy Cambridge, MA: Ballinger 7. Bush V. 1960 (1945). Science: The Endless 3. Tribe L, Schelling C, Voss C, eds. 1976. Frontier. Washington, DC: Natl. Sci. Found. When Values Conﬂict: Essays on Environ- 8. Maccoby M. 1976. The Gamesman.New mental Analysis, Discourse, and Decision. York: Simon & Schuster Cambridge, MA: Ballinger 9. Freeman C. 1993. The Economics of Hope: 4. Brooks H. 1976. Environmental decision Essays on Technical Change, Economic making: analysis and values. See Ref. 3, pp. Growth and the Environment. London/New 115–35 York: Pinter