This second chapter follows the enormous expansion of the space sciences around the world after the launch of Sputnik, as well as the uniquely constrained West German response; and it focuses on how the Max Planck Society maneuvered itself into a role of predominance in the space sciences, under these circumstances. Thanks to its strong scientific traditions and political backers, the Max Planck Society was singularly well placed to take advantage of the rising interest in the study and conquest of outer space: while guaranteeing a concerted emphasis on âfundamental researchâ and international collaboration, it mobilized existing projects in plasma physics, cosmochemistry, and balloon-based cosmic rays, and joined in diverse space activities with the United States and various European countries. This entry into the space age paved the way to the Societyâs subsequent expansion into astronomy (the subject of the next chapter), and also allowed the scientific traditions of the early postwar era to diversify: dependency on ânuclearâ sociopolitical interests and funding was now succeeded by a focus on astrophysical subjects proper. As we will see in subsequent chapters, this reorientation ultimately became one of the vehicles propelling these longstanding traditions towards the most effervescent topics of 21st-century astrophysics.
1 âSputnik Shocksâ
Within only a few months of the launch of the Soviet satellite, the status of disciplines such as astronomy and astrophysics changed dramatically, as they now became integrated into the Cold War apparatus, just as experimental physics had been in 1945. Key players in this radical shift were those scientists around the world who had preexisting strengths and interests in the cosmic sciences, but had formulated their research in terms of ânuclearâ topics during the postwar years. Space exploration initiatives in the United States, Soviet Union, France, Britain, and other European countries would now become the model for the German MPI scientists described in the previous chapter, and, eventually, their collaboration counterparts, too. We describe this transition, from the predominantly ânuclearâ period up to 1957 to the nascent space age. All this unfolded still under Allied constraints on military technologies, which hindered the West Germansâ construction of a fully national space launch capability.
A New Status for the Cosmic Sciences
The launch of the Soviet satellite Sputnik inaugurated the âspace age,â and it radically transformed the status of the cosmic sciences in the political and public arenas. During the first postwar decade, in order to access significant support, researchers rooted in varied traditions and interests had had to align themselves with nuclear-centered research environments. After October 4, 1957, in contrast, space acquired a sociopolitical import that extended support vastly beyond the nuclear worldview and even beyond expert scientific communities, to become a central sphere of competition between the two superpowers; this allowed the absorption of researchers coming from diverse fields and traditions that had previously remained outside of the generously funded nuclear research communities. And while in the first years of the space age the military-technical approaches and geopolitical strategies regarding outer space were inherited from the nuclear age, in the course of the 1960s the space age matured into a distinct logic based on the unique status of outer space that was agreed internationally. Meanwhile, astronomy and astrophysics developed significantly, thanks to the increase in support for all forms of science that resulted from the Western response to Sputnik, strengthened by spectacular astronomical discoveries throughout the 1960s, and the maturation of a much larger and diverse community of researchers.1
This section explores the tension between the contingent ideological impact of the âSputnik shockâ itself, and the deeper, decade-long incorporation of the cosmic sciences into the Cold War system in the major western countries, periodically highlighting how these were reflected in the very unique West German scenario and the Max Planck Society. This provides the basis for exploration, in the following chapters, of specific internal scientific and institutional developments.
Sputnik provided an opportunity for Western scientific elites to augment their political power. Even though this first satellite was a rudimentary radio beacon of little scientific use, it served to catalyze an immense governmental expansion in space research and related areas through increased spending, state intervention, and centralization. This wave started in the United States and then spread to other Western countries.
A powerful, lasting legacy of this âshockâ was a rise in the status of scientists; this allowed them to take on powerful positions in areas related to space exploration which, until 1957, had been the preserve of the military.
These scientistsâ political interventions were particularly influential during the 1960s, and resulted in a boom in all forms of scientific research. But besides the spectacular effects of Sputnik on public opinion and science policy worldwide, the development of thermonuclear weapons carried on Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles (icbms) inaugurated a new stage of the Cold War; and the cosmic sciences were very particularly and profoundly affected, because of their close synergy with the technologies dominating this new stage of the global conflict. To begin with, there were the rockets themselves, which gave access to entirely new environments, and unhindered access to the cosmos beyond; but the synergy also encompassed techniques and instruments for tracking objects, which were astronomical in essence, as well as a particularly close overlap between detectors used at many wavelengths for military purposes, and their application in the examination of new astronomical bodies and phenomena. Cold War armament treaties even depended on the development and mass production of technologies instrumentally related to the cosmic sciences. As a consequence, the âcosmicâ elites in many countries circulated easily between scientific and military contexts and held influential advisory roles comparable to those held decades earlier by ânuclearâ physicists. In fact, as we detail later, many newcomers to astronomy in the 1960s had previously forged careers in fields connected to the ânuclearâ worldview. On the other hand, as clearly shown by the astronomer Martin Harwit, in the 25 years between 1954 and 1979, âmost of the major cosmic phenomena were discovered by individuals prepared for careers other than astronomy,â outsiders with an educational background and early experience with novel techniques for looking at the sky.2
Most important for the purpose of this book is the relationship between these global trends and their impact in the very particular environment of West Germany, a country with a mandatory subordinate status within the Western Alliance. Given how important military applications were in the development of space research in other large countries, the West German case provides a unique counterexample, and this explains to a large degree the unusual strength of the Max Planck Society: West German decision makers participated in the same discursive optimism regarding outer space as their colleagues elsewhere, but, unlike them, were cut off from access to the enormous undercurrent of military applications which generally subsidized scientific developments. West German scientists had to find their viable research niches within these constraints, while also surviving in the politically problematic parallel resurgence of rocket development in Germany, a country teetering between initial but increasingly rogue attempts at national self-reliance within the Western Alliance, while also being steered by the Western Allies towards acceptance of its subordinate role as financial backer and industrial supplier within an integrated pan-European aerospace industrial landscape.
In this politically delicate environment, the rationale of âfundamental researchâ crafted by the Max Planck Society in the first postwar decade resonated with the discourse of post-Sputnik scientific elites around the world.
Nuclear Annihilation and Outer Space
The objective challenge introduced by Sputnik was the threat of intercontinental ballistic missiles which, armed with nuclear warheads, could reach targets anywhere in the world. This menace eventually stabilized into the political equilibrium of the Cold War, based on mutual assured destruction. Reaching this balance, however, took over a decade, in a process that was closely intertwined with the first steps of the space age; and it had a profound impact, in particular on the cosmic sciences.3
Nuclear bombs carried on bomber airplanes were a threat that had been addressed in the first postwar decade by the development of supersonic jet aircraft, radar technologies, and anti-aircraft missiles, icbms, however, were conceived as unstoppable, and this became a defining feature of a new Cold War balance. During the first decade of the space age, the nuclear superpowers came to terms with mutual assured destruction through a series of political agreements, detailed below, which was necessary to make this standoff survivable. Events like the Cuban missile crisis of 1962 highlighted the risks of short-range nuclear weapons which reach their target very quickly. Consensus arose among the superpowers that the only viable balance in mutual assured destruction depended on incoming attacks being clearly identifiable well enough in advance to permit a response, as in the case of a ballistic missileâs half-hour trip. Otherwise, first-use attackers would have the advantage of âknocking outâ their opponent before a significant retaliation could be launched.
This threat existed with nuclear weapons based on artificial satellites. Hence, through the early 1960s, the Americans and Soviets came to agree that nuclear weapons kept in orbit were best avoided. Based on these military considerations, the âinternational,â âpeaceful,â and âscientificâ nature of outer space started to become established.
False alarms and mistakes could trigger doomsday, so a massive infrastructure to detect all rocket launches and follow their trajectories was crucial for the strategic nuclear standoff: surveillance satellites and rocket tracking technologies, often based on astronomical techniques, were involved in the new global balance of power from the outset. International treaties negotiated through the 1960s depended on nuclear deterrents that posed an overwhelming threat, but which were also mutually verifiable, under centralized political control, and able to be identified and assessed far enough in advance, if ever launched in an offensive. The new regime was crystallized in the Space Treaty of 1967, which defined outer space as international and âpeaceful,â but also left ample room for non-aggressive (largely, surveillance) technologies in orbit. This new regime was also reflected in the Non-Proliferation Treaty (npt) signed in 1968, which explicitly restricted nuclear explosives (not just weapons) to the select âclubâ of countries which already possessed them, and ruled out any exceptions for âpeacefulâ nuclear explosions, including their use in outer space. Finally, the last item in this framework was the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty (abm Treaty) signed in 1973, which prohibited the large-scale deployment of anti-missile technologies. In order to avoid further escalation of the missile race and disincentivize first strikes, the abm upheld the unstoppable status of oncoming nuclear strikes, despite the technical feasibility of countermeasures.4 All these treaties, and the years of negotiations preceding them, set the stage for the âpeacefulâ and âinternationalâ character of outer space that predominated from the late 1960s onwards.5
Verification of the terms and conditions laid down in these treaties depended on space-based technologies such as reconnaissance satellites, as well as methods to identify nuclear explosions themselves, such as radioactive trace âsnifferâ airplanes and orbiting gamma-ray detectors. Likewise, communications networks, global positioning systems, and other military infrastructures related to this threat-and-surveillance regime now flourished in outer space. Throughout the remainder of this book, we periodically encounter examples of how the development of these Cold War technologies contributed to instrumentation and infrastructures used also in scientific research.
The status of outer space that became established in the 1960s had an enormous impact on the way the space sciences, astronomy, and astrophysics developed over the next half century. Initially, still within the worldview of the nuclear age, leading scientific personalities appropriated space as one more arena in which to expand their preexisting interests, advocating for a future of nuclear rockets, routinized atomic explosions (both military and âpeacefulâ),6 and research oriented to phenomena epistemically linked to thermonuclear weapons such as plasmas. Space science in the early 1960s was an experimental ânuclearâ endeavor, an inquiry into the near-Earth environments fast becoming a sphere of operations for nuclear missiles and the first generation of civilian rockets.7 Half a decade later, these environments were well characterized, while at the same time the âinternational,â âpeaceful,â and non-nuclear status of space had been established. Scientific interest shifted increasingly toward more distant exploratory pursuits, like unmanned interplanetary missions and space-based astronomy, while the political and public focus remained on manned spaceflight. Within this âpeacefulâ framework, the tension between scientific research and human spaceflight settled into an uneasy compromise that still follows us to this day. But still, as we detail below, it was military interests and their industrial fulfillment which continued to drive most technological progress during this mature space age: technologies, infrastructures, and even knowledge developed in the Cold War context continuously spilled over into civilian and peaceful scientific enterprises.
Scientific Elites in the Post-Sputnik Cold War
Around the world, the transition to the space age was led by personalities with a ânuclearâ background. Thanks to their experience with the decision-making and funding structures of the early Cold War era, these scientists could guide specialists in the newly relevant fields toward the opportunities emerging after Sputnik, while continuing to hang on to their senior roles in decision-making committees for several decades more.
Such advisory roles were nothing new in activities derived from the military-industrial complex; but the scientific opportunities after October 1957 expanded far beyond research directly relevant to military applications. The âSputnik shockâ led, for example, to the creation in the United States of a Presidentâs Science Advisory Committee (psac), via which senior scientists, largely from a background in radar and especially nuclear research within the Manhattan Project, had direct access to decision makers.8 Political parties even began competing to foster and favor scientific-technical agendas: the âmissile gapâ was a central narrative leading to the election of John F. Kennedy in 1960, and his government continued and expanded these scientific advisory roles, as did every new administration at least until the 1980s. And in parallel to these public advisory roles came the creation of classified advisory committees dealing with issues of direct relevance to national security. Most relevant for the cosmic sciences was JASON,9 a science advisory group of physicists which initially advised on matters directly related to the Cold War threats, playing a central role in technical advice on nuclear weapons and missiles during the establishment of the deterrent regime. The group was the intellectual arm of the Advanced Research Projects Agency (arpa), newly created by the Pentagon in January 1958 (as successor to darpaâDefense Advanced Research Projects Agencyâfounded in 1957). In view of its long-term advisory roles, JASON was crucial for the generational renewal of the committees still populated by Manhattan Project veterans. For younger generations, JASON was a mechanism of socialization into (and by) the scientific elites.10 The key part of this socialization was the âloss of innocenceâ that ensued from contributing to âStrangeloveanâ enterprises with values so different from the ethos of fundamental science.11 But crucially, these advisory groups insisted that their members should continue their scientific research careers as a main activity.
âNuclearâ advisors served on the committees that helped integrate new sciences into this Cold War framework, which was based on decades-long, nationwide planning that favored the centralization and rationalization of all endeavor. But the main difference between the pre-and post-Sputnik world was that scientists in such advisory positions managed to steer the conversation beyond research directly linked to the military-industrial complex, and advocate for much deeper state involvement in scientific research in general. As we show throughout this chapter, the discourse of planning and rational government was significantly boosted by Sputnik, and in scientific research this ideology allowed for intervention in fields that had never yet seen such state coordination. The expansion of this logic into new research specialties, as certainly occurred within the cosmic sciences, was led by such scientific advisors. To name but one foundational example: in the early 1960s, the first US Decadal Survey in Astronomy12 was initiated by Manhattan Project veteran George Kistiakowsky, who had been both Eisenhowerâs Chair of the psac and, a few years earlier, co-artificer of the Single Integrated Operational Plan, which rationalized the plans for nuclear action in the age of icbms.13
The participation of ânuclearâ experts in the advent of the space age occurred at all levels. Particularly striking is how several crucial figures had actually begun their careers in astrophysics, then adopted a ânuclearâ identity and research programs after 1945; and now, these crypto-astrophysicists could instrumentalize Sputnik to return to their truly profound scientific interests. This pattern is evident in figures who appear repeatedly in this book, such as the Princeton-based Lyman Spitzer (Chapters 1 and 5),14 John Wheeler (Chapter 5),15 and Freeman Dyson (Chapters 2, 3, and 5).16
Likewise significant, and occurring in parallel, was the mass migration to space-related fields of those researchers originally working in fundamental particle physics. Even though not necessarily involved in classified research, they had received generous funding throughout the 1950s, as a ânuclearâ enterprise. Sputnik coincided historically with the advent of the first generation of large particle accelerators at cern, Dubna (Joint Institute for Nuclear Research, JINR), and Brookhaven National Laboratory (see Chapters 1 and 5), which replaced cosmic rays as a means to inquire into many fundamental physical questions. Particle physicists uninterested in, or unable to work with accelerators were driven toward astrophysical inquiries, as we explore in detail in Chapters 3 and 5. Large numbers of them mobilized their scientific capital toward research in the newly respectable cosmic fields, often in a combination of ground-based, airborne (balloon and aircraft), and space-based initiatives. Insofar they followed the lead of select American, European, and Soviet figures who played a defining role at the onset of the space age, such as James Van Allen,17 Edoardo Amaldi,18 Alexander Chudakov,19 Patrick Blackett,20 and Pierre Auger.21 This generation of physicists had obtained their influential positions before the space age, in the course of remarkable careers in cosmic ray research at high altitudes, with balloons and rockets. In the West German case, this would have been the natural role for the recently deceased Erich Regener (see Chapter 1).22
Finally, by the late 1960s, the tide of researchers moving into space science, astronomy, and astrophysics swept up people from entirely separate fields: one telling example is Charles Townes, who started his career in radar, then became one of the pioneers of laser, while also engaging in senior classified advisory roles. In the late 1960s, Nobel Prize in hand, he completed his transition to observational astronomy, identifying there many opportunities in which his expertise and instrumental knowledge could open up new ways of exploring astronomical phenomena.23
In Section 2 we will see in detail how, in West Germany, it was scientists with similar profiles toâand often personal connections withâthose leaders named above who led the Max Planck Societyâs expansion into the space age. In many respects, these German scientists were not unlike their European counterparts; the key difference was that the particular status of West Germany within the Western Alliance required them to deliberately tone down the links between space exploration, scientific research, and military applications.
Cold War Cosmic Sciences in the American Sphere
The majority of research activities in the cosmic sciences were not directly linked to military applications. Their incorporation in the Cold War system after Sputnik occurred as outwardly expanding circles determined by the degree of Cold War relevance: at the core were research activities favored by those influential scientists already part of the ânuclearâ complex, which could be conducted from rockets, satellites, and interplanetary probes. Primarily, these were cosmic ray and plasma-related phenomena, in the upper atmosphere and near-Earth space. At a further epistemic remove from military interests was space-based astronomy, which made the most of high-altitude rockets and satellitesâand hence Cold War-related progress on both launchers and detectorsâto gain access to wavelengths blocked by the atmosphere. Soon after, from the mid-1960s onwards, ground-based astronomy expanded greatly thanks to the synergy created by spectacular discoveries in radio astronomy and early space-based observations of cosmic, gamma, and X-rays, which gave rise to the need to cover the entire electromagnetic spectrum. Ground-based astronomy was much cheaper, durable, and upgradeable than space-based missions, and observations at some wavelengths and locations delivered the requisite quality within feasible budgets. While astronomical wavelengths each had distinct techniques and research traditions, they increasingly needed one another. Furthermore, ground-based observatories kept their role as feeder pipeline to the astronomical profession, which remained a significant autonomous force and distinct tradition, only gradually merging with experimental physics from the 1960s onwards, to constitute our modern understanding of astrophysics. As we detail in this chapter and the next, until at least the 1960s, âastrophysicsâ was clearly distinct from the discipline of astronomy, the latter having its own departments as well as control of the observatories. Astrophysicists, who began their careers in physics departments, advocated for much closer links between physical theory and astronomical observations, in the tradition of cosmic ray and particle physics, in contrast to the traditionally empiricist and instrument-focused approach of the astronomy professionals.
Theoretical astrophysics boomed in this era, transitioning from the nuclear- and plasma-centered interests of the 1940s and 1950sâdetailed in previous chaptersâtoward the new approaches needed to explain the multitude of recent spectacular and novel astronomical observations. As the decade progressed, the abundance of freshly discovered phenomena to be explained, in combination with a declining emphasis on the directly nuclear-related aspects of astrophysics, propelled formerly esoteric subjects, such as relativistic astrophysics, into the mainstream.24
In most countries involved in the Cold War, however, the military connection remained largely in the background, thanks to the overlapping use of instruments in both military and civilian scientific activities. The forerunners of this instrumental connection were radio astronomers, whose specialty emerged directly from World War II radar development, as we explore in more detail in Chapter 3. The radio astronomyâradar connection was a dominant driver of instrumental innovation already before Sputnik, and thereafter continued to benefit most directly from the military-scientific link, as both contexts make use of similar antennas and detectors, often produced by the same contractors, while also sharing similar analytical and computational tools.25 Sometimes even the same facilities were used for both astronomical and defense research purposes, especially in the early Cold War era when, for example, many radio telescopes also featured transmitters.26 From the 1960s onwards, ground-based radio astronomy continued to develop in synergy with technological developments coming from military contexts, including detectors and antennas for increasingly shorter wavelengths.27
Other fields of astronomy soon found their place in the military system; the first were airborne and space-based astronomy in wavelengths inaccessible from the ground. Many technical advances in infrared detection such as those used by midas (Missile Defense Satellite System) later found their way into infrared astronomy, as did the KC-135 airplane-based infrared detectors, which later evolved into civilian uses such as the Kuiper Airborne Observatory.28 In the mid-1960s, arpa initiated the Vela program for the detection of nuclear explosions from outer space, an authorized âtechnical meansâ29 to enforce the Test Ban Treaty, the spectacular unexpected impact of which was the first-ever detection of the astrophysical phenomenon of gamma-ray bursts: short-lived bursts of gamma-ray light, the brightest and most energetic cosmic explosions known to occur in the Universe. The phenomenon was serendipitously discovered by the Vela defense satellites, originally intended to detect nuclear explosions from outer space.30 The availability of large launchers made possible the first full-fledged space-based observatories, the High Energy Astronomy Observatories (heao), in wavelengths that are available only above the atmosphere. These gamma and X-ray observatories, conceived in the mid-1960s but launched throughout the 1970s, showcased the transition from an early ânuclearâ-focused exploration of outer space and the astronomical focus a decade later; even former experts in nuclear propulsion were repurposed for high-energy astronomy.31 This nasa initiative encouraged astronomers to âthink bigâ as they âhad the big rockets.â At the time of their design, these would be the largest payloads in orbit. The experience with space-based observatories in shorter wavelengths, and the maturation of optical reconnaissance technologies, then led to the most famous of all space observatories, the Hubble Space Telescope, which had long been proposed by Lyman Spitzer (see Chapter 1), despite resistance from traditional optical astronomers. The built version was closely based on one of the serially produced Keyhole spy satellites.32
In the synergy between military applications and astronomy, expertise also sometimes circulated in the opposite direction, such as when the Hanbury Brown-Twiss interferometric technique was adopted for determining the size of reentering missile warheads in the early 1960s.33
Often, however, the interrelationship was more complex. In optical astronomy, one exemplary such development between the 1960s and 1980s was adaptive optics, which is used to counter the distortion caused by the atmosphere at visible and infrared wavelengths.34 Since the 1990s, adaptive optics has made ground-based telescopes in the visible and near-infrared wavelengths comparable to space telescopes. In military contexts this technique was used for targeting and imaging objects accurately from the ground, as well as for viewing the ground clearly from satellites. One adaptive optics innovation in particular, laser guide stars, was developed during âStar Warsâ for the targeting of missiles and high-energy weapons. These innovations were then âgiven backâ to the astronomical community, where early attempts at the technique had originated in the 1960s, before becoming classified data.35
The military applications in this case facilitated the fusion of distant instances of scientific expertise. Claire Max, working at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, adapted sodium lasers originally designed for fusion research to experiments in developing guide stars, which were then implemented at the Lick Observatory, benefiting from Livermore being part of the University of California system.36 The atmospheric layer used by these sodium guide stars was precisely that which had been studied a generation earlier, with the release of ionized alkaline metal clouds from sounding rockets.37 As this example shows, in the American context, secret defense initiatives often gave rise to radical interdisciplinary crossovers useful for astronomy. Claire Max described the relationship between American astronomy and the military: âItâs like a braid almost.â38
Such military-scientific crossovers in the cosmic sciences were vastly more frequent in the United States and the Soviet Union, but there were also significant overlaps in the United Kingdom and especially in France, given its aspirations to military self-reliance. Many of the strengths of French astronomy happen to coincide with the techniques outlined above.39 In the West German case, after the mid-1960s, the relationship was necessarily more indirect, involving an additional degree of separation: working within European collaborations or through contact with foreign researchers, as in the case of the ânuclearâ fields in the first postwar decade, as we saw in Chapter 1. The lack of a comparable military demand for these technologies in Germany fostered the early internationalization of these fields; but still, on a smaller scale, contracting companies that built instrumentation did benefit from such scientific projects, later offering products based on them for commercial and military applications, as was the case, for example, with radio astronomical antennas and infrared detectors (see Chapters 3 and 4).
In general, however, the subaltern condition of West Germany demanded by the Allies made it particularly difficult for scientists to catch up with research in fields dependent on such instrumental developments. The easy solution was to collaborate with other countries, but this put them on an unequal footing, sometimes to the point of humiliation. The alternative was to carefully find instrumental niches that were feasible within West Germany, often thereby benefiting from its traditions in competitive instrument-building, in areas from antenna construction to optical manufacturing, as we see in subsequent chapters. But this signified that the results often were incremental improvements made possible by perfectionist manufacturing, which beyond the cultural stereotype, was often the only way forward when revolutionary new developments such as adaptive optics or interferometry were being supported in competing countries for their military potential.
Scientific Bandwagons and Educational Reform
The vast scale of expansion of the cosmic sciences after Sputnik notwithstanding, it was only one small part of the sweeping transformations ushered in by the Soviet satellite, which significantly changed attitudes to scientific research and the status of science in society in general.
The Eisenhower administration and space science pioneers like James Van Allen initially did not think much of Sputnik, seriously underestimating the impact that public opinion could have on the actual development of technologies and scientific research. In contrast, the Soviet announcement of Sputnik was interpreted beyond immediate government circles as a âtechnological Pearl Harbor,â and the growing consensus across the entire political spectrum was to initiate a wide-ranging debate on the investment and reforms necessary to meet the Soviet challenge.40 The first postwar years in Western Europe and the United States had seen attempts to revert to an idealized peacetime, with social structures and institutions resembling a prewar idyll. The Cold War apparatus was lavish, but spending on the whole had been limited to areas directly linked to the military challenge. This cutback was reflected in scientific research, too: prewar funding models based on private philanthropy persisted alongside education-centered, state-level funding in fields in which research could not credibly be framed as ânuclear.â41 These regressive developments in America even justified the mode in which scientific research was funded elsewhere in the non-Communist world. Most relevant for this book, during the first postwar decade, and even after restrictions were lifted in 1955, the constituent states of the Federal Republic of West Germany pushed to keep education and much of scientific research largely outside of the federal governmentâs responsibility, the only exceptions being those areas of national priority which ended up under the direct purview of federal ministries, most notably the Ministry of âNuclear Affairsâ.42
Up to October 1957, the Soviet Union was not regarded as a scientific or technological role model but, rather, as a menace in pursuit of territorial expansion and domestic infiltration. Soviet scientific and technological progress had been considered parasitical, originating largely among eÌmigreÌs and in spying operations. This view changed radically after Sputnik; the Communist superpower was now recast as a trendsetter, a model for future living based on the âscientificâ organization of society. Technocratic admiration of the Soviet Union dated back to the 1920s,43 and the timing of Sputnik, shortly after the death of Stalin, facilitated a focus on positive traits that the West could imitate for the sake of its own survival. The years after 1957 saw the zenith of scientific approaches to government and scientific planning as espoused by Sovietologists and presidential advisors Max Millikan44 and Walter Rostow, who mobilized their expertise and the opportunity afforded by Sputnik to advocate their planning-focused approach to government and economics. Beyond the United States, through foreign aid programs, the connection between the âscientificationâ of society and material progress became the non-Marxist alternative for a teleological narrative of human development.45
The post-Sputnik interpretation of the first postwar decade in the West was that having privileged select realms such as nuclear science and military-relevant research was a failure in contrast to the model of generalized modernization and mobilization seen in the Soviet Union.46
One of the most significant social changes directly caused by Sputnik began in the United States with the National Defense Education Act of 1958, by which the American federal government expanded its influence to the previously decentralized realm of education, and augmented funding for all levels of education and research, even in areas far beyond the military-industrial complex.47 These American initiatives were then quickly matched in other Western countries, which feared not only the Soviet vanguard, but also being left behind by the American response that followed on Sputnik. This response served to expand and democratize scientific careers throughout the industrialized world, which would in turn have an impact, a decade later, in fields such as astrophysics.48
Vannevar Bushâs memorandum of 1945, which had led to the creation of the National Science Foundation (nsf) in the United States, already encompassed this generalized view of the role of education and scientific research for the military capability of the future.49 But calls for generalized scientific mobilization such as found in Bushâs memorandum were interpreted very narrowly in the early nuclear age, and only fully flourished after October 1957. Bush called the Soviet satellite âone of the finest things that Russia ever did for us.â50
In West Germany, these developments in the United States were appropriated by proponents of modernization of the educational system. West German education retained prewar features which reformers considered hierarchical, authoritarian, and elitist: for example, separating children at an early age and making it difficult for children from underprivileged backgrounds to access universities, all in a system where humanist scholarship was institutionally superior to the natural sciences. After Sputnik, reformers warned that this obsolescent educational system jeopardized the ability of West Germany to compete internationally, both economically and politically.51
In West Germany, the comparisons that Americans had made between their system and the Soviet one easily translated to a more immediate experience.52 East Germany had already introduced radical educational reforms, including gender equality, measures to allay discrimination against people of poorer and less-educated backgrounds, and a heavy emphasis on technical and scientific education for all students. The objective of a scientifically educated general population was then even further encouraged after Sputnik.53 Critics in the West called to mind the undemocratic aspects of East German educational efforts, such as active discrimination against âbourgeoisâ families, and mixing political indoctrination and even military training into the school curriculum. But still, it was hard to ignore the very high quality of East German scientific and technical education: graduates of East German schools who emigrated to the West in the 1950s remained grateful for the scientific and technical quality of their education.54
As with other issues described below, the fragmented federal structure of West Germany was blamed for the inability to keep up with the challenges of the modern world and competition with the East, and even after Sputnik, the reach of federal ministries into schools and university education remained limited in comparison even to the United States. The compromise that regulated the influence of federal resources in the early postwar era was the Königstein Agreement of 1949, but this had resulted from an emergency measure to support existing, struggling, pre-1945 research institutions and deliberately did not touch on educational matters. The need to move beyond the limitations of Königstein in West Germany came with the end of Allied restrictions in 1955 and the evident need for nuclear research institutes; and it led to the creation of a Ministry of Atomic Affairs, as mentioned in Chapter 1.55 These ânuclearâ needs had sparked discussion of the national coordination of scientific research in general, and led to the creation of the Federal Science Council (Wissenschaftsrat) in September 1957, shortly before Sputnik, but only after long Bundestag deliberations in which the precarious institutional framework for research and education in scientific and technical fields had been exposed. Delegates to this new council were appointed on recommendation of the research organizations, including Max Planck Society, the dfg (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, German Research Foundation), and the wrk (West German Rectorâs Conference, the lobbying association of West German universities). These appointees were joined by others nominated by the federal ministries and the various states.56 By the time the Wissenschaftsrat began meeting in 1958, the global wave of reforms sparked by Sputnik was well underway and its recommendations hence were reactions to the aforementioned global trends. One of the master moves by the Max Planck Society, in the post-Sputnik years, was to appoint Reimar Lüst to the Council in 1965. By then he was already the standard-bearer of the Societyâs forays into the space age and even served as Chair of the Council, from 1969 to 1972.
Throughout the crucial 1960s, the slow pace of reform on matters related to education further widened the gap between educational and non-educational research institutions. This proved favorable for organizations like the Max Planck Society,57 which from 1957 quickly benefited from broader support from the existing federal ministries; and even more so, in the following decade, thanks to the national priorities set by the Wissenschaftsrat. However, the federal organization of West Germany, whose states insisted on retaining their limited influence on educational matters, steered much research of national relevance away from the universities throughout the first decade of the space age, more so than in other countries. Only in 1969, following constitutional reform, was responsibility for higher education passed from the Ministry of Scientific Research, founded in 1962, explicitly to the Federal Ministry of Education and Science (BMBW); but still, states continued to obstruct federal interventions, especially in directly educational matters. In consequence, the endeavor to unify teaching and research, led by the academic-turned-minister Hans Leussnik, lasted only three years: upon his retirement in 1972, a Ministry of Research and Technology (bmft) was created, which functioned independently until the 1990s, dealing with research and development of more national relevance, such as nuclear affairs and aerospace, as well as taking charge of the so-called Grossforschung (large-scale research institutes) and a growing âBlue Listâ of heterogeneous non-educational institutes.58
University research still benefited greatly from increased funding of the dfg after Sputnik, but this entity was located in the rival ministry, and support from the bmft to universities, either directly or through the dfg, was a cumbersome process full of inter-institutional rivalries.59
Meanwhile, after 1969, Germanyâs Social Democrat (SPD) and Free Democrat (FDP) coalition made spectacular progress in expanding access to higher education. However, the expansion of tertiary research and the democratization of universities were treated as two separate issues, and were further complicated by the student protest movement that had exploded in the late 1960s. Influential scientists of the era, unsympathetic to student movements, used the opportunity to further widen the gap between universities and research-oriented organizations.60
The persistent asymmetry between education and scientific research in West Germany, coupled with institutional fragmentation up to the ministry level, further tilted the institutional advantages of the Max Planck Society, which was older than the research ministries themselves and remained independent of them, while at the same time benefiting from a significant lifeline from the Research Ministry (as the bmft came to be known) in nationally relevant fields, which played an important role particularly in the cosmic sciences.
Civilian Space Programs and the âScientificâ Framing of Space
A powerful, lasting legacy of the âSputnik shockâ around the world was the rising status of scientists, which allowed them to take on powerful positions in areas related to space exploration, which until 1957 had been the preserve of the military. Pioneering space scientists had been proposing satellite launches at least since 1954, but these had fallen on the deaf ears of their military backers: satellites were already technically feasible, but the senior leadership considered them costly and of little benefit compared with the already viable suborbital flights.61 The Eisenhower administration was also cautious about launching a satellite while the territorial status of outer space was still undefined. Only in the framework of the International Geophysical Year (IGY, 1957â58), an explicitly âinternationalâ and âscientificâ endeavor, were American space scientists able to advance the launch of an artificial satellite under what was called Project Vanguard;62 but even then, its funding and organization remained low priority and ultimately fell behind the Soviets. Still, this project demonstrated, even before Sputnik, that linking fundamental research and spaceflight could serve to legitimate them both. Moreover, the igy satellite proposal was a chance to establish the idea that outer space was international, a precedent that would prove vital for the deployment of surveillance satellites.63
One of the key reforms following Sputnik was the creation in early 1958 of nasa, as a civilian federal agency in charge of coordinating the American space program.64 One of its objectives was to centralize planning, so as to avoid any duplication of effort and, too, the rivalries that had arisen between several military rocket development programs. But another aim was to foster scientific research and international collaboration by constituting a separate civilian institutional framework for access to outer space, safely compartmentalized, away from classified activities. Both these objectives were based on the current wave of scientific management described above, but also clearly had public relations appeal: thanks to nasa, Americaâs endeavors in outer space would take place in public view and remain accessible to external scientific researchers, in stark contrast to the Soviet program. nasa even insisted on the live broadcast of launches and related events.65 Crucially, and in difference to earlier initiatives such as âAtoms for Peace,â nasa was given considerable authority to instigate collaboration with scientific institutions abroad, as well as to focus on cooperation with friendly or neutral countries in possession of a significant scientific and technological base, so as to guarantee that all participants would gain from the exchange. nasaâs collaborations were not a foreign aid program, but a scientific collaboration framework that often dominated the pace of scientific developments in the fields that it touched, worldwide. The impact of this approach was colossal, in terms of the scale and quality of the ensuing collaborations.66
Furthermore, in 1960, one of nasaâs great institutional accomplishments was its acquisition of the former Army Ballistic Missile Agency (abma) in Huntsville, Alabamaâwhere Wernher von Braun and his team had led one of the most promising missile programsâwhich it repurposed as the Marshall Space Flight Center, in charge of the in-house development of Americaâs civilian rockets, beyond the technologies developed up to that point in a military context. Although initially opposed to the move to a civilian setting, von Braun was made director of this first civilian rocket development center, so becoming nasaâs public face. His center retained significant in-house capabilities through its first decade of operations, and contributed to nasa the organizational capacity to lead large projects, a legacy of its 1950s (âarsenal systemâ) setting, thus assuring the agency a significant systemic advantage over other countriesâ space agencies, as well as the ability to deal from a position of authority with any military or commercial contractors.67 On the other hand, the division of labor between these rocket developers and the scientists in charge of civilian scientific research was very clear, as the latter were externally based and developed their research payloads separately.68 The Jet Propulsion Laboratory (jpl) in Pasadena, also previously under military command, and several civilian space-relevant institutions were likewise transferred to nasa.69
We described earlier how the denuclearized status of outer space was agreed on by the superpowers throughout the 1960s, as required for the new balance of mutual assured destruction. The creation of nasa as a civilian agency driven by scientific research preceded these treaties, and its early successes helped to legitimize the non-nuclear approach to outer space around the world. nasaâs offers of scientific collaboration coincided in fact with the spirit of the resolutions of the United Nations General Assembly in the early 1960s, which called for the peaceful international exploration and use of outer space.70 The United Nations General Assembly had been making calls for committees and deliberations on the peaceful use of outer space since the late 1950s, thus roughly following the path that had led to the International Atomic Energy Agency (iaea) just a few years earlier. But in the case of outer space, while the UN efforts languished, much quicker progress was made through the scientist-led International Council of Scientific Unions, which instituted cospar, the Committee on Space Research.71 The âscientificâ narrative leading cooperation in space became established in the early 1960s, which allowed national agencies and even individual research groups to cooperate on space matters, while minimizing bureaucratic and diplomatic intermediation. Similar situations developed with the two other main applications of outer space foreseen at the time, the World Meteorological Organization and the International Telecommunication Union.72
From the mid-1960s onwards, âinternational collaboration on peaceful space explorationâ became the dominant discourse.73 But at the same time, the United States was able to maintain its leadership in many scientific fields covered by nasa, thanks to the vast underlying military-industrial complex, which shared technological and instrumental insights via experts and industrial contractors with parallel ongoing military activities.
nasa actually remained small in contrast with the military space programs in charge of missiles and spy satellites, and it was rarely the driver of developments in those areas; civilian and military agencies functioned in parallel, rather, while sharing a joint pool of contractors and experts and, occasionally, infrastructures.74nasaâs different needs led to separate production cultures that sometimes complemented one another, but also often ran into conflict. Most generally, military developments were oriented toward reliability, durability, and mass production, which was also later the focus with commercial satellites. nasaâs explorative and scientific focus demanded instead one-of-a-kind products, partly developed in-house, partly contracted out to industries for which they represented comparatively minor but cumbersome contracts.75
Finally, nasa as a civilian agency was expected to be the trailblazer for commercial applications in space, in the spirit of the âAtoms for Peaceâ initiative, something that would later create tension with foreign collaborators, who perceived a conflict of interest in its limitation of activities to âscientific purposesâ while advancing domestic commercial goals. Their large-scale deployment and commercialization were meant to be led (often, in a public-private partnership) by corporations such as comsat,76 for example, which provided the first network of communications satellites.
nasa inspired and, often, directly aided the creation of similar organizations in the major European countries.77 But despite sharing a model, the resulting national institutional frameworks varied widely, due to their underlying industrial, political, and economic systems. Key here is that these agencies, even more than in the United States, highlighted their scientific research activities, and were often headed by scientists. France is perhaps the best example, where the national space research center (cnes, Centre National dâEÌtudes Spatiales) was first proposed in 1960 and came into existence in 1962. Thanks to the centralist tradition in France, its creation was quick, and its influence in spearheading technological developments in France and Europe was early and considerable. Its first director was the general and aviator Robert AubinieÌre, and it was led by scientific figures such as the cosmic ray pioneer Pierre Auger and balloon- and rocket-based researcher Jacques Blamont.78 More than any other European country, France also benefited from its parallel ongoing military launcher developments, outlined below.
A contrasting but similarly successful path to a civilian agency was pursued in Great Britain. Thanks to the UKâs close civilian and military collaboration with the United States, nasa itself served in essence as a significant centralizing point for British scientific space activities, which were led locally by varied national agencies, depending on their uses. Scientific research was led by the Science Research Council (src), which was founded in 1965 as a consequence of Sputnik, but encompassed all fundamental research of national significance, including nuclear and particle physics, space research, astronomy, and the life sciences. The src funded and inter-networked research communities that remained dominated by the universities. Only very late, in 1985, was a dedicated British National Space Centre (bnsc) created.79 The Britonsâ decentralized approach to their space program is still quite successful and provides a valuable parallel to the more anarchically decentralized West German case. Key to British success was that, while there was no dedicated central agency, the goals of the program were very clear and reflected the heavily scientific leadership of the src. Given the close military alliance with the US, British activities could focus on truly civilian and complementary aspects of spaceflight. Other agencies and industrial alliances fostered commercial interests, for example, pushing for a leadership role in communications satellites. An example of this successful decentralized coordination was the united front against spending resources on human spaceflight, and indeed there was no interest in sending a British astronaut throughout the entire 20th century. As we see below, this reflected the actual scientific consensus, even in the United States.
Sounding Rockets in Europe and West Germany
Despite their different structures, British and French civilian space programs during the first decades each maintained comparable national research capabilities based on small âsoundingâ rockets that had been largely developed before Sputnik, initially for military purposes, and were later procured by their domestic industries. Over several decades, these small rockets, mostly incapable of putting objects into orbit, had the benefit of providing cheap, reliable access to outer space while being militarily unproblematic. Used creatively, they could lead to groundbreaking scientific experiments and observations. It was such small rockets which provided a significant basis for the early years of esro,80 and in the French case they still brought significant expertise later used by Ariane and satellite programs.81 While these nationally-based research rockets flourished, a proposed UN facility for sounding rockets led to the Thumba Equatorial Rocket Launching Station (terls) in India, to which nasa, cnes, src, and the Hydrometeorological Service of the USSR contributed.82
From the early 1960s onwards, small rockets supplied primarily by the United States, France, and the United Kingdom provided the suborbital launchers for research programs in countries with more modest capabilities, such as Italy, Netherlands, Sweden, Norway, or Switzerland.83
West Germany was a unique example, being in this âuserâ category despite its size: by 1968, it had actually sponsored more sounding rocket launches than any other West European country, through a mix of French, American, and later, British vehicles.84 When esro ended its sounding rocket program in the 1970s, German-sponsored launches, all with foreign rockets, dominated even further.85 The development of domestic sounding rockets in Germany had been considered in the 1960s. Early in the decade, Berthold Seliger was developing and launching them successfully from Cuxhaven on the North Sea coast. But Seliger was soon mired in the Egypt scandal (detailed below), and the last rocket launch occurred in 1964.86 After this embarrassing incident, West Germany outlawed the private production of missile-like devices, restricting them to large enterprises within collaborations with the state and other nato countries. Simultaneously, the Federal Ministry for Scientific Research did not support the development of conventional (one-use and uncontrolled return) space launchers that were indistinguishable from missiles. There were attempts by industry to create a reusable, winged sounding rocket to work within these political constraints, but these proved impractical and West Germany ended up relying exclusively on foreign sounding rockets for the remainder of the century.87
Given the restrictions on both rocket development and launches within Germany, since 1965 the Bavarian dfl, (Deutsche Forschungsanstalt für Luftfahrt, one of the precursors of the DLR, German Aerospace Center), together with the Max Planck Societyâs Space Research Working Group (Arbeitsgruppe für Raumfahrtforschung; see later in this chapter), created the mobile rocket base moraba (Mobile Raketenbasis) headquartered in Oberpfaffenhofen. From its inception, this group, which was later owned by the first attempt at a German aerospace agency, (the dfvlr, German Test and Research Institute for Aviation and Space Flight), provided mobile rocket launching infrastructure, such as mounting, ignition, communications, telemetry, and even the operation of the in-flight experiments. The rockets themselves were provided by foreign companies or research partners. moraba could quickly deploy to airbases abroad (Norway, Sweden, Australia, USA, Canada, France, India, Brazil) providing West Germans with the closest thing possible to national launch capabilities.88 Even after satellites became the dominant scientific platform, sounding rockets deployed by moraba offered the possibility of a very quick reaction to interesting astrophysical phenomena, instead of the decades-long planning for a satellite mission.89
moraba, in our view, epitomizes how space research in West Germany managed to establish scientific dominance while simultaneously maintaining a prudent distance from domestic rocket-building efforts. More than in other countries, its scientific research institutions played a major role, with the ability to choose between launching with entirely foreign collaborations, or with the dfvlr under conditions where the latter had scientifically subservient roles focused on the vehicles and support infrastructures. Something similar would develop with scientific satellite missions as well, where the satellites themselves and operational payloads were provided by the dfvlr and its industrial partners, while the scientific instrumentation was generally built by the participating research institutes themselves. Launches of German satellites were always provided by foreign national agencies or esa.
As we detail later in this chapter, the process of creating something akin to a West German space agency extended over a decade, facing the hurdles of federal fragmentation, reluctant industries, and the diminishing possibility of a national launcher program. These uniquely West German constraints were reinforced by scientists who appropriated the discourse on fundamental scientific research and preferred using foreign rockets and infrastructure, leading to a late, fragmented, and hollowed-out West German space agency. When the (awkwardly named) dfvlr90 finally started in 1969, it could not attract scientists of significant stature to be its directors, having to settle instead for local rocket experts.91 Max Planck Institutes continued to benefit from direct support channels both to the federal ministries and the Max Planck Society itself, with the new dfvlr having little authority over them. Whether this agency had a supporting role or, as intended from its inception, a position of leadership, remained contested, especially by the Max Planck Institutes, which sought in subsequent decades to maintain their dominance.92 The dfvlr had the mandate to be the operational coordinator in large-scale national missions such as scientific satellites, controlling the budgets and orchestrating the collaboration of industrial and scientific participants; but the scientific originators of the projects were based at research institutes which continued to wield significant authority and were better connected with international scientific networks and even foreign space agencies.
Large Rockets and the West German Nuclear Ambiguity in the Early Space Age
Since the return to sovereignty and alliance with nato in 1955, the Adenauer administration aspired to become a significant voice within the Western Alliance. This led even to an intent to arm the West German military with tactical nuclear explosives.93 Then, the advent of Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles transformed Europeâs nuclear ambitions. In the years around 1957, the AmericanâSoviet rivalry gravitated increasingly toward strategic bombing and mutually assured destruction. This meant that the threshold of use of nuclear weapons was rising toward an all-or-nothing standoff. Under these circumstances, fear arose in Western European countries that they might become sacrificial lambs in localized conflicts whenever the Americans chose not to escalate to a nuclear exchange. The invasion of Hungary by Warsaw Pact troops in 1956 recalled to mind the territorial ambitions of the Soviets; more important for the French and British, however, were the simultaneously occurring Suez crisis and loss of Vietnam, which demonstrated they could not always rely on American support.94
Both the British and French accelerated their moves toward nuclear independence in 1956. Britain had already exploded its own nuclear bomb in 1952, and as part of these efforts was already exploring missile delivery technologies.95 As early as 1954, the British had signed an agreement (Wilson-Sandys) for joint missile development with the Americans, thanks to which Britain began developing medium-range ballistic missiles very early (1955): called Blue Streak, they were to complement American work on long-range icbms. Still, the missile had to be able to carry a very heavy load, as it was intended to deliver a very powerful, preferably thermonuclear bomb, to compensate for its lack of precision (already in the mid-1950s they were testing fusion devices). This carrying capacity is what later made the development applicable for satellite launching.
Due to these pre-1957 efforts, of all Western countries, the British were least impressed by Sputnik on armament-related issues, as they already had an ongoing program that they considered proportionally adequate to their ambitions. In their case, what Sputnik provided was the opportunity to increase collaboration with the Americans on an even footing, thanks to their moment of perceived weakness, leading to their humorously called âdeclaration of interdependenceâ:96 in 1958 the two countries signed the Mutual Defense Agreement, through which they shared their nuclear deterrent. As a consequence, by 1960 the British had decided to interrupt their military Blue Streak program. This cancellation, however, came with the domestic problem of having to justify the resources already spent, and the solution was to try to spin off the missile as a civilian satellite delivery system. But Blue Streak could only work as a first stage of a larger satellite launcher, and no resources were available for a full-fledged national satellite or launcher program. The solution was to press for European integration on launcher development, leading to the birth of eldo, which is detailed later in this chapter.
The situation in France was the opposite of Britain. The Americans had excluded the French from collaboration on nuclear and missile issues since before the end of the war, and the new British-American alliance specifically prevented the UK from trading such expertise with France, as had been the intention during their first attempts to enter the European Community.97 The French, for their part, had been pursuing fully self-reliant nuclear capabilities since the 1940s. Sputnik and the British-American alliance further accelerated these intentions, and extended them to the development of delivery missiles. The French greatly accelerated their efforts after Sputnik, and made prodigious advances on a national military context until the 1970s. Their first nuclear weapons were to be delivered by Mirage airplanes, while medium-range delivery rockets were developed together with civilian ones through the 1960s:98 between 1961 and 1965, the French military-led program introduced the series of âprecious stonesâ rockets (Agate, Topaz, Emerald, Sapphire, Ruby), leading both to satellite launchers and icbms. Medium-range rockets resulting from this program were operational by the end of the 1960s.99 These were to be followed by truly long-range icbms in the 1970s, intended to reach anywhere in the world (the âTous Azimutsâ program).100 Once this domestic launcher technology was mature, the French national program applied this expertise to foster development of the European launcher Ariane.
The civilian outcome of the French national program was the orbital launcher Diamant, which launched the first French satellite, AsteÌrix, in 1965. This small satellite made France the third country to reach orbit independently (Britain, Canada, and Italy had by then already sent their own satellites on American launchers).101 A few years later, in 1970, an improved launcher under a binational agreement put into orbit the heavier Dial (Diamant Allemand), the second West German satellite (the first to be coordinated by the dfvlr),102 which was also the first satellite launched from French Guyana. Shortly beforehand, in the wake of Algerian independence, the French had had to evacuate their traditional base at Hammaguir; but in any case, Guyana, being close to the equator, was a more advantageous site for geosynchronous satellite launches.
As the scale of research and development in Cold War armaments expanded, the French indirectly assisted the growth of their own military technologies by pursuing the strategic mobilization of other European countries in the framework of scientific and technological collaboration. Generally, this happened under ambiguous circumstances, such as when concerns circulated that euratom, created at the Messina Conference of 1955, while being apparently âpeacefulâ was nonetheless understood to have military intentions, too.103 Sometimes these intentions can be traced to explicit (although still secret) military collaboration agreements: very soon after the launch of Sputnik, German, French, and Italian representatives fast-tracked a joint project to develop nuclear weapons, the so-called ânuclear flirtation.â The initiative circumvented West German restrictions, as controversial installations would be physically located in France. Crucial for this book, this 1958 collaboration plan already encompassed joint rocket development.104
euratom and subsequent secret agreements were typical examples of West German practices that raised suspicions in America and the Soviet Union during this period, regarding weapons and dual-use technologies: that they were tacitly facilitating their development within European collaborations (largely in France), while hiding these with their visible participation in the scientific and commercial uses of these technologies. West German nuclear and space policy between 1955 and 1969 has to be seen in the context of these continental ambitions and the reaction they provoked in the two superpowers.105 The doubt only dissipated at the end of the decade with the signing of the Non-Proliferation Treaty (npt) and the change of federal government in West Germany.
Accepting the npt was part of a wider political, generational, and cultural shift in West Germany over the course of the decade, which in 1963 saw the retreat of Adenauer, who had opposed this treaty; followed in 1966 by a centrist Grand Coalition with the Social Democrats led by Kurt Georg Kiesinger, during which West Germany abstained regarding the treaty; and, finally, its ratification in 1969 under the new center-left coalition led by Willy Brandt.106
The era before this was characterized by intense collaboration with France on nuclear, rocket, and other defense-related issues, punctuated by calibrated retreats back to the United Statesâ sphere.107 This was a logic of European self-reliance within the Western Alliance against the immediate Soviet threat, and the political and technological infrastructure on which it was based was pursued most strongly by the Bavarian heavyweight Franz Josef Strauss (see Chapter 4), in his capacity as Federal Minister of Atomic Affairs (1955â56), then of Defense (1956â62), and later, of Finance (1966â69).
While the West Germans had already been excluded from direct involvement with French nuclear weapons development after the return of Charles de Gaulle to the presidency in 1958, significant collaboration related to thermonuclear fusion and space-related technologies continued during the 1960s. De Gaulleâs reluctance to share these technologies then revived pro-American inclinations in West Germany regarding both nuclear energy and outer space, establishing the longstanding practice of West Germany in these matters, attempting to find the best bargain among inter-Allied competition between American and pan-European (ultimately, French) interests.108
As part of this inter-Allied competition during the first decade of the space age, the American strategy regarding international collaboration in outer space included even offering to launch national satellites as symbolic gestures or as trading tokens in international politics.109 That is how West Germany obtained the launchers for five of its first six national satellites.
It was emphasized, however, that these satellites would be for âscientificâ research, which again provided a distinct advantage for âfundamental researchâ institutions like the Max Planck Institutes. The nascent aerospace industries still benefited, while being steered toward activities compatible with West Germanyâs subaltern status: the availability of foreign launchers incentivized the West German specialization in those aspects of spaceflight related to the militarily unproblematic upper stages and payloads. This also afforded the West German aerospace industry a distinctly scientific-to-commercial pathway, with which it expected to profit from the experience gained while building the scientific satellites, so as then to be able to sell upper stages and payloads with wider applications (commercial or even military) within legitimate pan-European aerospace industrial networks.
West German Roles within esro and eldo
Shortly after Sputnik, in 1958, the International Council of Scientific Unions (icsu) instituted a Committee on Space Research (cospar), which took advantage of the existing coordination work dating from the International Geophysical Year. The existence of this body incentivized nations around the world to appoint expert representatives and make initial moves toward their own national scientific programs. By 1959, nasa had announced through cospar the availability of its vehicles for bilateral scientific collaborations, which resulted in most of the first national European experiments and satellites described above. Simultaneously, however, there was talk about pan-European collaboration efforts, and it was established very early that this should be an entirely scientific and âpeacefulâ organization: for example, it was decided early that nato should not have a role in it. Instead, the organization was to be based on the successful model of cern.110 That same year, Edoardo Amaldi, who had been one of the founders of the Geneva-based laboratory, circulated a memorandum that is considered the foundational document of what would become the European Space Research Organisation (esro).111 In this initial version, however, Amaldiâs proposal for the space equivalent to cern included the in-house development of the launcher technology needed to fulfill the organizationâs scientific objectives. This inclusion of launchers was justified by how, in Geneva, both particle detectors and the accelerators were built internally, while keeping industrial participation limited to a contractor role; as we saw earlier, this was also the nasa model.
One of the first proposals for a clear distinction between launchers and scientific research in space was advocated by someone influential in the mobilization of the Max Planck Society toward the space age, as we detail later in the chapter. Shortly after Amaldiâs letter, Peter Meyer, a prominent cosmic ray physicist who had worked at the Max Planck Institute for Physics in Göttingen and was now in Chicago, sent a letter to the West German Atomic Minister (Alexander Hocker) in response to those plans. In this letter,112 while praising the general idea of a cern-like institution, Meyer emphasized the importance of keeping scientific research and launcher development entirely separate, as they [in his view] represented extremely different regimes. Launchers were a different matter than particle accelerators, as there was neither published literature nor a tradition of freely sharing the know-how for their construction. Rockets [he continued] would need to be developed from a very modest starting point, which implied costly trial and error, and a long lag with respect to American and Soviet developments. Furthermore, launcher development entailed costs and infrastructural needs on a larger scale than the scientific experiments conducted with them, putting the scientists at a disadvantage while being at the mercy of the pace of rocket developments. Instead, for a scientifically dedicated research organization it would be easy, quick, and inexpensive to participate and even take a leading role in the emerging space sciences, where results were published, while taking advantage of an expected surplus of American rockets, and when the time came, of European launchers, which he considered European industries should be incentivized to initiate.
While most Europeans were in favor of a united launcher and research organization as proposed by Amaldi, a similar view to Meyerâs was proposed by the British representatives, albeit for a different underlying reason, namely their intention to commercialize the Blue Streak rocket through the creation of a separate organization, the later eldo.113 Negotiations on this matter were ongoing simultaneously with those of esro, through 1960, even though the information circulating between both initiatives was not transparent. Ultimately, British insistence was the main reason that esro remained a purely scientific organization while eldo focused on launcher development, in which British participation was dominant. The demarcation of âscientific researchâ as something organizationally different from launcher âdevelopmentâ was instrumentalized by the British, who argued esro would be a more independent and scientifically led organization, while eldo necessarily involved political intervention and the need to include commercial applications in the main purpose of the organization.114 But ultimately, âfundamentalâ institutions like Max Planck Institutes were also beneficiaries of this rigorous distinction in the first decade of the space age, since they participated in esro under conditions similar to those of the other participating countries, while also benefiting from being junior partners within American-led collaborations. By the time the approach had changed toward the unitary agency that became esa in the early 1970s,115 the status of fundamental research institutes had already been secured in the global ecosystem of space research collaborations.
The agreement to form esro was signed in December 1960, and preparatory committees and study groups started meeting and laying out plans a few months later. Over the next years there followed negotiations regarding the selection of headquarters, staff appointments, and, especially, the controversial problem of the scale at which activities were to be conducted at centralized sites and laboratories, as opposed to distributing them among the member countriesâ existing institutions.116 West Germany obtained the space data analysis center in Darmstadt, which in 1967 evolved to become the European Satellite Operations Center. esroâs first satellites launched in 1968 on American rockets. None ever flew on an eldo launcher before the failure of that organization.
Negotiations for the creation of eldo were simultaneously underway, and the final shape of this organization was agreed in 1961. By then, the highly compartmentalized nature of this launcher venture had been instituted, as it was designated that development of the large European rocket would be divided into rocket stages: the British contribution was the first stage, consisting of the already existing Blue Streak rocket; the French contribution was the second stage, a modified Veronique rocket called Coralie; and West Germany committed to the militarily unproblematic third stage, called Astris, which would carry the satellite payload to its final orbit operating in the vacuum. The participating West German institutions and industries were steered toward specializing in one particular niche of spaceflight which remains dominant to this day, focused on small, high-power engines that need to be tested in unique evacuated chambers that are still one of the specialties of the dlr testing site at Lampholdshausen, near Heilbronn.
The smaller participating countries also had their dedicated roles, such as satellite construction (Italy), radio guidance (Belgium), and telemetry (Netherlands). Australia was also a member, contributing its Woomera base. This excessive division of labor is now considered to have been the main cause for the technical failures of eldoâs first rockets, and for the subsequent dissolution of the organization itself, at the end of the 1960s. While the individual components worked well, the launches of the integrated rocket failed due to the lack of coordination between the different components.117 The dream of a compartmentalized approach to European integration ended in 1972, soon followed by the creation of a new European Space Agency, esa, the successor to esro, which assumed the tasks of building its own launcher under an entirely French leadership. By the early 1970s, it had become clear that for applications beyond scientific research, Europeans could not rely on launchers provided by the United States, because the superpower abused its dominant position to hinder European progress whenever this competed with its own interests. 118
The Problem of German Rogue Rocketmen
Rocket development in West Germany followed a similar path to other dual-use cases treated in this book, such as nuclear energy (Chapter 1) and radar (Chapter 3). In all these areas, German experts and their programs had advanced considerably during the war, and through the first postwar decade there was hope they might be able to jump back into the lead, once Allied restrictions were lifted. In the case of rocket development, Nazi Germany was a decade ahead of every other country, and had vast numbers of experts with knowledge and know-how, who had dispersed around the world after 1945. At the end of the war, obtaining these rocket experts was one of the central objectives of every Allied country. Many rocket experts remained abroad for the rest of their lives, and their former Nazi membership and wartime activities were usually not an obstacle.119 A massive transfer of know-how and expertise occurred between 1945 and the early 1950s, and the first postwar generation of rockets in all the Allied countries had significant input from German teams and expertise. Some of these experts then started trickling back to West Germany during the 1950s, anticipating the end of Allied restrictions. The wartime capabilities had been completely dismantled and shipped abroad; but the technical expertise and ambition to participate again in rocket development began to be discussed again in the open, combining a fascination with both civilian and military aspects of space transport and exploration.120 Key figure in this early institutionalization was Eugen Sänger, who in the mid-1950s founded a Society for Spaceflight (Gesellschaft für Weltraumfahrt) in Stuttgart, with the help of local industries, andâanticipating the space age, and already drawing on the fame of Wernher von Braun in the United Statesâpublished books for experts, politicians, and the general public.121 Sänger was founding professor of the Research Institute for Jet Propulsion Physics (Forschungsinstitut für Physik der Strahlantriebe) in 1954. After Sputnik, Sänger mobilized the rising interest in spaceflight to accelerate his initially private initiative for a West German national rocket. Sänger himself was an expert in stratospheric airplanes, which were to crop up recurrently in the history of German aerospace. But for the immediate goal of rocket-based access to space, he founded the test site in Lampoldshausen and associated with the foremost domestically available rocket scientist, Wolfgang Pilz, who had been one of the key contributors to the French Veronique rocket.122
In the few years after Sputnik, the Stuttgart-based intentions were for a fully national West German rocket which could put a satellite in orbit. But Sänger, Pilz, and their collaborators provided instead the founding cautionary tale of West German rocket development. Throughout their careers, these Stuttgart-based pioneersâwhose engineering ethos stood in stark contrast to the Max Planck scientist, easily blurring the boundaries between scientific research, technological development, and military applicationsâmaintained a swashbuckling, businesslike approach in their search for supporters.123 The first ethical clash surfaced upon the creation of eldo. The organization was strongly criticized by Pilz, who predicted its failure, while resenting how it threatened Germanyâs abilities do develop a fully national rocket. West German commitment to eldo interrupted support for his rocket, after which his team continued its development in Egypt, at the invitation of Nasser. Their rocket test flights were announced in 1962, and also featured in Egyptian military parades that same year. In parallel, Berthold Seliger, a disciple of Sänger who had started a private company to develop and launch rockets from Cuxhaven, was found to have offered his domestically developed rockets to countries outside the nato alliance. These episodes further tainted the potential for a national path to rocket development in West Germany. A public scandal exploded in Israel and West Germany in the very years when they were attempting to reestablish diplomatic relations. Sänger was sacked from his professorship in Stuttgart, but was hired at the Technical University in Berlin soon after, before dying prematurely in 1964. The Israelis bemoaned the inadequacy of West German intervention, then started with targeted assassinations and the kidnapping of technicians. Pilz and his secretary were victims of a letter bomb, after which they retired to a low-profile life in Germany. Finally, Franz Josef Strauss himself agreed with Shimon Peres that rocket technicians should be offered employment in Germany, so as to prevent the continued proliferation of their expertise in the Arab world.124
But still, a near constant string of episodes traceable to this expertise occurred in the following decades. Lutz Kayser, a disciple of Sänger, was again subject to international condemnation when his private company otrag, which was based in Zaire in the 1970s, and in Libya in the 1980s, began to develop a cheap alternative to Ariane.125 Throughout the Cold War, the Israelis, Soviets, and French were particularly concerned by these rogue rocketmen, and used public protests and diplomatic pressure to ensure that they were ostracized by the West German establishment.
Attempts to establish a West German national space agency unfolded thus against this backdrop of scandal, which made it more difficult than ever to leave behind the legacy of Peenemünde; and all the while, praise continued to be heaped on the âwell-behavedâ West German scientist dedicated to fundamental research (but not to engineering) in a non-commercial, internationalist context. In space exploration in West Germany in the second half of the 20th century, a commitment to âfundamental scienceâ was not an abstract ideology, but a behavioral necessity periodically reinforced by politically charged episodes.
DFVLR and Aerospace Industries
In parallel to the return of such rogue space visionaries came the more respectable reconstruction of German airplane manufacturing after the end of Allied restrictions. This was based largely on reestablishing the most traditional prewar companies and growing the surviving flight research institutions to their full potential. The reconstruction of the aircraft sector (soon aerospace) followed an industry-centered approach steered initially by state governments, and increasingly coordinated at the federal level. Key early champion was again Franz Josef Strauss, who envisioned a gradual pathway out of Allied restrictions: to have local industries find their feet first via contract work for Allied aeronautical companies, and then slowly work their way to a Europeanized industrial capability, in which West Germany would be deeply integrated. If successful, this approach would be economically competitive with the United States, guarantee European sovereignty in a crucial industrial sector, and reinforce a growing infrastructure for military aircraft production, which in turn would cross-subsidize civilian airplane development. The results of these ambitions in the aeronautical industry are now manifest in Airbus, the pan-European manufacturing consortium.126
After the launch of Sputnik, the West German federal government considerably augmented its involvement in space-related developments, seeking participation in already existing private and state-based organizations, and exerting pressure on the airplane industries to get involved. Before 1957, aerospace research, focusing on airplane development, had occurred in a decentralized way, condensed around different regional strongholds, each with their own industrial and political supporters. State interventionism after Sputnik was manifest in the pressures to centralize and coordinate their activities, while the two original expert communities, of rocket builders and aircraft manufacturers, remained clearly distinct. While initially, the entrepreneurial rocket scientists in Stuttgart took the lead, the Egypt scandals forced a radical change of approach, toward a state-supervised system based on large, established companies, and aligned with the international division of labor, by which Germany was to provide upper stages and payloads, not the rockets themselves.
At the height of the Egypt scandal, the private limited company Society for Space Research (Gesellschaft für Weltraumforschung GmbH) was created, with majority support from the federal state; it was a first attempt to centralize and coordinate aerospace efforts, namely by bringing all the surviving research establishments under one roof. Established companies, most prominently Bölkow in Bavaria, and Dornier in the southwest, were enthusiastic industrial partners in charge of the first and second German satellites respectively.
Owing to a patchwork of regional public-private partnerships and research associations in airplane-related research, a multipartite competition was already unfolding between the states of Bavaria, Baden-Württemberg, North-Rhine-Westphalia, and Lower Saxony, each of which sought to attract those institutions and experts still finding their way since the end of the war. This regional competition was similar to that described in Chapter 1 in the case of nuclear energy, the key difference here being the much more far-flung and preexisting industrial base, which helped reinforce the idea that aerospace development had fewer claims to being âfundamentalâ research. In fact, as detailed below, the âappliedâ status of aerospace research directly affected the Max Planck Society throughout the 1950s and 1960s, due to its contested stewardship of the Aerodynamic Test Station (ava) and its close relationship with the Max Planck Institute for Fluid Dynamics.
The first decade of the space age in West Germany consisted in a slow, tortuous process of consolidation and integration of the different fragments of aerospace research institutes under a single roof, which was only accomplished definitely in 1969, with the establishment of the dfvlr.127
The dominant drivers of airplane and rocket developers were the longstanding tradition in engineering and the close backing both of industrial parties in the airplane industry and a federal ministry interested in pushing those industries toward spaceflight. Even disregarding the external pressures resulting from the rocket scandals mentioned earlier, there was already a stark cultural divide between fundamental research and aerospace development. This facilitated the transfer of the Aerodynamic Test Station of the Max Planck Society to the new dfvlr. And until the end of the Cold War, the stark division of labor, between the kind of âappliedâ research conducted at the dfvlr, and that which was done at universities and Max Planck Institutes, was upheld. Only in the 1990s did these boundaries begin to dissolve.
During the Cold War decades, the Max Planck Institutes maintained a boundary with the (variously named) German space agencies based on the fundamental / applied divide; and the stronger MPIs were proud to maintain separate sources of funding. Tellingly, it was the weakest of all Max Planck Institutes, the Institute for Aeronomy, which maintained the closest links to the dfvlr; and after 1990, when the boundary between fundamental and applied dissolved, this institute lost its dominance in planetary exploration within a decade, because the newly expanded dlr started to compete in these activities.
1970s Onwards: Tension with nasa and the Maturation of European Space
The collaboration landscape with the Americans existed in a precarious balance, between scientific excellence and the instrumentalization of science for propaganda purposes. Scientists were aware of how they were being âused,â but still found ways to make the most of the situation.128
In the first decade, this bargain afforded German researchers a fast route to outer space, mobilizing various forms of expertise, as described in the previous chapter. But dependence on the Americans proved problematic, especially as researchers tried to enter new fields. nasa would seek to prevent European researchers from doing research that competed with that of American teams, and simply keep them as junior partners. For example, Klaus Pinkau (a central figure throughout this book), realized in the late 1960s that Americans were steering him away from his ambitions in space astronomy, preferring that he and other Germans stick to âtheir known expertiseâ in increasingly outmoded space plasma research.129 Until the success of Ariane rockets in the late 1970s, German researchers depended almost exclusively on American rockets to reach orbit; but their own experiments elicited support in West Germany for esa and Ariane. Collaboration with the Soviet Union, a pathway opened up by France in the late 1970s, also served to break this monopoly.130
In any case, West German space science and astronomy in the 1960s and 1970s continued to be conducted to a significant degree with âpoor-manâs space probes,â such as balloons, sub-orbital rockets, and analysis of substances from meteorites and space missions.
In dealing with the superpowers, the additional element of human spaceflight complicated matters. After all, the space race played out not just through Sputnik and subsequent probes and satellites, but also Yuri Gagarinâs orbital flight of 1961, and the American challenge to put a man on the moon before the end of the decade. Human spaceflight was the ideal proxy for symbolic competition between the superpowers.131 On the surface was the calculated celebrity status of cosmonauts and astronauts and the general narrative of space exploration as a continuation of geographical discovery.132 This tension between unmanned and manned spaceflight has existed since the onset of the space age and continues to this day, in various manifestations, in all countries. Over the course of the 1960s, scientists protested that the American space program disproportionately invested so much in the, in scientific terms, relatively uninteresting challenge of landing on the moon.133
Moreover, the presence of humans required more complex vehicles and communications infrastructures than those used by unmanned projects. And while the extra cost and complexity are obvious disadvantages, if they are intended as scientific platforms, these same features make them more attractive for the industries that build them, and they also better serve the purpose of cross-development of technologies with military applications. For example, after the end of Apollo, the Space Shuttle project required a large satellite network to guarantee permanent communication with the ground. This network now provides the communications infrastructure used for unmanned scientific activities, human spaceflight, and spy satellites, the Pentagon being the principal user and funder of the system.134 This communications network puts nasa on a different level than the space programs of other countries, which rely on ground stations that can communicate with spacecraft only for brief segments of their orbit.135
The only comparative public engagement value of unmanned missions came through the race for âfirsts,â with unmanned probes reaching ever more distant parts of the solar system. Interplanetary probes provided spectacular scientific discoveries (such as determining the environments of the other planets in the solar system), while also pushing the limits of launch vehicles and communications systems. In contrast, orbital scientific missions, while being scientifically very productive, had a lower profile in the public imagination until the Hubble telescope of the 1990s. Even within unmanned spaceflight, a rivalry has developed between planetary scientists and space astronomers. These rivalries, which first emerged in the United States, were inherited by the corresponding scientific communities in esa and European national institutions.136
Then, between 1969 and 1972, as lunar visits became routine in the public mind, the American civilian program shifted temporarily away from human spaceflight. Cost controls and higher expectations of tangible outcomes during the 1970s then yielded to the new Space Shuttle program mobilized by military and commercial interests, while also in search of a scientific rationale. The emphasis on human spaceflight created a case of âthe cart leading the horseâ: there was an ample supply of vehicles and astronauts, disproportionate to the relatively undeveloped scientific programs that they were supposed to fulfill. This crystallized a tension which had begun with Apollo and persisted until the end of the century: Americans incentivized scientists from Allied countries, who often already had experience with efficient, unmanned rockets, to propose scientific projects for manned flights. Later in this chapter we will see examples of how this arrangement proved very fruitful in the case of the Apollo program. But especially since the early 1970s, coinciding with the failure of eldo and more constrained nasa budgets,137 European scientists were pressured instead to launch on the upcoming Space Shuttle, and to participate in programs which made sense only in the context of human spaceflight. One of the founding justifications for esa in the 1970s, which again took up the challenge of developing a European launcher, was to counter these pressures.
But European countries had diverse understandings of sovereignty: the French set their priorities on independent access to space with the development of their Ariane program, which would satisfy their ambitions and military interests in rocket technology.138 The British, whose accession to esro, eldo and, later, esa were also steps toward their eventual accession to the European Economic Community, focused their participation in the development of communications satellites.139 West Germany got the short end of the stick: in the collaboration agreements made with esro for the post-Apollo era, their joint projects were channeled toward the Space Shuttle. The effect, given the power imbalance within the new esa, was to leave West Germany and Italy with the least promising assignment, a scientific module for the Space Shuttle, called âSpacelab.â140 A significant portion of West Germanyâs aerospace budget, and its industries (led by ERNO of Bremen) became taken up with Spacelab, which also led to the creation of an astronaut center in Cologne, and to a West German being the first West European astronaut (but not cosmonaut).141 A proportion of these Spacelab missions were even within the West German national program, not esa, where they performed stunts such as taking over control during the part of the orbit that was in communication with Oberpfaffenhofen.142 Spacelab also altered the scientific landscape by justifying large investments in microgravity research, including the ground-based dlr free-fall experiment facilities, and the copious texus series of experiments based on sounding rockets. All these made Germany a âleaderâ in a field that most countries and research organizations consider of modest scientific interest. Most of this research was funded through the dlr and esa human spaceflight, with comparatively little Max Planck involvement.143
The program of âscientificâ modules for the manned program went to its next stage in the 1980s, with the Columbus laboratory, which was initially conceived as an independent esa space station but was later merged with the International Space Station. All through this period, the scientific value of these costly efforts remained a point of conflict that divided scientists from proponents of human spaceflight, further augmenting the distance between scientific researchers and the aerospace industry in Germany.144
Fortunately, because of the way in which esa was set up, with a scientific program that is deliberately separate from its applications and human spaceflight aspects, competitive, highly reputable science remained compartmentalized within the core scientific program. While relatively small in budget compared to the other aspects of esa, it did provide a stable platform for European scientists throughout the âclassicalâ space age, from the late 1960s to the end of the Cold War, which was less dependent on the political pressures and ebb and flow coming from nasa. Later in this chapter, we will see how throughout all these eras West German scientists could still take advantage of the opportunities offered. Key to their success was to choose collaborations that guaranteed a high scientific return, furthered their reputation in scientific circles, and even acted as springboards to other interesting projects not necessarily related to the space race. But, at times, and especially when esa took on human spaceflight as a priority during the 1980s, debates regarding the funding of the scientific research conducted during such flights fragmented the West German scientific community, pitting longstanding colleagues against one another on the old question of whether the resources spent on research during those flights would not be better spent on unmanned planetary probes, astronomical satellites, or science done simply from the ground.145
Against all these tensions between national, European, and American pressures, an interesting development from the late 1970s onwards was the increase in collaboration with the Soviet Union. Such collaboration often comprised informal operations carried out without consultation with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, generally entailing in-kind transfers, where no money changed hands. West German scientists provided scientific modules and questions, and the Soviets a platform on their unmanned spacecraft and their permanently manned space stations. Sometimes the transfer of export-restricted technologies was an implicit part of the transactions. But overall, these collaborations with the Soviets became extremely fruitful, for example, establishing close personal contacts between researchers across the Iron Curtain. When the Soviet Union collapsed in the late 1980s, these personal scientific links were maintained, space-based collaborations continued, and some stellar scientists were even offered positions in the newly unified Germany. The general feeling was that these collaborations were a double-edged knife: on the one hand, they could be tense, owing both to political surveillance within a totalitarian state and, in particular, to working within areas shrouded in secrecy and related to national security; there were also difficulties arising from simple issues such as language barriers; yet on the other hand, the collaborations were very direct transactions without the bureaucracy and disadvantageous political status that Germans had experienced for decades in the European and American contexts. They could develop their instruments in peace and simply attach them to Russian missions.146 We will see in later chapters how this Soviet and later Russian presence has been a steady and productive alternative channel for Max Planck researchers to keep strengthening their independence in relation to esa, nasa, and internal German actors, too.
In their landmark history of the esa, Arturo Russo and John Krige came to the synthetic judgment that space science was best described as âsmall science in a big context.â In the case of West Germany and especially the Max Planck Society, the best way to describe their entry into the space age was that they figured out how to do small science in other countriesâ big contexts.
2 Reorientation of the Max Planck Society in the Early Space Age: Complementarity and Uncoordinated Competition
Thanks to preexisting expertise as well as the global connections forged during the first postwar decade, scientists at the Max Planck Institutes versed in all the traditions described in Chapter 1 were ideally placed to jump on the space age bandwagon. Each of these traditions used its particular expertise to position itself within international collaborations. Munich theoretical astrophysicists pivoted toward space-based plasma experiments. Southwestern cosmochemists, with their sample analysis expertise, participated in Apollo missions. The Max Planck Institute for Aeronomy in Lindau had the greatest stake in this new era, as its work had been the closest to what would later become space probes and satellites. Here, we foreshadow the problematic direct competition between Lindau and Munich, which will unfold more fully in subsequent chapters. The figure of Reimar Lüst emerges in Munich as someone originally from the plasma astrophysics tradition who then transitions to âspace,â collaborating on French and American rocket-based projects and serving as a delegate to the international bodies that created institutions such as esro and its successor esa. Lüst then went on to become President of the Max Planck Society in 1973.
Max Planck Scientists and the Respectable Path to Outer Space
There is no doubt that the pivotal moment for astrophysics in West Germany was the launch of humankindâs first ever orbiting object, the Soviet satellite Sputnik. The importance of the âSputnik shockâ was perceived in all areas of scientific research, no matter how unrelated to the cosmic sciences. Scientists in the United States used Sputnik to argue for far greater investment in education and fundamental scientific research. Likewise, researchers in all other Western countries, inspired by the Sputnik challenge and already in scientific competition with the United States, quickly became immersed in the space race. This was the case in all scientific fields, but the ones that experienced the most significant boost were those that could be associated with outer space, or were instrumentally and methodologically linked with the technologies of intercontinental ballistic missiles and their logic of mutual assured destruction. We have seen how this applied especially to countries with the resources and ambitions to participate in the space race themselves, such as France and Great Britain, which, since the end of the war, had pursued their own nuclear ambitions as well as advanced rocket development projects with significant participation by German experts from the V-2 era. By the late 1950s, the size of the West German economy was commensurate with that of its two Western European allies. The Germansâ prevailing question, starting with Sputnik and continuing throughout the rest of the 20th century, was to what degree the country might participate in the space race and associated scientific and technological developments, a real economic possibility, while cross-fertilization and cross-subsidization with military projectsâwhich benefited these fields in all the other major Western countriesâremained politically prohibited; which amounted to insistently downplaying the elephant in the room that was the legacy of Peenemünde.
In the previous section we saw the troubled history of West Germanyâs recurrent attempts to build ânationalâ and even private rocket development programs, and how the geopolitical fragility of the Federal Republic seriously thwarted the success of such ambitions, even despite the availability of technical know-how and economic resources. The outcome, as in other technologies with significant military potential, was to integrate West Germanyâs rocket development capabilities into a European framework, and have them focus on the least sensitive aspects of such technologies, such as satellite payloads, upper stages, testing facilities, and the supply of specialized components for systems assembled elsewhere. In many ways, we will see how, in the framework of the countryâs integration into the space age, the approach of Germanyâs âfundamentalâ scientists to scientific collaboration was a far better fit than that of its rocket experts.
For scientists at Max Planck Institutes (as elsewhere), Sputnik opened up a new, major area of public interest in science, one that quickly outpaced the prestige of the ânuclearâ which had propelled the Society forward in the first postwar decade. To be clear, ânuclearâ remained a crucial area of political support for science beyond 1957. Throughout the 1960s, it still retained most of its glamour, and in Germany it was in this decade that the nuclear aspirations dating from the 1950s could be fulfilled, in areas as wide as nuclear fission and fusion, as well as research that borrowed from this prestige, such as elementary particle physics, as well as plasma physics. But by the 1960s, outer space had gained easily as much prestige, and by the 1970s, rising environmental and political anxiety associated with anything ânuclearâ led to the wholesale reinvention of nuclear research, which was now to be conducted under the guise of other motivations, such as environmental issues, which also borrowed cultural themes, as well as actual scientific practices, from the space sciences.147
Also, the rising interest in outer space presented many ânuclearâ scientists with a solution to an existential problem, as plasma astrophysics in Munich clearly shows. Globally, a generation had made a career in space plasma astrophysics thanks to the promise of this expertise overlapping with thermonuclear questions that would, it was presumed, later provide the know-how for experimental fusion reactors and perhaps even an open door to nuclear weapons. However, already in the 1950s, the most scientifically inclined scientists in plasma astrophysics knew that research into fusion reactors would propel them away from the most interesting scientific questions in their own field of expertise. The prospect of an experimental plasma physics program, despite its economic and political importance (which many also doubted), seemed increasingly synonymous with a stagnation of their personal research interests. In a sense, the strategy of using astrophysics as the entry point to plasma physics backfired, in that many people then developed too deep an interest in astrophysics; and by the second half of the 1950s, it seemed as if an earlier ânuclearâ Faustian bargain was now pulling them into pedestrian laboratory plasma physics, where, instead of elegant general theories and fascinating phenomena, the work was mired in technology-specific details. This was certainly the case in the United States, and especially among the scientific peers of the German astrophysicists in Biermannâs tradition.148
The Sputnik shock of 1957 suddenly opened up an entirely different level of justification for plasma astrophysics, and researchers in the Biermann tradition were exceptionally well placed to take advantage of it. During the first postwar decade (1946â56), the Max Planck Society had often justified much scientific work, especially in theoretical physics, as preliminary stages of what could be done once the country was back on its feet, the implicit expectation being what could be done in the nuclear sciences. Now, after Sputnik, all that was needed was to lobby for outer space as one of those fields well worth pursuing experimentally.
On May 26, 1961, Reimar Lüst (on whom more later) wrote to Ministerialrat Hans Karl Geeb, Undersecretary at the Ministry of the Interior. Speaking both as a member of a preliminary commission for space research and coordinating secretary of a scientific-technical working group, Lüst underlined some aspects which might be of interest for the Federal Republic of Germany. In particular, he emphasized how:
With regard to the planned European Space Research Organisation (ESRO), it seems to me particularly important right now that the scientific work in this area in the Federal Republic is intensified and that, for example, development of instruments should be started immediately, which are to be deployed in sounding rockets and/or in satellites. This means that the necessary resources are already to be made available to a relevant extent for well-considered plans, so that such work can be carried out without hindrance and delay. Those countries which, immediately after the establishment of ESRO, are in a position to have ready-made scientific apparatus, will be in a particularly favorable position and will certainly most benefit from this organization in the later course.149
Already in early 1961, Lüst was thereby perfectly describing what would be one of the strengths of the future space activity of the Max Planck Institutes participating in extraterrestrial research.
Many of the scientific questions that could be asked came precisely from the realm of space plasmas. Some of these missions were fitted with basic detectors for particles and radiation coming from the Sun and extrasolar space.
During the first years of space exploration, roughly until the mid-1960s, the research that could be done was with rudimentary probes that often did not even reach orbit, analyzing the upper atmosphere and the most basic conditions of outer space. The first important scientific achievement of the space age was James Van Allenâs discovery in spring, 1958, of an enormous population of energetic charged particles, mainly protons and electrons, trapped in the external magnetic field of the Earth, the so-called âradiation belt.â150 This phenomenon was discovered with very simple instruments, such as the Geiger counter, a typical tool of cosmic ray research, and confirmed previous theoretical investigations. It was immediately explored, artificially injecting particles from the detonation of small nuclear fission bombs at high altitudes.151 Exploration of the Earthâs magnetosphere (the region of space where the Earthâs magnetic field dominates over the magnetic field of interplanetary space) was later extended to space physics missions throughout the solar system, and magnetospheric physics has become a fundamental component of solar system astronomy and even a constitutive aspect of the physics of pulsars and other astrophysical systems. Very simple devices measuring the total electric charge of the particles arriving outside the magnetosphere were sent by the Soviets, thus suggesting that a flow was entering the instrument whenever it faced the Sun. More detailed observations, with a specific plasma probe designed by Bruno Rossiâs group at mit, were obtained by nasaâs Explorer X in 1961, establishing the existence of a supersonic plasma in the space surrounding the Earth.152 In 1962, Mariner 2 definitely detected a continuous flow of particles in interplanetary space.153 These missions definitively confirmed Eugene Parkerâs theory of the solar wind (which had been inspired in part by Ludwig Biermannâs research on comet tails, as we saw in Chapter 1),154 and completely changed the view of outer space. The solar wind expansion carries with it the embedded magnetic field lines from the solar surface into interplanetary space, which is not void but filled and dominated by such plasma and magnetic fields, pervading the whole solar system.
The Soviet and American missionsâ spectacular confirmation of predictions made by Biermann almost a decade earlier155 provided Munich researchers and the Max Planck Society with the most significant scientific âfoot in the doorâ and hence an entry into the space age. Space plasma research was uniquely situated to take advantage of the interest in outer space, and lent a new air of legitimacy to plasma physics, which remained an interesting scientific field throughout the 1960s.156 Suddenly, many phenomena which had been theorized or observed at a distance were available for direct experimental research, and new, unexpected phenomena like the Van Allen radiation belts were in the plasma physicistsâ realm of explanation.157 Technologically and militarily, too, plasma physics was dearly needed during the space age, from the mundane calculation of the conditions faced by ballistic missiles reentering the atmosphere to the effects of nuclear explosions on the high atmosphere: during the early space age, between 1958 and 1964, American nuclear scientists from the Livermore weapons laboratory even exploded a series of nuclear devices in the high atmosphere to characterize the extreme plasma phenomena that resulted. As we saw in the last section, this was outlawed by international treaty in the mid-1960s.158 During the space race, when space missions became the focus of public attention and international law, there was a growing need for the âscientificâ justification of these launches, to maintain the rhetorical spin that space exploration was not only a nationalist, military-oriented pursuit. Scientific programs were needed to obtain results that demonstrated these scientific ideals. West German researchers, because of their countryâs self-proclaimed restriction to peaceful research, were uniquely suited to fill this niche.
Scientific Research Programs for the Space Age at Existing Max Planck Institutes
All of the institutes and scientific traditions mentioned earlier in this book benefited greatly from the new interest in outer space, but they differed in how they repositioned themselves in relation to this new social and political environment; the first to move were those who could most easily attach their preexisting research programs to outer space missions, thanks either to their theoretical insight, instrumental expertise, or ability to propose, design, and eventually build experiments to be conducted in outer space.
All the connected space activity underway at the time in America and the Soviet Union prepared the stage for a stronger dialogue between the Aeronomy Institute (Bartels and Dieminger), the Physics and Astrophysics Institute (Heisenberg and Biermann), and the Nuclear Physics Institute (Gentner).
As early as 1959, the Minister of Scientific Research, Siegfried Balke (see Chapter 1, Section 4), had arranged to meet Heisenberg, Biermann, and Reimar Lüst in Munich, to discuss plans for space projects; and over the following years, he actively pursued means to collaborate with the United States that would later lead to the first German space missions.159
However, the early expansionist ambitionsânot only in space researchâof the research ministry led by Balke prompted a backlash from the dfg, wrk,160 and the Max Planck Society itself, which all feared an excessive loss of self-determination. It was this which led to the so-called âHoly Allianceâ of these three organizations. So, while generally the MPG was a very strong ally of the new research ministry in select fields like nuclear and space research, it also defended its independence from the federal government throughout this era, even though it drew considerable funds from the research ministry, altering the early postwar formula of 50/50 contribution by the federal government and individual states.161
The Max Planck Society as a whole made early attempts to participate in activities related to this field through the creation of an extraterrestrial research group.162 The research program presented by the Institute for Physics and Astrophysics in Munich was, on the one hand, a natural extension of previous interests in cosmic ray physics proper and in astrophysical plasmas, inspired by results obtained from the first successful satellites equipped with detectors for cosmic rays and ionizing radiation from the Sun.163 During the pre-Sputnik era, cosmic ray research in various forms, particles and fields in space, and the relationship between Sun and Earth had been a common denominator in studies conducted in all those institutes promoting the formation of a research group on extraterrestrial topics.164
On the other hand, the recently discovered Van Allen Belts appeared to be a plasma made of protons and electrons mostly deriving from the Sun, trapped and held high around the Earth by the planetâs magnetic field. Now that scientists were equipped to conduct experiments in space, as opposed to just making observations, an additional proposal was to use space probes to produce artificial plasma events which would allow exploration of the physical properties of the near-Earth space. Going to high altitudes, where the absorption of ultraviolet radiation by the Earthâs atmosphere could be avoided, also allowed for the ultraviolet spectroscopy of comet tails related to Biermannâs solar wind proposition.165
The post-Sputnik plans from the Aeronomy institute in Lindau were surprisingly similar, focusing on extraterrestrial plasmas and magnetic fields in space. In contrast, the Nuclear Physics Institute in Heidelberg focused instead on cosmochemical work related to cosmic rays and the noble gas content of samples from interplanetary space, the formation of elements in the universe, and interplanetary dust. In the postwar era, research fields such as meteorology, geomagnetism, and the effect of the Sun on the atmosphere were rapidly converging, while still immersed in the early 20th-century framework of âcosmical physics.â The use of radio techniques for exploring the properties of the atmosphere and of the Earth found increasing application, in parallel with a growing expectation that radio exploration of the upper atmosphere was to be supplemented by measurements made in situ by means of automatic apparatus carried in rockets or balloons, a prewar German tradition. At the same time, the study of the astrophysical aspects of cosmic raysâwhich now included the knowledge of the constitution of the primary cosmic radiationâthe growing awareness that electromagnetic phenomena were of great importance in cosmic physics, and the progress of individual sciences related to the Sun, Earth, and deep space, led to a new and even more comprehensive kind of âcosmical physics,â during the 1950s, a productive framework eventually leading to the emergence of space science in the 1960s.166 These activities were never restricted to the high atmosphere as they also studied, for example, cosmic rays and the interaction of the magnetic fields with particles coming from the Sun. A clear example of the disciplinary blur around the high atmosphere and near space was a meeting of the International Astronomical Union (iau) organized in 1956 and including near-Earth topics in its realm of expertise, such as âstellar magnetism,â âsolar and interplanetary magnetic fields,â and âelectromagnetic state in interplanetary space,â as well as discussions on âmagneto-hydrodynamicsâ and âorigin and structure of sunspots.â Much of the modern-day foundations of the âplasma Universeââthe term AlfveÌn later coined to denote the cosmic space filled with high-energy particles, magnetic fields, and highly conducting plasmas167 âcan actually be traced to that 6th iau Symposium, attended by the âOlympiansâ of the field, as a participant named them many years later.168 And so âcosmicalâ physics, a very old term used since the 19th century, was the basis for beginning to think in terms of what became âspace scienceâ: plasma phenomena discovered in the laboratoryâwhich must be important also in the rest of the universeâcould now be investigated with in situ measurements in accessible regions of the space surrounding the Earth and all other celestial bodies of our solar system.169
But in addition to these entry points, we will see in the next chapter how interest in space eventually led to one of the major expansions of the Max Planck Society, via the absorption of (ground-based and space-based) observational astronomy: a field that marked out a different path than that of the trends within the Society in the first postwar decade.
Following the cern Model: esro and the Rise of Reimar Lüst
As we learned from Peter Meyerâs letter earlier in this chapter, the first flurry of space-based research propositions in Germany came about in the wider context of a space strategy for Europe.170 Space science in West Germany needed to be a multinational endeavor; the rocket technology and expertise needed for the launchers had been completely relocated to other countries after the war, and there was still strong international and domestic resistance to German self-sufficiency in space.171 And as rocket-related expertise continued to be problematic in Germany, the more âscientificâ aspects of space exploration found favor. Germany benefited here from the path already prepared by cern in the 1950s. By the end of the 1950s, it had become evident that this first case of pan-European collaboration was extremely successful. When the synchrotron producing protons of 28 GeV went into operation at cern in fall 1959, it was far ahead of the accelerators with an energy of more than 1 GeV in service at the time in the United States (Berkeley and Brookhaven) and in the Soviet Union (Dubna). cernâs existence greatly stimulated the construction of accelerators in national institutions of the member states, but a large part of the work done at cern laboratory was due to teams coming in from national institutes with their own equipment. Suddenly, cern became a model that other scientific areas sought to reproduce, in areas as varied as observational astronomy,172 space exploration, and later even molecular biology.173
Given its perceived importance at the time, space exploration was the first attempt to imitate cern, with the creation in 1964, by ten Western European countries (plus Australia, where the first launch base was located), of the European Space Research Organisation (esro), whose statutory purpose was âto provide for, and to promote, collaboration among European States in space research and technology, exclusively for peaceful purposes.â174 The idea of a joint European space effort was a most natural step for scientists like Edoardo Amaldi and Pierre Auger (first Director General of esro), who had already been main actors in the process leading to the birth of cern and who now turned their attention to scientific collaboration in post-Sputnik space.175
The first and most important beneficiaries of the space age were in Munich, and are best personified by Reimar Lüst, who, as one the early postwar disciples of von Weizsäcker and Biermann, had long since become part of the space plasma research community, with periods in Chicago (1955â56) and Princeton (1956â57), on a Fulbright Scholarship, and later in New York (1959).176 Even though the prestige in space plasmas accrued mostly to Biermann, it was the next generation, represented by Lüst, who were able to make the most of these new opportunities.
We have already followed Lüstâs early career in plasma physics in Chapter 1. He had been involved with the European space science administration as a member of the Commission PreÌparatoire EuropeÌenne de Recherches Spatiales (copers). Now, in the course of the formation of esro, Lüst was appointed representative of West Germany and then, in turn, in this capacity, became a member of the subsequent national commissions seeking to create conditions under which Germans could benefit economically and scientifically from this new frontier.177 Most importantly perhaps, in addition to tying national efforts to the pan-European organization, German researchers at Max Planck Institutes sought to diversify their partnerships by taking part in other national space programs, for example, with the United States, France, and Italy. In all these programs, they served as scientific specialists. In this context, Lüst quickly gained a leading role as âambassadorâ of the Max Planck Society in space affairs. Already in June 1961, he presented at a meeting of the MPGâs Scientific Council a long report titled âInternationale Zusammenarbeit auf dem Gebiet der Weltraumforschung und die Beteiligung der Max-Planck-Gesellschaftâ [International cooperation in space research and the participation of the Max Planck Society], in which he outlined the current international state of space research and the US plans for the future, in order to facilitate comparison with European plans, also in connection with the Max Planck Society. He also presented an overview of the projects for the European Space Research Organisation and reported on plans and activities within the Society.178 Through his early involvement with esro, Lüst came into contact with scientists from other European countries and established scientific collaborations which later led to the first space experiments of his brand-new Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics.179 Very early, from 1964, he participated also in official cultural exchanges with the Soviet Union, in particular with the Academy of Sciences, which led to the Russian plasma physicist Fedorovich Kolesnikov being invited to the Institute for Plasma Physics; and this internationalist profile would be a hallmark of his tenure as President of the Max Planck Society in the 1970s.180 On the other hand, first as Scientific Director and Vice President of esro, then, from 1984 to 1990, as third Director General of esa, Lüst was constantly involved in space cooperation agreements (but he once said that cooperating with Member States at esa was like âdancing with an octopusâ).181
At the same time, however, Lüst represented a national view of space research, stressing the importance of developing national capabilities independent of the nascent collaborations. International collaboration [he felt], would benefit most from a strong national base, as the French example clearly showed. This, at a time when German policymakers and scientists, including Werner Heisenberg, were vocal in their criticism of the patent imbalance between Germanyâs considerable economic contributions to European collaborations and German scientists and industriesâ lack of equivalent participation therein.182 Defending this position gave Lüst powerful backing in West German political and industrial circles, and in some cases even allowed him to personally shape the nascent playing field, for example, by incentivizing industrial partnersâ first ventures in the aerospace business, which itself was strongly overseen by the federal ministry; its expert commissions were populated by circles close to Lüst.183 And despite the tensions between Heisenberg and Gentner, Lüst, as the representative of a new, more pragmatic generation, did his best to establish a relationship with figures relevant to space exploration in the Max Planck Society, independently of his âfamilyâ background. In 1967, he founded the Association for Extraterrestrial Physics (Arbeitsgemeinschaft Extraterrestrische Physik) to facilitate and promote in Germany scientific exchange in the emerging field of space research.184
Space Plasma Experiments and the New Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics
The most innovative step in the adaptation of the Max Planck Society to outer space came from deep within the expertise in space plasmas, with the design of experiments in the outer atmosphere that could connect with the theoretical insight of Biermannâs tradition. These experiments could also be conducted with the most rudimentary rockets, which did not even need to enter into orbit, and were particularly well suited to collaboration with nascent national space programs throughout Europe.185 It was proposed to release substances in the outer atmosphere, and then follow the path and behavior of the ionized particles that resulted from their exposure to the conditions there.186 Instrumental in this regard was the collaboration established between Lüst and the Frenchman Jacques Blamont, the pioneer of such cloud experiments,187 during the aforementioned ESRO meeting:
When he [Blamont] heard that I was planning barium cloud experiments, he said I should bring my experiment along for one of his rockets, he would manage to include it somehow. This led to my first experiments in high altitude research rockets.188
The first proposal for an ion cloud experiment in space with the aim of investigating the interplanetary medium was submitted by Lüst to esro as early as September 1962.189 The first barium plasma clouds were observed in 1964 âon the evening night [sic] of the Sahara.â190 These observations would then be interpreted by specialists using the theoretical toolkit of plasma astrophysics. But only some 20 years later, in 1984â85, would Biermannâs dream of an artificial comet be realized under the guidance of Gerhard Haerendel.191
esroâs early space science program, which primarily addressed problems in plasma physics, consisted of small magnetospheric satellites launched between the late 1960s and early 1970s. Throughout the 1970s, solar system exploration with new satellites continued to be focused on magnetospheric research, and the first astronomy satellites were launched only between 1972 and 1978, making observations at ultraviolet, X-ray, and gamma-ray wavelengths. But during the 1970s, progress in laboratory studies of plasmasâalso related to nuclear fusion researchâas well as in the methods of transferring the results to cosmic conditions, together with the new empirical knowledge gained by in situ measurements in the magnetospheres and in the whole solar wind region, which at that time were the main objectives of the Voyager missions, drastically changed our understanding of the properties of cosmic plasmas. All this contributed to building the foundations of what Hannes AlfveÌn saw as a âparadigm transition,â which he expressed in the term âplasma universe,â to emphasize the fact that the plasma phenomena hitherto discovered in the laboratory and in the Earthâs own space environment are fundamental also to the rest of the Universe, which consists almost entirely of matter in the plasma state.192
The proposal to create artificial comets, which would remain Ludwig Biermannâs ultimate experimental aspiration for decades, was favorably received during the first discussions defining esroâs scientific program.193 In the context of these proposed experiments, and in his involvement in the preparation of European scientific space programs, Lüst became the key person around whom Heisenberg and Biermann managed to steer the Max Planck Society and the German federal government to support the transformation of the working group dedicated to âextra-terrestrialâ researchâinitially meant to be a meeting point of different traditions in the Max Planck Societyâinto an Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics (MPE) within the Munich Institute for Physics and Astrophysics.194
Capturing Space Research for the Max Planck Society and the âAtomicâ Ministry
The Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics was the first tangible result of the Max Planck Societyâs attempts to obtain a leading role in research related to outer space. As had been the case just a few years earlier with the Institute for Plasma Physics, when fusion research for âpeaceful purposesâ took off, the MPE had its origins in a working group which was meant to coordinate activities in this research field, nationwide. But contrary to the case of the IPP, it was not clear at the beginning who were to be the main conversation partners. The IPP had clearly been the purview of the âAtomicâ Ministry, while, as was described earlier, it amalgamated, on the scientific side, a majority of researchers in Biermannâs tradition with a select minority from other backgrounds, including Wolfgang Gentnerâs allies, so crystallizing factional rivalries into the early stages of the IPP (see Chapter 1). We can presume that, having learned from this experience in the extraterrestrial research realm, the most prominent figures in the Max Planck Society now consciously put aside their animosities, in order to emphasize the need for a strong role for the Society and a subservient one for the federal government. Space research, unlike experimental plasma physics, was to be conducted within Max Planck Institutes, led by scientists who maintained an emphasis on fundamental research. Max Planck heavyweights accordingly discussed which federal ministry should preferably fund space-based research by the Max Planck Societyâthe Ministry of the Interior, of Defense, or of what was then Atomic Energyâin the light of the scientistsâ past experience of these federal bodies and the degree of research freedom likely to be allowed them. Based on Wolfgang Gentnerâs experience of autonomy and freedom there, the âAtomicâ Ministry was first choice.195 There was synergy too, at the federal level, as the âAtomicâ Ministry was already using the âSputnik shockâ to catapult itself beyond the field of nuclear energy and into a wider nationwide role in every form of scientific and technological research deemed critical for the future of the country.196
But in any case, this space initiative, like the Institute for Plasma Physics a few years earlier, was dominated by Munich interests (both at the Institute for Physics and Astrophysics, and the federal ministry), and in fact the new institute was built in Garching, directly next to the Plasma Physics Institute. Both institutes ended up being built within only a few years of one another, and the Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics appropriated part of the scientific prestige and personnel that had been originally destined for experimental fusion research, starting with Reimar Lüst himself.
Southwestern Cosmochemistry in the Space Age
Gentnerâs Institute for Nuclear Physics in Heidelberg also benefited from the space age, albeit in a more indirect way. The first contrast is evident in how, instead of the model of founding new sub-institutes, the Institute for Nuclear Physics grew internally while maintaining its unity as an institute, remaining the largest single Max Planck Institute to be involved in astrophysics.197 This allowed for greater fluidity between separate scientific fields, further facilitated by its eminently experimental tradition, whose stronghold was the large central technical workshops shared by all research units. Within the institute, the cosmochemistry tradition was in the minority in contrast to accelerator-based programs dedicated to the study of nuclear structure and related theoretical investigations. Informal accounts speak of a third of the institute being cosmochemistry. It was easy to connect cosmochemistry to the space age, in this case through acquired expertise in meteorites, the analysis of very small substance samples via mass spectrometry, and thus, participation in the global scientific community dealing with questions such as the formation of the solar system.198 As was described earlier in Chapter 1, this tradition in cosmochemistry stood in close cooperation with the Max Planck Institute for Chemistry in Mainz, as well as other universities in the vicinity, like Heidelberg, Freiburg, and Bern.
Most interestingly, meteorite research, which had started out as empirical and descriptive in the early 1950s (determining the chemical composition of meteorites), had gradually acquired a much deeper astrophysical and cosmological layer of interpretation. The first significant step in this direction had started already with Paneth, during his exile in Durham, and continued in Mainz: he determined that the content of noble gases inside meteorites was related to how much they had been exposed to cosmic rays during their lifetime in outer space. While the helium measurements were done by Paneth in the mid-1940s, it was Carl A. Bauer who realized, in 1947, that the amount of helium found could only be produced by cosmic rays, and not just by radioactive decay.199 In subsequent years Paneth expanded his method, now including mass spectrometry so as to ascertain the composition of the Helium-3 isotope, which was evidence of this cosmic ray bombardment; and he thus jump-started a more astrophysical branch of cosmochemistry.200 The discovery of cosmogenic products in iron meteorites brought into the field nuclear physicists and cosmic ray physicists, who came to realize that meteorites contain not only a wealth of information concerning cosmic radiations and conditions in a recent past, but also information reaching back millions and even billions of years.201 Gentner himself had moved in the early 1950s from nuclear-physics-oriented research to the problem of dating rocks through mass spectrometry, thereby developing new methods which he began using in 1955, in collaboration with Zähringer, to investigate the argon and helium content of iron meteorites originating from nuclear interactions of high-energy cosmic ray particles.202
In this way, as the space age began properly after Sputnik, it was immediately recognized that some of the questions that were to be researched in outer space could already be answered using meteorites or, as they came to be known, the âpoor manâs space probe.â203 Gentnerâs interests in archeochemistry and cosmochemistry, developed during the 1950s, launched investigation of solar system problems and of the formation of chemical elements in the universe. The old cosmic ray tradition initiated by Bothe was now moving toward a new basis in outer space itself.
For example, the composition of meteorites was the basis of a longstanding research tradition in theories of the origins and formation of the solar system, initially in Heidelberg and Mainz in the 1950s, but later also in Lindau (Aeronomy) and Garching (MPE), in the 1970s.204 A close collaboration in cosmochemistry had been established with Brookhaven in the mid-1950s, when Gentner had sent his best disciple from Freiburg, Josef Zähringer, to be based there for several years before returning to Heidelberg as a Scientific Member. While in Brookhaven, Zähringer collaborated closely with Oliver Schaeffer, who would later become an External Scientific Member of the Nuclear Physics Institute.205 Based on this early work with Brookhaven since the 1950s, German cosmochemists then became the Principal Investigators on the scientific program to analyze mineral samples recovered from the Apollo manned missions to the moon.206 Two decades of expertise in the traditions of Biermannâs space plasma astrophysics and Gentnerâs cosmochemistry came together beautifully in 1969, when the lunar samples from Apollo 11, after their analysis with mass spectrometric methods, showed that the top surface layers of the moon were full of slowly deposited solar wind, which is not shielded by the weak lunar magnetic field and by the atmosphere, as in the case of our planet, and could thus provide information on the primary abundances of noble gases and their isotopes at the moment of the formation of these elements. The composition of cosmic rays only in part deriving from the Sun and penetrating the first thin strata of lunar rocks could be analyzed through the nuclear reactions they produced at the time of their impact.207 Researchers from Mainz also participated independently in the analysis of American lunar samples.208
Most striking for physicists worldwide was how, in Heidelberg specifically, cosmochemistry could be linked to the deepest questions arising in particle physics, astrophysics, and cosmology. In addition to being a âpoor manâs space probe,â extraterrestrial samples could be a poor manâs particle physics experiment. In 1968, Heidelberg physicist Till Kirsten, then in Brookhaven, demonstrated the existence of a rare fundamental process, double-beta decay, which had been posited theoretically several decades earlier.209 This was yet another fruitful result of the close relationship between Brookhaven and Heidelberg, one that subsequently extended into neutrino research, a field that remained in obscurity elsewhere for one more decade, while the Brookhaven scientist Ray Davis conducted his now famous underground detection experiments that led to the so-called solar neutrino paradox. The observed discrepancy between the quantity of neutrinos received on Earth from the Sun as predicted by theoretical solar models and direct observationsâthe problem of missing neutrinosâbecame one of the most significant puzzles in astrophysics of the second half of the century.210 As we will see later in this book (Chapter 5), the early involvement of Max Planck scientists from Heidelberg would lead directly to one of the first German-led international collaborations, created to solve this paradox.
Finally, and quite separately from the Munich initiatives, research institutes based in southwestern Germany were in charge of what would become Germanyâs second and third scientific satellites, the Aeros, which were dedicated to the study of the outer layers of the atmosphere, including the thermosphere and ionosphere. This project, which was delivered by American launchers, and marked the transition of Freiburg-based Karl Rawer (see Chapter 1) from ground-based ionosphere research to space missions, benefited from that close relationship of universities and other research institutes (Fraunhofer, Max Planck) so characteristic of the former French occupation zone, while also mobilizing industrial interests in Baden-Württemberg.211 Peter Lämmerzahl and his team at the Max Planck Institute for Nuclear Physics developed the instrumentation with which the satellite would chemically analyze the upper atmosphere, setting the stage for a longstanding tradition in space-based mass spectrometry through which the Heidelberg and Mainz institutes participated in the coming decades in space missions such as the Pioneer probes to Venus and the Giotto deep space mission to Comet Halley, led by Ulf von Zahn,212 and established an early foothold in atmospheric research by applying these techniques back on Earth; an expertise which would facilitate these institutesâ early foothold in what is now called Earth system research, including crucial observations by Konrad Mauersberger confirming that depletion of the ozone layer was indeed occurring, because of the steady increase in the atmosphere of chemical compounds inducing dramatic ozone losses.213
In short, the early adaptation of the Max Planck Institutes of southwest Germany to the space age was achieved through them mobilizing their cosmochemistry tradition, in terms both of experimental expertise and a growing leadership in the formulation and interpretation of novel experimental questions with implications that combined subatomic particle physics and astrophysics. Then, over the next decades, these initial cosmochemical interests and areas of expertise secured footholds in various new fields, including fundamental particles and astroparticles (see Chapter 5), interplanetary missions, and environmental research.
The Max Planck Institute for Aeronomy in Search of a Space Age Identity
Finally, there is the story of how the Aeronomy Institute reacted to Sputnik. This institute had only been formally established a few years earlier, in the aftermath of Erich Regenerâs death and the consolidation of his group, now led by Julius Bartels, with Diemingerâs ionosphere group in Lindau on the Harz mountains (Chapter 1). Based on the brilliant legacy of Erich Regener, this could have been the institute to benefit the most from the reorientation of social and political interests toward outer space.214 In fact, even a few years before Sputnik, the institute had experienced an upsurge through its participation in the preparations for the International Geophysical Year, from which both Bartelsâ and Diemingerâs sub-institutes profited, the latter even establishing a new observational station in the southern hemisphere, in the Tsumeb region of the former colony of German Southwest Africa (now Namibia), then under the control of South Africa.215 This was also the German counterpart to the network of stations built by the French in their African colonies.216
Julius Bartels, mostly due to his prestige in magnetospheric research, gained earlier in Göttingen, (the cradle of German geophysics since the turn of the century), was initially as prominent in German and international commissions dealing with outer space issues as Reimar Lüst was to become.217 However, at the same time, he was relatively slow to reorient his instituteâs research (precisely because of its involvement with the International Geophysical Year), and therefore failed to quickly take advantage of outer space. Furthermore, Bartels represented a research tradition in geophysics that dated from the prewar era, as was evident from his close collaboration with the British scientist Sidney Chapman, noted for his research in geophysics and one of the pioneers of solar-terrestrial physics.218 This tradition increasingly antagonized the newer, plasma-physics framework of AlfveÌn and Biermann, who were much more closely aligned with the ânuclear age.â219
As we will see next, a competition of interests soon emerged in the early 1960s between the Aeronomy Institute in Lindau and the Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics in Garching; a competition in which the stronger political, economic, and scientific forces were on the Bavarian side. For the Aeronomy Institute, the best asset in this competition would have been Bartels himself, but he unexpectedly died in 1964, triggering a decade of uncertainty at his institute.220 His immediate but temporary successors were Regenerâs collaborators Pfotzer and Ehmert, both experts on matters related to cosmic rays and solar particles, and pivotal to drawing Biermannâs attention to some of these issues in earlier years. And the person in Lindau who most prominently took charge of outer space questions was the young Erhard Keppler, who had trained in Weissenau with Regener in the postwar years.221 Keppler, while never officially designated a Scientific Member of the Max Planck Society, was to become the counterweight to, and sometimes antagonist222 of Reimar Lüst in matters of space science in the Max Planck Society during the 1960s and â70s. Once the West German federal government had established the funding mechanisms to support space research directly through the Ministry of Research and Technology, Keppler and his collaborators managed to effectively compete with the Extraterrestrial Institute in gaining the leading role in some of the space projects, including the first German attempt at a national satellite, called Azur, the main purpose of which was study of the cosmic ray particles trapped in the Van Allen Belts. This rather rudimentary satellite, to be carried atop an American rocket, turned out to be a rather disappointing project, full of overcosts and delays: as in many early attempts at fully national space missions, an entire industrial sector had to be created for the completion of the project, and this was heavily subsidized but not sufficiently coordinated by the federal government. And throughout the completion of the satellite Azur, which involved not just the Institutes for Aeronomy and Extraterrestrial Physics, but also several universities, the rivalry of the two Max Planck Institutes became a salient issue. Lüstâs institute benefited indirectly from NOT being in the major coordinating role in the making of this first satellite,223 maintaining throughout the time of its construction, in parallel, a very strong research profile based on sounding rockets, while slowly acquiring the expertise to make its subsequent move toward space astronomy, which is the focus of Chapter 3.
In the mid-1960s, the Institute for Aeronomy attempted to create, in Munich-fashion, a third sub-institute called âSpace Physics,â to take direct advantage of the funds from the Research Ministry. But this move was not permitted by the Max Planck Society, which instead enforced a closer integration of all the different parts of the Aeronomy Institute into a single entity,224 while at the same time it was a pending task for the coming years to find a director fit to run the Institute upon the imminent retirement of both Dieminger and Ehmert. The dominant logic in the search for a director was that this should be a person with a distinguished scientific career independent of the Institute, a requirement that disqualified Ehmert, Pfotzer, and especially its most promising figure, Erhard Keppler.
Then, in the late 1960s, conditions at the Aeronomy Institute further deteriorated, caused by the lack of leadership during the wave of reforms demanding more employee participation (Mitbestimmung), which, according to senior Max Planck scientists, was laying waste to universities and scientific research institutes throughout the country.225 The publication output of the institute practically ground to a halt in the early 1970s, and this increasingly came to the attention of the Max Planck Society and, especially, of the rival institutes. Kepplerâs team continued to yield very good work in the early 1970s, working toward the first German interplanetary probes, Helios I and Helios II, in which the Institutes for Nuclear Physics, Chemistry, Extraterrestrial Physics, and Astronomy participated, too, along with several universities and foreign partners. Through these, Germany became the third country in the world to send a probe beyond the Earthâs orbit, albeit on an American rocket.226 But still, until the major reform moment of 1973â75, which is discussed at the end of Chapter 3, the Institute for Aeronomy was the Max Planck Societyâs âproblem childâ (Sorgenkind), menaced by the death of Bartels (in 1964), and of his temporary successor Ehmert (in 1971). In addition, there was the impending retirement of Pfotzer and Dieminger. But ultimately, the major problem in Lindau was the convergence of its research agendas with those of the much more powerful Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics, as described next.
Internal Rivalries
The key aspect of the early space age years at the Max Planck Society, roughly from 1957 to the late 1960s, was scientistsâ ability to quickly turn the opportunities of space research to their own advantage, by mobilizing any existing expertise that had direct or potential application in the new field. This was clearly the case with space plasmas in Munich, and also with cosmochemistry in Heidelberg and Mainz. The part of the Institute for Aeronomy that had originated in Regenerâs institute in Weissenau also jumped on the space bandwagon, with an expertise that was mainly instrumental (balloon-based instruments), and, too, what might be described as a âterritorialâ claim to high-altitude research.227 This last institute used such claims to leverage a role in the West German national space programs, but without any remotely comparable relationship to foreign agencies and organizations, unlike the plasma astrophysicists and the cosmochemists. Given this lack of a distinct scientific profile, they were set to enter into direct competition with the Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics in Garchingâand were clearly at a disadvantage from the start.
The competition for the same scientific field and resources within institutes of the Max Planck Society started to become a problem in cosmic research in the mid-1960s, with the case of Aeronomy vs. Extraterrestrials. Before then, the founding scientific traditions were so distant that they naturally progressed toward very different kinds of projects and viewpoints, and connected with different global networks of expertise and validation. In the cases where several Max Planck Institutes worked on very similar topics, this was precisely a sign of their foundational closeness, constituting clearly defined âfamiliesâ of institutes and research fields, as in the case of Mainz and Heidelberg in the southwest (which collaborated closely in cosmochemistry), or of the growing array of sub-institutes created by âcell divisionâ out of Heisenbergâs institute in Munich (working together in plasma-related fields). If anything, the rivalry that had emerged in the early decades between Heidelberg and Munich was caused precisely by their differing scientific traditions, leading to some degree of incommensurability in the appreciation of each otherâs scientific work. But this incommensurability had the advantage, in space research, of leading to widely different research programs.
Confrontation in Experimental Particle Physics, Collaboration in Space
There was, however, a precedent for how convergence of competing institutes in one scientific field could be disastrous, and it arose from the confrontations between Heidelberg and Munich not in cosmic research, but in nuclear and particle physics. As we saw in Chapter 1, in this field both institutes competed for the same federal resources, claiming the role of the foremost ânuclearâ research communities in West Germany. The disastrous competition included attempts by Heisenberg to block the creation of a new Institute for Nuclear Physics in Heidelberg in the 1950s, and also recurrent moves in the 1960s to block the influence and growth of cern, or even to force it to be based in Munich.228 Moreover, as a result of the growing personal hostility between Werner Heisenberg and the experimental physics community throughout the 1960s, even his own instituteâs particle research teams at desy and at esro distanced themselves from him; and by the time Heisenberg retired at the end of the decade, they were only nominally part of the Munich institute.229
Gentnerâs faction in turn aimed for growing influence within the Max Planck Society, mobilizing the growing resentment against the hegemonic intentions of Bavaria and the institutes based there.230 This factionalism led to what was for a while considered a major defeat for the Max Planck Society, namely the lost opportunity to control what would become the foremost German research center for particle physics, desy. Discussion of the creation of a West German national particle accelerator took place in parallel to the creation of other large research institutes in the late 1950s, including the Institute for Plasma Physics. It was recognized at the time that these could not be an integral part of the Max Planck Society, as their scale was incomparably larger than that of any other Max Planck Institute, creating both internal and external problems regarding their weight in decision-making processes, as well as inviting external oversight and pressure on applied research that was then unwelcome in the Society.231
In the case of the IPP, where plasma physics was Munichâs uncontested field of expertise, this resulted in a nominally independent institute which was nonetheless largely under the control of not just the Max Planck Society, but also the very specific family of institutes geographically adjacent to it and closely connected to Ludwig Biermannâs theoretical astrophysical tradition.232 Still, as was described in Chapter 1, the IPP epitomized a broad spectrum of national and regional interests, and even encompassed in a single location various scientific traditions that were to fuse over the following decades. Even the âfailureâ of the IPP in its first decade, a part of the worldwide disappointment with the promises of nuclear fusion, could be mobilized to the benefit of the Max Planck Society, which in the early 1970s took direct control of the institute and reestablished there an eminently âfundamentalâ research direction.
In the case of desy, the opposite happened, and the organization drifted further and further beyond the reach of the Max Planck Society. Even in the early 1950s, there were already too many competing factions in Germany seeking to host the national accelerator, among which the Max Planck Institutes in Heidelberg and Munich could have been a dominant force, if only they had coordinated their efforts. Both Gentner and Heisenberg would have liked the desy to acquire the dominance held ultimately by the IPP or, later, the national astronomical observatories; but instead, they ended up mired in several parallel fights for influence within the Max Planck Society as well as in particle physics directly, in the early 1960s, when the fate of desy was being decided. This weakened the national position of the Society in this field, and also led Willibald Jentschke, the main driving force behind desy, to take distance from both sides, while managing to keep DESY as another eminently âfundamentalâ research center.233
In fact, even before space research, particle accelerator research had managed to become one the responsibilities of what was then the âAtomicâ Ministry, taking advantage of the American model of the Nuclear Energy Commission and later Department of Energy; for in the early 1950s, particle physicists, with Gentner at the helm, had convincingly mobilized to make sure particle accelerators remained designated ânuclearâ research, as their funding as physicists would otherwise have depended on the much weaker and centralization-averse DFG.234 This was part of the pattern evident throughout this book, by which, since the early 1950s, areas of truly national importance were funded by this ministry and the Max Planck Society, while smaller scale researchâacross the entire spectrum of the sciences (Wissenschaften), natural, social, and theologicalâwas the purview of the dfg and the universities.
Then, as was mentioned earlier, in the decade after Sputnik, the Research Ministry, as it was now known, extended its domain to include outer space. In 1964 even, within the lines of battles with the dfg, a distinction based on altitude was established: the Ministry would now be in charge of research occurring above the D layer of the atmosphere, the lowest ionospheric region (at altitudes of about 70 to 90 km), that is, everything above what is considered meteorological phenomena.235 At these altitudes ionized particles dominate, as well as all matters relevant to nuclear, elementary particles, and plasmas significant for the near-outer space research in which Max Planck Institutes were early world leaders. This practical demarcation by altitude legitimized the aforementioned direct axis between the Federal Ministry of Research and the Max Planck Institutes.
In this original division of responsibilities, ground-based astronomy was still part of the DFGâs âterritory,â as it was conducted largely in the state-based universities and traditional state observatories. This would also soon radically change, as will be described in Chapter 3.
Remarkably, all these gains for the Max Planck Society occurred at a moment of particular internal disunity. Winning the race for outer space research was possible thanks to the relative complementarity of its fields of expertise, initially based on plasma physics (Munich), cosmochemistry (Heidelberg, Mainz), and high-altitude probes (Lindau).
In contrast, in the case of accelerator-based particle physics, as we just saw, Max Planck Institutes ended up on a relatively equal footing with university institutes, and a step below desy.236
For the coming decades, however, the Max Planck Society would face the challenge of coordinating the work of institutes with potentially competing interests. The negative experiences of the 1960s in other areas such as particle physics provided key insights for a coordinated division of labor in the cosmic sciences that would lead to their dominance in these fields.
Precedents such as this raised awareness of the need to better coordinate those areas in which several Max Planck Institutes overlapped in similar scientific fields. The major changes had to await the generational transition that followed Heisenbergâs and Gentnerâs retirement and the presidency of Reimar Lüst. But first, we will look at the major expansion of the Max Planck Society, and the first âclusterâ-like coordination towards expansion, which came about through the absorption of observational astronomy in the 1960s.
David H. DeVorkin: The Space Age and Disciplinary Change in Astronomy. In: Steven J. Dick (ed.): NASAâs First 50 Years. Historical Perspectives. Washington, D.C.: NASA 2010, 389â426.
See Fig. 5 in Martin Harwit: Physicists and AstronomyâWill You Join the Dance? Physics Today 34/11 (1981), 172â187. doi:
Karsten Werth: A Surrogate for WarâThe U.S. Space Program in the 1960s. Amerikastudien / American Studies 49/4 (2004), 563â587.
For Outer Space, Nuclear-Non-Proliferation and Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaties see the U.S. Department of State webpage https://2009-2017.state.gov/t/avc/trty/index.htm. Last accessed 2/3/2022. Anti-missile technologies themselves were not prohibited, but their deployment strictly limited. Still, this allowed for their continued development over the remainder of the Cold War, and threats to use them were a recurrent issue in the 1980s.
Even before signed treaties formalized these circumstances, outer space was undergoing denuclearization as a temporary effect of the negotiations toward the Test Ban Treaty, in which from 1957 to 1963 the Soviet Union and the United States sought to stabilize their nuclear duopoly, while addressing issues of public concern regarding the health effects of testing nuclear weapons in the atmosphere. During the brief âthawâ that preceded the Cuban Missile Crisis there had even been talks of a complete ban on nuclear testing; but due to the tensions highlighted by the Cuban crisis, the final agreement of 1963 took into consideration only those nuclear tests which could be easily detected beyond a countryâs borders, leaving room for continued underground testing. The test ban covered atmospheric and underwater tests, and also outer space. No atomic device has been exploded at high altitudes since 1962. See brief history and Treaty text at U.S. Department of State webpage https://2009-2017.state.gov/t/avc/trty/199116.htm. Last accessed 2/3/2022.
These were closely linked to the Project Plowshare initiative of the same era, which conducted âpeacefulâ nuclear explosions between 1961 and 1973. In the new space age context, nuclear rocket propulsion was among the most publicized âpeacefulâ use of nuclear explosions until the mid-1960s when space was denuclearized. Scott Kaufman: Project Plowshare The Peaceful Use of Nuclear Explosives in Cold War America. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press 2013.
Sometimes, scientific experiments were a low-hanging opportunity opened up by test rockets being filled with test materials other than the usual sand ballast. In the early 1960s, for example, Wernher von Braun exploded large quantities of water (86.000 Kg!) at high altitudes from his test rockets. These âHigh Waterâ experiments, observed from the ground, helped characterize the plasma environment of the upper atmosphere. Andrew J Dunar, and Stephen P. Waring: Power to Explore. A History of Marshall Space Flight Center, 1960â1990. Washington, DC: National Aeronautics and Space Administration, NASA History Office, Office of Policy and Plans 1999, 228.
The creation of psac was decided in an October 15 meeting of the previously existing sac, which included scientists like Isidor Rabi, Edwin Land, and James Killian. Deliberately left out were proponents of normalizing the use of nuclear weapons such as Edward Teller or Ernest Lawrence, in favor of those attuned to Eisenhowerâs conviction by 1957 that the purpose of nuclear weapons should be as deterrent. The psac included a majority of people who had been involved in either radar or nuclear weapons, but also included scientists coming from industry, academic administrators, and representatives of the major research organizations. It was a conspicuously elitist group and in its early years it was dominated by a âCambridge Mafiaâ which used the position to advocate for increasing the support of science in general, not just fields closely related to defense. See Zuoyue Wang: In Sputnikâs Shadow. The Presidentâs Science Advisory Committee and Cold War America. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press 2008, 74â85.
Ann K. Finkbeiner: The Jasons. The Secret History of Scienceâs Postwar Elite. New York, NY: Viking Press 2006. See also, Ann Finkbeiner: JASON Past, Present, and Future. The Worldâs Most Independent Defence Science Advisers. Nature 477 (2011), 397â399. doi:
Edward Teller, Eugene Wigner and Hans Bethe are examples of the veteran generation who advised JASON. Younger members who crossed over to Astronomy and Astrophysics include Princeton-based Freeman Dyson and John Wheeler, as well as laser pioneer Charles Townes. Beyond an advisory group, their gatherings included their relatives over long summer retreats. The resulting dynamics was even described as a âfamily,â metaphorically but also literally, as âthe children grew up like cousins.â See, Finkbeiner, The Jasons, 2006, 211.
Finkbeiner, The Jasons, 2006, xxviii.
US decadal surveys, which still continue to this day, collect input from the ground-based astronomical community to coordinate research objectives and investments in research infrastructure. These decadal surveys in turn often drive astronomy plans in other countries around the world. National Academy of Sciences: Ground-Based Astronomy. A Ten-Year Program. A Report Prepared by the Panel on Astronomical Facilities for the Committee on Science and Public Policy of the National Academy of Sciences. Washington, D.C.: The National Academy Press 1964. See also Ground-Based Astronomy. A Ten-Year Program. A Report Prepared by the Panel on Astronomical Facilities for the Committee on Science and Public Policy of the National Academy of Sciences. Science 146/3652 (1964), 1641â1648. doi:
George B. Kistiakowsky: A Scientist at the White House. The Private Diary of President Eisenhowerâs Special Assistant for Science and Technology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press 1976. An external view of Kistiakowskyâs role at PSAC is in: Roger L. Geiger: What Happened after Sputnik? Shaping University Research in the United States. Minerva 35/4 (1997), 349â367, 354. https://www.jstor.org/stable/41821079. Last accessed 5/24/2019. The SIOP, a still-classified plan of resources and action was the policy on which the mature Cold War standoff was based between 1961 and 2003.
Spitzer had started his career as one of the first people in the United States with a Ph.D. in astrophysics, which led to a directorship in Princeton in 1946. During the next decade, however, he focused his interests on plasma astrophysics, which was relevant to both thermonuclear reactors and the hydrogen bomb, as we described in Chapter 1. Spitzer repeatedly failed to interest the astronomical community in an orbiting telescope, and his plans dating from the late 1940s could only be executed in the 1960s. Lyman Spitzer: interview by Joan Bromberg, March 15, 1978. Transcript, Niels Bohr Library & Archives, American Institute of Physics, College Park, MF USA, https://www.aip.org/history-programs/niels-bohr-library/oral-histories/4900. Last accessed 12/4/2020.
John Wheeler was a well-known theoretical physicist who in 1939 had developed with Niels Bohr a general theory of the mechanism of fission based on the liquid-drop model of atomic nuclei, later joining the Manhattan Project to work on the reactors that were needed to create plutonium for the atomic bombs. He was then invited to work with Edward Teller on the Matterhorn Project developing the H-bomb, and was a colleague of Lyman Spitzer at Princeton, and a leader of the secret theoretical group, while making substantial contributions to the theory of fundamental particles. At the same time, his âhiddenâ interest was the theory of general relativity at a time when it was neglected by the mainstream (see other figures like Robert Oppenheimer). In the 1950s and â60s these interests finally came to the foreground, leading to his contributions to general relativity and relativistic astrophysics. John Archibald Wheeler: interview by Kenneth W. Ford, Session XI, March 4, 1994, https://www.aip.org/history-programs/niels-bohr-library/oral-histories/5908-9. Last accessed 12/4/2020. Session XII, 28 March 1994, https://www.aip.org/history-programs/niels-bohr-library/oral-histories/5908-12. Niels Bohr Library & Archives, American Institute of Physics, College Park, MD USA. More on Wheelerâs involvement in the revival of general relativity will be outlined in the final chapter of this book.
Freeman Dyson started his scientific career in fundamental theoretical physics, while also participating in subjects as varied as nuclear reactor design and nuclear propulsion, which he continued after Sputnik within the Project Orion toward a nuclear-powered spaceship. His early interests, however, were in astronomy (he was even offered a position at the Greenwich Observatory in 1948, with prospects of becoming Astronomer Royal), and in the 1960s he made significant contributions to theoretical astrophysics, while his âappliedâ contributions shifted to areas such as adaptive optics. Freeman J. Dyson: Maker of Patterns. An Autobiography through Letters. New York, NY: Liveright 2018.
David H. DeVorkin: Science With A Vengeance. How the Military Created the US Space Sciences After World War
II. New York, NY: Springer-Verlag 1992. James A. Van Allen: What Is a Space Scientist? An Autobiographical Example. Annual Review of Earth and Planetary Sciences 18/1 (1997), 1â27. doi:
Michelangelo De Maria: Europe in Space. Edoardo Amaldi and the Inception of
ESRO. ESA-HSR-5. Noordwijk, the Netherlands: ESA Publications Division 1993. Carlo Rubbia: Edoardo Amaldi: Scientific Statesman. Vol. 91â09. Geneva: CERN 1991. doi:
Sergei N. Vernov et al.: From Balloons to Space Stations. In: Yataro Sekido, and Harry Elliot (eds.): Early History of Cosmic Ray Studies. Personal Reminiscences with Old Photographs. Dordrecht: Springer 1985, 357â374. doi:
Bernard A. C. Lovell: Patrick Maynard Stuart Blackett, Baron Blackett, of Chelsea, 18 November 1897â13 July 1974. Biographical Memoirs of Fellows of the Royal Society 21 (1975), 1â115. doi:
Lars Persson: Pierre AugerâA Life in the Service of Science. Acta Oncologica 35/7 (1996), 785â787. doi:
As mentioned in Chapter 3, Regener had died in 1955, on the eve of the Sputnik launch, and while his disciples at the Max Planck Institute for Aeronomy (Ehmert, Pfotzer) tried to fill those positions, their scientific legitimacy was not comparable and the much more powerful scientists in Munich had more influence in shaping the West German response to the space age, as we see in the next section.
Townes, Charles Hard: interview by Suzanne B. Riess, 1991â92. Transcript, Selected oral histories from the UC Berkeley Oral History Center, Online Archive of California, http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/kt3199n627. Last accessed 12/4/2020. Townes, key person in the foundation of JASON, was already a Nobel Prize-winning physicist for his development of lasers. His entry point to astronomy were astronomical masers, and he soon branched out into infrared astronomy. In the 1970s he was the mentor of Reinhard Genzel, future Director of the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics (Chapter 4).
See Chapter 5, Section 3 (gravitational waves).
Lovell, Bernard: The Effects of Defence Science on the Advance of Astronomy. Journal for the History of Astronomy 8 (1977), 151â173. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/002182867700800301. Last accessed 5/24/2019.
See, for example, David Kaiser, and Benjamin Wilson: Calculating Times. Radar, Ballistic Missiles, and Einsteinâs Relativity. In: Naomi Oreskes, and John Krige (eds.): Science and Technology in the Global Cold War. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press 2014, 273â316. In Chapter 3 of this book we show how this was also the case of radar development in West Germany before the creation of a dedicated Max Planck Institute.
Chapter 3 will deal in more detail with the military aspects of radio astronomy.
S. D. Price: History of Space-Based Infrared Astronomy and the Air Force Infrared Celestial Backgrounds Program. AFRL-RV-HA-TR-2008-1039. Fort Belvoir, VA: Air Force Research Laboratory, Space Vehicles Directorate, Hanscom Air Force Base 2008, 365. doi:
See the chapter National Technical Means in Richard A. Scribner, Theodore J. Ralston, and William D. Metz: The Verification Challenge. Problems and Promise of Strategic Nuclear Arms Control Verification. Boston, MA: Birkhäuser 1985, 47â66.
Finkbeiner, The Jasons, 2006, 121â122. On the discovery of Gamma Ray Bursts, see J. T. Bonnell, and R. W. Klebesadel: A Brief History of the Discovery of Cosmic Gamma-Ray Bursts. AIP
Conference Proceedings. Gamma-ray bursts. 3rd Huntsville symposium. Huntsville, Alabama (USA): AIP 1996, 977â980. doi:
Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 241â242.
Andrew J. Dunar, and Stephen P. Waring: The Hubble Space Telescope. Power to Explore. A History of Marshall Space Flight Center, 1960â1990. Washington, DC: National Aeronautics and Space Administration, NASA History Office, Office of Policy and Plans 1999, 473â525. Eric Chaisson: The Hubble Wars. Astrophysics Meets Astropolitics in the Two-Billion-Dollar Struggle over the Hubble Space Telescope. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers 1994.
Finkbeiner, The Jasons, 2006, 51â52.
For a good introduction, see Laird A. Thompson: Adaptive Optics in Astronomy. Physics Today 47/12 (2008), 24. doi:
In 1985, the French published in a scientific journal Astronomy and Astrophysics, for the first time in an astronomy context, so triggering the release of preexisting American developments in the field throughout the next decade. Charles Townes, himself one of the original developers of the laser, learned of guide stars via JASON and persuaded the military to declassify the technology for astronomers. Finkbeiner, The Jasons, 2006, 154â167.
On laser guide stars, see also C. Bruce Tarter: The American Lab. An Insiderâs History of the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press 2018, 265â267.
These include the experiments conducted by Jacques Blamont and Reimar Lüst, which were among the first space research activities at the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics. Jacques E. Blamont: Alkali Metal Cloud Experiments in the Upper Atmosphere. In: Johan A. M. Bleeker, Johannes Geiss, and Martin C. E. Huber (eds.): The Century of Space Science. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers 2001, 189â202.
âItâs like a braid almost [â¦] Academic and military scientists generally stay at armâs length, partly because of classification, partly because as pure and applied scientists their problems are often different, and partly because theyâre at different levels in the professional hierarchy. Max and Fugate both said the braiding continues, that the two formerly noncommunicating cultures have good relations, that they go to each otherâs conferences, that people who work on adaptive optics for the air force have moved over into the academic community. Fugate, whose military community was relatively small and secretive, said that before he gave that talk to the American Astronomical Society, he hadnât spent much time with astronomers: âIâve never run into a more closely knit, well-networked, everybody-knows-what-everybodyâs-doing kind of thing and everybody is willing to help everybody. Itâs a great group of people.ââ Finkbeiner, The Jasons, 2006, 166â167.
For a more general treatment of such military applications, albeit for a popular audience, see Neil deGrasse Tyson, and Avis Lang: Accessory to War. The Unspoken Alliance between Astrophysics and the Military. New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company 2018.
Walter A. McDougall: The Heavens and the Earth. A Political History of the Space Age. 2nd ed. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press 1997, 141â156 (Chapter 6: âA New Era of Historyâ and a Media Riot). Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 24.
Roger L. Geiger, What Happened after Sputnik?, 1997, 349â367. The âenvyâ that was created in those fields outside the nuclear complex in turn led to a differentiated ethos of non-nuclear disciplines which took an institutionally regressive turn. In an example directly relevant to this study, optical astronomers in the United States deliberately fell back on the model of private philanthropy that existed before the war. David H. DeVorkin: Who Speaks for Astronomy? How Astronomers Responded to Government Funding After World War II. Historical Studies in the Physical and Biological Sciences 31/1 (2000), 55â92. doi:
Hans-Willy Hohn, and Uwe Schimank: Konflikte und Gleichgewichte im Forschungssystem. Akteurkonstellationen und Entwicklungspfade in der staatlich finanzierten auÃeruniversitären Forschung. Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag 1990.
Thomas Parke Hughes: American Genesis. A Century of Invention and Technological Enthusiasm, 1870â1970. New York: Viking Press 1989, 295â352 Chapter 6: âTaylorismus + Fordismus = Amerikanismus.â
Nils Gilman: Mandarins of the Future. Modernization Theory in Cold War America. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press 2003, 158â160. His most influential book mentions Sputnik in the introduction: Max F. Millikan, Universities National Bureau Committee for Economic Research, and UniversitiesâNational Bureau Committee for Economic Research: National Economic Planning. A Conference of the Universities-National Bureau Committee for Economic Research. New York City, NY: National Bureau of Economic Research 1967. Son of a physicist, Robert Millikan, Max had a particularly physicalist and planning-focused approach to economics. He was a close friend and ally of Lyman Spitzer. Lyman Spitzer: interview by Joan Bromberg, March 15, 1978. Transcript, Niels Bohr Library & Archives, American Institute of Physics, College Park, MF USA, https://www.aip.org/history-programs/niels-bohr-library/oral-histories/4900. Last accessed 12/4/2020.
Walt Whitmann Rostow: The Stages of Economic Growth, a Non-Communist Manifesto. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1960. Written right after Sputnik, the book advocates a roadmap for human progress that competed with the Marxist model, based largely on creating the precondition for a scientifically based society. See Kimber Charles Pearce: Narrative Reason and Cold War Economic Diplomacy in W. W. Rostowâs âStages of Economic Growth.â Rhetoric and Public Affairs 2/3 (1999), 395â414. https://www.jstor.org/stable/41940179. Last accessed 5/29/2019. Rostow was foreign aid advisor to Kennedy and later national security advisor to Johnsonâs administration and he had significant impact on the mid-1960s space policy of the United States and its relations with other countries in this matter. See Audra J. Wolfe: Competing with the Soviets. Science, Technology, and the State in Cold War America. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press 2013. See also, Kevin V. Mulcahy: Walt Rostow as National Security Adviser, 1966â69. Presidential Studies Quarterly 25/2 (1995), 223â236. https://www.jstor.org/stable/27551419. Last accessed 5/29/2019.
Roger L. Geiger, What Happened after Sputnik?, 1997, 349â367. The 1960 report âScientific Progress, the Universities, and the Federal Government,â chaired by Nobel Prize winner Glenn Seaborg, called for the involvement of the federal government in all fields of academic science. Seaborg soon after became the first scientist to be chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, implementing expansionist research policies that contrasted with the approach of the conservative, pre-Sputnik, industry-oriented chairman Lewis Strauss. Daniel J. Kevles: The Physicists: The History of a Scientific Community in Modern America. Harvard University Press 1995, 390.
The NATO Science Committee was specifically established in 1957 to readdress the threat deriving from the growing quantity and quality of scientists and engineers in the Soviet Union, possibly creating an âeducational imbalanceâ with Western science. John Krige: NATO and the Strengthening of Western Science in the Post-Sputnik Era. Minerva 38/1 (2000), 81â108. https://www.jstor.org/stable/41821156. Last accessed 12/7/2018.
For a great argument in the British case, see David Edgerton: Warfare State. Britain, 1920â1970. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2006, 229. â[declinist discourses] were central to the modernization project in British politics in the early 1960s. They did indeed result in new policy proposals and new policies. Among them were the extension of higher education, the reform of the higher civil service, the reform of the science policy machinery and the creation of the Ministry of Technology in 1964.â Higher-level scientific education finally became more accessible to traditionally marginalized social groups. A British example is the radio astronomer Jocelyn Bell, co-discoverer of pulsars in 1968, who was able to pursue a scientific career because of post-Sputnik initiatives. See Jocelyn Bell Burnell: interview by David DeVorkin, 21 May 2000. https://www.aip.org/history-programs/niels-bohr-library/oral-histories/31792. Last accessed 12/1/2022.
United States. Office of Scientific Research and Development: Science, the Endless Frontier. Washington, DC: United States Government Printing Office 1945.
McDougall, The Heavens and the Earth, 1997, 153.
Wolfgang Lambrecht: Deutsch-Deutsche Reformdebatten vor âBolognaâ. Die âBildungskatastropheâ der 1960er Jahre. Zeithistorische Forschung 4/3 (2007), 472â477.
Georg Picht: Die deutsche Bildungskatastrophe. Analyse und Dokumentation. Olten: Walter Verlag 1964. The author described the West German separation system as an educational cul-de-sac or âSackgassensystem der scharf voneinander getrennten Schularten.â
The gdr leadership took on the discourse of Scientific and Technological Revolution (Wissenschaftlich-technische Revolution) which would demonstrate the superiority of socialism over capitalism. Lambrecht, Deutsch-Deutsche Reformdebatten vor âBolognaâ. Die âBildungskatastropheâ der 1960er Jahre, 2007, 472â477, 474.
Two examples highly relevant to this book were the Max Planck scientists Joachim Trümper (Chapters 3 and 5), and Till Kirsten (Chapters 1, 2 and 5) who emigrated in the mid-1950s and in their interviews indicated that upon arrival in the West they ascertained that they were much further ahead in their scientific education than similarly aged students. Till Kirsten: interview by Luisa Bonolis and Juan-Andres Leon, Heidelberg, October 24â25, 2017. DA GMPG, BC 601051. Joachim Trümper: interview by Luisa Bonolis and Juan-Andres Leon, Munich, August, 7â8, 2017, DA GMPG, BC 601036.
Thomas Stamm-Kuhlmann: Deutsche Forschung und internationale Integration 1945â1955. In: Rudolf Vierhaus, and Bernhard vom Brocke (eds.): Forschung im Spannungsfeld von Politik und Gesellschaft. Geschichte und Struktur der Kaiser-Wilhelm-/Max-Planck-Gesellschaft. Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt 1990, 886â909. See also, Hohn, and Schimank, Konflikte, 1990.
Olaf Bartz: Wissenschaftsrat und Hochschulplanung. Leitbildwandel und Planungsprozesse in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland zwischen 1957 und 1975. Dissertation/ PhD Thesis. Köln: Universität zu Köln 2006, 41â42. http://kups.ub.uni-koeln.de/volltexte/2006/1879/. Last accessed 7/31/2015.
The elites of the Max Planck Society even aimed to influence the educational reform movement from a scientific perspective by gathering allies for the creation of a Max Planck Institute for Education Research (Bildungsforschung, often translated as Human Development). Klaus Hüfner, and Jens Naumann: Konjunkturen der Bildungspolitik in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Der Aufschwung (1960â1967). Vol. 1. Stuttgart: Klett 1977, 160. Heinz-Elmar Tenorth: Geschichte der Erziehung. Einführung in die Grundzüge ihrer neuzeitlichen Entwicklung. 5. Weinheim: Juventa 2010, 287.
The initial cohort of these was called the âKönigsteiner Instituteâ and reflected the initial pact of their co-financing at the state and federal level. Ministries kept adding new institutes, and only some, in nationally critical fields, were financed by the bmft. See Hohn, and Schimank, Konflikte, 1990, 135â170 Kapitel 5: âDie Bund-Länder Institute.â The status and financing of these âBlue Listâ institutes remained contested until reunification, when they faced circumstances similar to those of the majority of non-educational research institutes in East Germany. This led to their unification under the name Leibniz Association, which is now a rising competitor to the Max Planck Society.
Hartmut Altenmüller: BMBW und BMFT. Fusionen und Teilungen. Spektrum der Wissenschaft 12 (1994), 127. https://www.spektrum.de/magazin/bmbw-und-bmft-fusionen-und-teilungen/821997. Last accessed 5/15/2019.
The laments about the detrimental role in research of the West German answers to the 1968 student movements are not restricted to Max Planck researchers. A representative perspective, comparing the German situation with that in France, can be found in: Karl Rawer: Meine Kinder umkreisen die Erde. Der Bericht eines Satellitenforschers. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder 1986, 124â125. Rawer was based at the University of Freiburg (see Chapter 1).
The satellite project met relatively modest interest outside of scientific circles at the time. Incidentally, it was required that the satellite use Navy-developed rockets to prevent the potential embarrassment of the first satellite being launched by rockets coming from the Peenemünde veterans in Huntsville. See Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 20.
See Chapter 5, âThe Satellite Decision,â in McDougall, The Heavens and the Earth, 1997.
Krige, John: NASAâs International Relations in Space. An Historical Overview. NASAâs First 50 Years. Historical Perspectives. Washington, DC: NASA 2010, 109â150, 116â117. Jeroen van Dongen (ed.): Cold War Science and the Transatlantic Circulation of Knowledge. Vol. 1. Leiden: Brill 2015. McDougall, The Heavens and the Earth, 1997, 110, 121â124. Until 1963 the Soviets contested the legality of spy satellites, but these concerns were dropped as they became a crucial part of the nuclear test ban verification, and they had already caught up with the technology.
Robert R. MacGregor: Imagining an Aerospace Agency in the Atomic Age. NASAâs First 50 Years: Historical Perspectives. Washington, DC: NASA 2010, 31â48.
Teasel Muir-Harmony: American Foreign Policy and the Space Race. Oxford Research Encyclopedia of American History, 2017. doi:
Krige, John, NASAâs International Relations, 2010, 109â150, 115, 121â122 (Table), 132 (Table).
Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 28â45. The âarsenal systemâ went into decline in the 1970s as cost-cutting, consolidation, and the gradual retirement of the original German engineers set in. Afterwards nasa was more exposed to external expertise and pressure from industry.
Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 227.
These had formerly been consolidated into the Army Ordinance Missile Command (aomc): McDougall, The Heavens and the Earth, 1997.
UNO Resolutions: 1085th Plenary Meeting, Sixteenth Session, 20 December 1961: International Cooperation in the peaceful uses of outer space (see documents at United Nations Digital Library https://digitallibrary.un.org/record/665195. Last accessed 1/25/2022); 1244th Plenary Meeting, Eighteenth Session, 17 October 1963: Question of general and complete disarmament [calling upon states to refrain from installing weapons of mass destruction in outer space] (see documents at https://digitallibrary.un.org/record/203960. Last accessed 1/25/2022).
Gerhard Haerendel et al. (eds.): 40 Years of Cospar. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 1998.
See, for example, James Simsarian: Outer Space Co-Operation in the United Nations. American Journal of International Law 57 (1963), 854â867.
On the emergence of space science as a new field of scientific activity, see Homer Edward Newell: Beyond the Atmosphere. Early Years of Space Science. Vol. NASA SP-4211. Washington, DC: NASA 1980.
Infrastructure sharing was best avoided but often inevitable, even into the 1990s, as the Hubble Space Telescope illustrates. See Chaisson, The Hubble Wars, 1994.
Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 45.
David J. Whalen: The Rise and Fall of COMSAT. Technology, Business, and Government in Satellite Communications. London: Palgrave MacMillan 2014.
John Krige, Angelina Long Callahan, and Ashok Maharaj: NASA in the World. Fifty Years of International Collaboration in Space. New York: Palgrave MacMillan 2013, 23â50 Chapter 2: âNASA, Space Science, and Western Europe.â
Pioneer of experiments with artificial plasma clouds injected in the ionosphere starting in 1959, Blamont had contributed to the development of the Veronique rocket, and in the 1950s started his academic career with atomic radiofrequency interaction topics; from 1957 onwards was also one of the directors of the Aeronomy Service of the cnrs. In the next chapter we will detail his close collaboration with Reimar Lüst and the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics. See, Blamont, Alkali Metal Cloud Experiments, 2001, 189â202.
Only in 1994 did this multidisciplinary src split into smaller compartments, including a council on particle physics and astronomy, while space activities were transferred to the new Space Agency, which was later renamed uksa.
John Krige, and Arturo Russo: A History of the European Space Agency 1958â1987. The Story of ESRO and ELDO, 1958â1973. Vol. 1. Noordwijk: European Space Agency 2000.
Matthew Godwin: The Skylark Rocket. British Space Science and the European Space Research Organisation. 1957â1972. Paris: Beauchesne 2007. Günther Seibert: The History of Sounding Rockets and Their Contribution to European Space Research. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 2006.
Simsarian, Outer Space Co-Operation, 1963, 854â867, 857.
For the history of space programs of such European Members States, see History Study Reports at https://www.esa.int/About_Us/ESA_Publications/ESA_historical_publications. Last accessed 02/05/2021.
Seibert, History of Sounding Rockets, 2006, 22 (Table).
Seibert, History of Sounding Rockets, 2006, 33. Seibert refers to the article: Gerhard Haerendel: Stand und Ergebnisse des deutschen Höhenforschungsprogramms. Raumfahrtforschung 1 (1976), 34. Haerendel claims in this article that sounding rockets constituted half of the entire German space science budget! In this regard, see also folder âesro Report Sounding Rocket Policy Study (Teile I-III), 1969â in Reimar Lüstâs papers (AMPG, III. Abt., Rep. 145, No. 1248).
Lutz, Harald: Die vergessenen Raketenexperimente von Cuxhaven. Sterne und Weltraum 44/3 (2005), 40â45.
This referred to Project 621 by Dornier, with tests undergoing until its final cancellation in 1969. Regarding conventional sounding rockets, only in 2001 did the German DLR collaborate directly with Brazil for the development of the VSB-30 rocket, when the British Skylark was no longer produced. Alexandre Garcia et al.: VSB-30 Sounding Rocket. History of Flight Performance. Journal of Aerospace Technology and Management 3/3 (2011), 325â330. doi:
Seibert, History of Sounding Rockets, 2006, 23â24, 32. Alexander Schmidt, Andreas Stamminger, and Peter Turner: DLRâs Mobile Rocket Base. 47 Years of Microgravity and Technical Experiments on Suborbital Flights. 65th International Astronautical Congress (IAC 2014). Toronto 2014. https://elib.dlr.de/93678/. Last accessed 5/9/2019.
One key example was the quick deployment in Australia (within five months of first proposal) of an astronomical campaign led by the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics, following the 1987 Supernova explosion visible from the southern hemisphere: U. G. Briel et al.: Supernova 1987A in the Large Magellanic Cloud. International Astronomical Union Circular 4452 (1987), 1. https://ui.adsabs.harvard.edu/abs/1987IAUC.4452....1B/abstract. Last accessed 6/5/2019.
The first name of the organization, Deutsche Forschungs- und Versuchsanstalt für Luft- und Raumfahrt (German Test and Research Institute for Aviation and Space Flight), reflected its fragmented background full of bureaucratic compromises, in detriment to a clean international brand such as nasa or cnes. The Max Planck Society often took advantage of these branding vacuums, in this case to be implicitly identified as âGerman nasa.â Similar branding vacuums led many national academies in communist countries to identify the MPG as their counterpart.
The two candidates preferred for First Director were nasa-based Hermann Kurzweg, who preferred to stay in the United States, and Reimar Lüst (see next section) who preferred to stay at the Max Planck Society. Helmuth Trischler: Luft-und Raumfahrtforschung in Deutschland 1900â1970. Politische Geschichte einer Wissenschaft. Frankfurt am Main: Campus 1992, 497â498.
See, for example, Reimar Lüst, and Paul Nolte: Der Wissenschaftsmacher. Reimar Lüst im Gespräch mit Paul Nolte. München: C.H. Beck 2008, 61â62.
In Chapter 1 we discussed the Göttingen Manifesto. Adenauerâs mid-1950s ambitions were based on a pre-icbm worldview, in which nuclear explosives might be used tactically, that is, in routine military operations mounted on artillery and missiles, or launched from airplanes. The Göttingen Manifesto of April 1957 mobilized against Adenauerâs plans; and this activism was continued in subsequent decades by the circle of scientists around Werner Heisenbergâs and Carl K. von Weizsäckerâs circles. Their views were better aligned with the post-Sputnik regime embodied in the international treaties agreed over the first decade of the space age.
Wilfrid L. Kohl: The French Nuclear Deterrent. Proceedings of the Academy of Political Science 29/2 (1968), 80â94. doi:
Charles N. Hill: A Vertical Empire. The History of the UK Rocket and Space Programme, 1950â1971. London: Imperial College Press 2001, 11â14; 69. At the beginning it was short-range missile program, so that the warhead could be carried most of the way by airplane, but then complete the last part of the journey as a missile.
Nigel J. Ashton: Harold Macmillan and the âGolden Daysâ of Anglo-American Relations Revisited, 1957â63. Diplomatic History 29/4 (2005), 691â723. https://www.jstor.org/stable/24915066. Last accessed 5/21/2019. David Edgerton: The Rise and Fall of the British Nation. A Twentieth-Century History. London: Allen Lane 2018, 735.
Ashton, Harold Macmillan, 2005, 691â723, 702.
An earlier generation of rockets, including âVeronique,â had been developed in the pre-Sputnik era by teams that included many Peenemünde veterans. Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und Raumfahrt e.V.: 50 Jahre DLR Lampoldshausen. 1959â2009. Köln: Bernd Rölle 2009, 26â29.
Krige, and Russo, European Space Agency I, 2000, Vol. 1, 89. Jean About: Les deÌbuts de la recherche spatiale française. Au temps des fuseÌes-sondes. Paris: Institut français dâhistoire de lâespace 2007.
Kohl, French Nuclear Deterrent, 1968, 80â94, 84.
McDougall, The Heavens and the Earth, 1997, 353. According to McDougall, through these launches â[â¦] the United States acquired its desired reputation as a fair and dependable provider of launch services for other nations, providing they restricted themselves to space science and released their data to all the world. In areas removed from strategic technology, the United States lived up to its principles of cooperation and openness in space.â
HerveÌ Moulin: La France dans lâEspace 1959â1979. Contribution aÌ lâeffort spatial europeÌen. Vol. 37. Nordwijk: ESA Publications Division 2006, 38â39. The scientific module was directed by Karl Rawer from Freiburg (see Chapter 1). In the next section we will see in more detail how French collaboration related to developments that led to the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics.
The French, interested in the military-relevant aspects of atomic research, were its most enthusiastic supporters. Joachim Radkau: Geschichte der Zukunft. Prognosen, Visionen, Irrungen in Deutschland von 1945 bis heute. München: Carl Hanser Verlag 2017, 154 (cartoon). Joachim Radkau, and Lothar Hahn: Aufstieg und Fall der deutschen Atomwirtschaft. München: Oekom 2013, 113â116. euratom was jokingly referred as âEuropean Community for the Development of a French Atomic Bomb.â
Kohl, French Nuclear Deterrent, 1968, 80â94, 82. Kohl, French Nuclear Diplomacy, 1971, 54â60. Wolfgang Zank: Adenauers Griff nach der Atombombe. Die Zeit (7/26/1996). https://www.zeit.de/1996/31/Adenauers_Griff_nach_der_Atombombe/komplettansicht. Last accessed 6/3/2019.
On Adenauerâs nuclear ambiguity and the American reaction, see William Burr, The Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty and the German Nuclear Question, Parts I and II. National Security Archives, 2018: National Security Archive: Preoccupations with West Germanyâs Nuclear Weapons Potential Shaped Kennedy-Era Diplomacy, 2/2/2018. https://nsarchive.gwu.edu/briefing-book/nuclear-vault/2018-02-02/german-nuclear-question-nonproliferation-treaty. Last accessed 6/10/2019.
The contrast with the previous generationâs opinion is seen in how the two central political figures of the previous decade perceived the npt as a humiliation: Franz Josef Strauss described the treaty as a âVersailles of cosmic dimensionsâ (Versailles von kosmischen AusmaÃen), and even the more cautious former chancellor Adenauer described this treaty as âa Morgenthau Plan squaredâ (Morgenthau Plan im Quadrat). For a detailed study of this inter-generational dynamics, see Tim Geiger: Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten. AuÃenpolitischer Konflikt und innerparteilicher Machtkampf in der CDU/CSU 1958â1969. München: Oldenbourg 2008.
Ibid. One significant arena of this balance related the type of nuclear reactors to be developed and their potential use for domestic nuclear weapons production. Americans favored the spread of reactors working with low-enriched uranium (about 4% U235), which needed enrichment technologies for their production that made Germany dependent on American supplies. The self-reliant alternative in the 1950s were reactors moderated with heavy water, which used natural uranium as fuel, but had the potential of producing plutonium. As would also happen with aerospace developments, American pressure combined genuine concerns regarding dual-use, with attempts to favor American industry by keeping Europeans dependent. The same debate, even without the military restriction aspect, was occurring also in France and euratom. See: DeÌbats du Parlement europeÌen sur la CommunauteÌ europeÌenne de lâeÌnergie atomique (18 October 1966). http://www.cvce.eu/obj/debats_du_parlement_europeen_sur_la_communaute_europeenne_de_l_energie_atomique_18_octobre_1966-fr-a1e7de68-53c9-434e-ae36-a62ecfc36a34.html. Last accessed 5/22/2019.
Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten, 2008.
Germanyâs first small satellites, Azur (study of Van Allen belts, solar particles, and aurorae) and Aeros 1 and 2 (state and behavior of the upper atmosphere and ionospheric F-region) were âfreeâ gifts, while the much larger Helios interplanetary probes (study of solar processes) were a return gesture in exchange for the USâGerman agreement to pay for the presence of American troops. Niklas Reinke: The History of German Space Policy. Ideas, Influences, and Interdependence 1923â2002. Paris: Beauchesne 2007, 112â113.
Harrie Stewart Wilson Massey, and M. O. Robins: History of British Space Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1986, 109.
De Maria, Europe in Space, 1993. See also Michelangelo De Maria, Lucia Orlando, and Filippo Pigliacelli: Italy in Spaceâ1946â1988. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 2003.
Peter Meyer letter to Alexander Hocker, July 10, 1959. Hocker was the German representative to cern 1952â61, financial chairman of copers 1961â64, esro council member and chairman 1964â67 and its director general 1971â74. In: Helmuth Trischler: Dokumente zur Geschichte der Luft- und Raumfahrtforschung in Deutschland: 1900â1970. Köln: DLR, Deutsche Forschungsanstalt für Luft- und Raumfahrt 1993, 361â363. Peter Meyer will later play a role in the steps leading to the foundation of the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics (see Section 2).
Letâs remember here that restrictions on the free publication of research evolved as the central argument used by the Max Planck Society to defend its scientific autonomy over the second half of the 20th century. These first emerged in the very context of its foundation in the late 1940s, and were vigorously reinforced in the mid-1950s around the possibilities made available by the expansion of nuclear power. Free publication of results also became one of the central boundaries regarding activities in areas with potential military dual-use, and later in discussions regarding the participation in research collaborations with private companies or more generally organizations with commercial intent. The space age was just one arena of these boundary-building efforts.
Massey, and Robins, History, 1986, 115â118.
John Krige, Arturo Russo, and Lorenza Sebesta: A History of the European Space Agency 1958â1987. The Story of ESA, 1973 to 1987. Vol. 2. European Space Agency 2000.
Massey, and Robins, History, 1986, 131â133. Pierre Auger was elected to the largely ceremonial role of Director General. Albert W. Lines from the Royal Aircraft Establishment became the first Technical Director, and Reimar Lüst (see next section) was unanimously selected to the crucial role of Scientific Director. He, however, insisted the position be part-time, and continued to divide his time between the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics and esro. Upon the final establishment of the organization in 1965, Lüst gave his post over to Bert Bolin of Sweden, who would become a central player in the environmental and Earth system sciences. In July 1967, the esro Council elected Hermann Bondi as second Director General of esro, succeeding Auger. Bondi was an outstanding scientist and had already been chairman of the Space Committee in the British Ministry of Defence, âproving to be able to get the confidence of the government and also had learned to be realistic about their intentions [...] two qualities that were in those days a necessity for a DG of ESRO.â Veerle J. Sterken: Sir Hermann Bondi: A Journey through His Life and the Early Endeavours of Europe into Space. Acta Astronautica 61/1 (2007), 514â525, 518. doi:
This failure has become a frequently used example of the failures of compartmentalized approaches to European integration determined by politicians, but this interpretation itself has become uncritical mythology. Historians like John Krige have provided criticism which emphasizes rather the fact that the original intentions of eldo were deeply rooted in BritishâFrench attempts at self-reliance with implied military aspects; by the mid-1960s, however, the constellation had changed, France had vetoed British entry to the Common Market, and this resulted in the said compartmentalization and active torpedoing of eldo from all sides. Meanwhile, the technical capabilities were too uneven, as the British contribution worked flawlessly while the other stages were a continuous embarrassment. The later success of Ariane, rather than a success of European technical integration, also owed to French political stubbornness and the lucky contingency that the Space Shuttle, which diverted many American resources, was so disastrous. John Krige: The History of the European LauncherâAn Overview. In: R. A. Harris (ed.): The History of the European Space Agency. Proceedings of an International Symposium 11â13 November 1998, the Science Museum, London. Noordwijk: ESA Publication Division 1999, 69â78.
Many European pioneers of Ariane even consider that the abusive decisions made by nasa in the post-Apollo era were the direct cause of the current independence of Europeans in space. Krige, History of the European Launcher, 1999, 69â78, 69â78.
The delicate status of the German team in Huntsville, Alabama, is well described in: Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999.
By that time, Wernher von Braun was already a notable public figure in the United States and in Germany, and his visions of spaceflight circulated in books and films. See, for example, Catherine L. Newell: The Strange Case of Dr. von Braun and Mr. Disney. Frontierland, Tomorrowland, and Americaâs Final Frontier. Journal of Religion and Popular Culture 25/3, 416â429.
See, for example, Eugen Sänger: Raumfahrt. HeuteâMorgenâÃbermorgen. Düsseldorf: Econ-Verlag 1963.
Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und Raumfahrt e.V., 50 Jahre DLR Lampoldshausen. 1959â2009, 2009, 26â29. Sänger was already a prominent figure in the rocket-building community before his appointment in West Germany. See Eugen Sänger, and Heinz Gartmann: Raketenantriebe. Ihre Entwicklung, Anwendung und Zukunft. Eine Einführung in das Wesen des Raketenantriebes, sowie Raketen- und Weltraumfluges. Zürich: Schweizer Druck- und Verlagshaus 1952.
In many ways, this approach was reminiscent of early-20th-century flight pioneers. Their sometimes reckless, private-based approaches would gain legitimacy again only in the 21st century in the contemporary wave of American space privatization efforts. The controversial German entrepreneurial initiatives in Stuttgart are notably low-key in pre-2000 analyses of post-1945 German space policy, and the OTRAG episode (see next page) is not even mentioned: Niklas Reinke: The History of German Space Policy. Ideas, Influences, and Interdependence 1923â2002. Translated by Barry Smerin, and Barbara Wilson. Paris: Beauchesne 2007, 50. Trischler, Luft-und Raumfahrtforschung in Deutschland 1900â1970, 1992, 453.
Interview with Shimon Peres, in: Kersten SchüÃler: Showdown am Nil. Der Mossad, Die Nazis, und die Raketen. Dokumentation. 45 Min. ARD 2018 (Film Documentary). This documentary is based on: Ronen Bergman: Rise and Kill First. The Secret History of Israelâs Targeted Assassinations. New York, NY: Random House 2018, 63â84.
Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und Raumfahrt e.V., 50 Jahre DLR Lampoldshausen. 1959â2009, 2009, 60â62. Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und Raumfahrt e.V., and Institut für Raumfahrtantriebe (eds.): 50 Jahre DLR Lampholdshausen, 2009, 60â62. Oliver Schwehm: Fly Rocket FlyâMit Macheten zu den Sternen. Spielfilm. 90 Min. Lunabeach TV und Media GmbH 2018 (Film Documentary).
Horst Möller: Franz Josef StrauÃ. Herrscher und Rebell. München: Piper 2015. Strauss was a flight enthusiast since the early 1950s and later even became a licensed pilot.
The detailed process of this complex institutional merger is described in: Trischler, Luft-und Raumfahrtforschung in Deutschland 1900â1970, 1992.
We will see in subsequent chapters that this often demanded keeping a low profile during the early proposal stages, when a project might be vulnerable to cancellations or even âstealingâ by competing American researchers; thus, superior capabilities and well-thought-out research programs were revealed only once already deployed, so as to take the senior partners by surprise. Cases throughout this book include barium cloud experiments, lunar sample analysis, and space telescopes like rosat.
Klaus Pinkau: interview by Helmuth Trischler, March 9, 2010. Transcript, Historical Archives of the European Union. Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT072. Last accessed 12/4/2020.
Erhard Keppler: Der Weg zum Max Planck Institut für Aeronomie. Von Regener bis Axfordâeine persönliche Rückschau. Katlenburg-Lindau: Copernicus 2003, 35â36. Lüst, and Nolte, Der Wissenschaftsmacher, 2008, 205â207.
Wolfe, Competing with the Soviets, 2013.
The justification of human versus automated probes was always problematic. In the early years of rudimentary computers, it could be claimed that crews were indispensable for complex missions, and the long development times of space vehicles meant that a late 1960s decision, the manned Space Shuttle, dominated American spaceflight for the remainder of the century.
Kevles, The Physicists, 1995, 390. Quote by Meg Greenfield: âIn Washington these days, the definition of a truly hip science adviser is one who knows that the moon money could be better spent on other scientific projects and who also knows that Congress wonât appropriate it for any of them.â See also W. D. Kay: Defining NASA. The Historical Debate over the Agencyâs Mission. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press 2005, 77. Only 3 out of 116 scientists were in favor of human spaceflight. Vannevar Bush himself was one of the most prominent critics.
nasaâs Tracking and Data Relay Satellite System (TDRSS, https://www.globalsecurity.org/space/systems/tdrss.htm. Last accessed 3/20/2021), supports data transmission from spacecrafts at an extremely high rate. For its role in Hubbleâs operation and complications related to its classified activities, see also Chaisson, The Hubble Wars, 1994. Incidentally, the Tracking and Data Relay Satellite System (tdrss) was also used as a radio telescope for the first even space-based Very Long Baseline: Interferometry (vlbi) observations in the 1980s. https://asd.gsfc.nasa.gov/blueshift/index.php/2016/07/25/thirty-years-of-space-vlbi/. Last accessed 12/4/2020.
Incidentally, both ground-based and space-based communications antennas can be used for radio astronomy; conversely, radio telescopes can be used for communication with spacecraft, and some like the Parkes radio antenna in Australia did so routinely. This, however, created a point of tension between astronomers and space programs. For a German example, see Chapter 3 of this book. Early 1970s German space missions intended to use the Effelsberg Radio Telescope. The strong resistance by astronomers led to the creation of purpose-built antennas by the same company in Oberpfaffenhofen by the dlr. Keppler, Max Planck Institut für Aeronomie, 2003, 24â25.
See, for example, Malcolm Longair: interview by Robert W. Smith, June 14, 1984. Space Telescope History Project, National Air and Space Museum, Smithsonian Institution, https://sova.si.edu/record/NASM.1999.0035?s=0&n=10&t=C&q=oral+history+interview+with+Longair&i=0. Last accessed 12/4/2020. A German example of this rivalry, addressed in upcoming chapters, led to the increasing division of labor between the Max Planck Institutes for Aeronomy, Chemistry, and Nuclear Physics in planetary science on one hand, and the Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics, Radio Astronomy, and Astronomy on the other. As a result of this rivalry, for example, the Aeronomy Institute obtained significant funds outside of the MPG, from the dlr. Horst-Uwe: interview by Helmuth Trischler and Matthias Knopp, June 10, 2010. Transcript, Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT078. Last accessed 12/4/2020.
By the end of the 1960s, the postwar economic boom was coming to an end, and the Sputnik bonanza slowly adjusted accordingly. Americans landed on the moon and just a few years after, as public interest waned, nasa reduced its budget considerably. From the mid-1970s to this day, this reduced nasa budget has essentially remained unchanged, although adjusted for inflation, and it covers human spaceflight, scientific programs, and a growing presence in Earth sciences. Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 135â178 Chapter 5: âBetween a Rocket and a Hard Place: Transformation in Time of Austerity.â
Moulin, La France dans lâEspace, 2006, Vol. 37.
Massey, and Robins, History, 1986. Douglas Millard: An Overview of United Kingdom Space Activity 1957â1987. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 2005. For space activities in other Member States see also Joost van Kasteren: An Overview of Space Activities in the Netherlands. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 2002. Bruno Philipp Besser: Austriaâs History in Space. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 2004. Jose M. Dorado, Manuel Bautista, and Pedro Sanz-AraÌnguez: Spain in Space. A Short History of Spanish Activity in the Space Sector. Edited by European Space Agency. History Study Reports 26 (2002). http://www.esa.int/esapub/hsr/HSR_26.pdf. Last accessed 5/2/2021. Further esa History Study Reports about European space activities and other historical publications can be retrieved at https://www.esa.int/About_Us/ESA_Publications/ESA_historical_publications. Last accessed 2/5/2021.
This module was seen in many circles as an American strategy to undermine Europeansâ access to space by channeling their resources toward projects that were very costly and scientifically dubious. Spacelab was understood as a âConsolation Prizeâ for the fact that Europeans, while forced to collaborate with nasa, would also not be allowed to participate in the development of the Space Shuttle itself. Dunar, and Waring, Power to Explore, 1999, 427â471 Chapter 11: âSpacelab: International Cooperation in Orbit.â The European participation in Spacelab is interpreted as âsecond-fiddle position that the French particularly despisedâ in: McDougall, The Heavens and the Earth, 1997, 428.
Ulf Merbold flew on the first Shuttle mission that operated Skylab in NovemberâDecember 1983. Merbold was actually employed by a Max Planck Institute (Metal Research, Stuttgart), but his entry into the astronaut program was a personal decision, having been selected from a very large pool of applicants. https://earth.esa.int/web/eoportal/satellite-missions/s/spacelab. Last accessed 3/4/2020. The Frenchman Jean-Loup Chretien had already spent a week on the Soviet space station Salyut 7 in JuneâJuly 1982, becoming the first Western European in space.
STS-61 (alternatively designated D-1) flew in 1985. STS-55 or D-2 only flew in 1993 because of the delays caused by the Challenger explosion. Astrid Becker: Zurück in die Zukunft. Süddeutsche Zeitung (5/5/2018). https://www.sueddeutsche.de/muenchen/starnberg/25-jahre-spacelab-d2-zurueck-in-die-zukunft-1.3967737. Last accessed 6/3/2019.
For a friendly account, see, for example, Looking Up. Europeâs Quiet Revolution in Microgravity Research. New York City, NY: Scientific American Custom Publishing 2008. This issue includes contributions by Max Planck veterans Gerhard Haerendel and Gregor Morfill.
Helmuth Trischler: The âTriple Helixâ of Space. German Space Activities in a European Perspective. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 2002, 21â24.
Trischler, The âTriple Helixâ of Space, 2002, 21â24. In the 1980s the German Physical Society issued a damning report against Human Spaceflight. Among its signatories were three leading Max Planck Researchers: Joachim Trümper (MPE), Klaus Pinkau (MPEâIPP), and Erhard Keppler (MPAe). This position has only somewhat dampened in the 1990s, as it was acknowledged that there were crucial political imperatives for human spaceflight in the context of post-Soviet collaborations. Trümmer einer Vision. Der Spiegel 32 (1992), 180â182. For the documents, see: Deutsche Physikalische Gesellschaft: Stellungnahmen zur Bemannten Raumfahrt. Homepage, 2018. https://www.dpg-physik.de/veroeffentlichungen/publikationen/stellungnahmen-der-dpg/bemannte-raumfahrt. Last accessed 6/6/2019.
Horst-Uwe Keller: interview by Helmuth Trischler and Matthias Knopp, June 10, 2010. Transcript, Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT078. Last accessed 2/2/2020. Joachim Trümper: interview by Helmuth Trischler and Matthias Knopp, Munich, March 18, 2010. Transcript, Historical Archives of the European Union. Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT076. Last accessed 2/2/2020. Keppler, Max Planck Institut für Aeronomie, 2003.
In Germany, there was considerable pressure for ânuclearâ institutes dating from the early postwar period to reconvert to environmental research in the 1970s. See: Hohn, and Schimank, Konflikte, 1990. This âenvironmental turnâ is being explored in the GMPG program by Gregor Lax. Gregor Lax: From Atmospheric Chemistry to Earth System Science. Contributions to the Recent History of the Max Planck Institute for Chemistry (Otto Hahn Institute), 1959â2000. Diepholz: GNT-Verlag 2018. Gregor Lax: Wissenschaft zwischen Planung, Aufgabenteilung und Kooperation. Zum Aufsteig der Erdsystemforschung in der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft, 1968â2000. Berlin: GMPG-Preprint 2020.
Gary J. Weisel: Properties and Phenomena. Basic Plasma Physics and Fusion Research in Postwar America. Physics in Perspective 10/4 (2008), 396â437. doi:
AMPG, III. Abt., ZA1, No. 91.
James A. Van Van Allen, and Louis A. Frank: Radiation Around the Earth to a Radial Distance of 107,400 Km. 4659. Nature 183/4659 (1959), 430â434. doi:
For a survey of early experiments on the trapped particles see W.N. Hess: Energetic Particles in the Inner Van Allen Belt. Space Science Reviews 1/2 (1962), 278â312. doi:
H.S. Bridge et al.: Direct Observations of the Interplanetary Plasma. Journal of the Physical Society of Japan 17/Supplement A-II (1962), 553â559. The flight of Explorer X, which established the existence of a steady, albeit variable solar wind streaming past the Earth at supersonic speed, and the existence of a geomagnetic cavity, a region of space surrounding the Earth, which is shielded from the solar wind by the Earthâs magnetic field, prepared the stage for the complete vindication of Parkerâs prediction of the supersonic expansion of the solar atmosphere.
C.W. Snyder, M. Neugebauer, and U.R. Rao: The Solar Wind Velocity and Its Correlation with Cosmic-Ray Variations and with Solar and Geomagnetic Activity. Journal of Geophysical Research 68/24 (1963), 6361â6370. doi:
Eugene Parker: Dynamics of the Interplanetary Gas and Magnetic Fields. Astrophysical Journal 128 (1958), 664â676. doi:
Ludwig Biermann: Kometenschweife und solare Korpuskularstrahlung. Zeitschrift für Astrophysik 29 (1951), 274â286. https://ui.adsabs.harvard.edu/#abs/1951ZA.....29..274B. Last accessed 10/30/2018. Ludwig Biermann: Physical Processes in Comet Tails and Their Relation to Solar Activity. In: P. Swings (ed.): La Physique Des ComeÌtes. Communications PreÌsenteÌes Au QuatrieÌme Colloque International dâAstrophysique, Tenu aÌ LieÌge Les 19, 20 et 21 Septembre 1952. MeÌmoires de La SocieÌteÌ Royale Des Sciences de LieÌge. QuatrieÌme SeÌrie. LieÌge: Institut dâAstrophysique de lâUniversiteÌ de LieÌge 1953, 251â262. Ludwig Biermann: Solar Corpuscular Radiation and the Interplanetary Gas. The Observatory 77 (1957), 109â110. https://ui.adsabs.harvard.edu/abs/1957Obs....77..109B/abstract. Last accessed 8/14/2020. Ludwig Biermann: The Plasma in Interplanetary Space. Technical Report NASA-TN-D-1901. United States: NASA 1963. https://ntrs.nasa.gov/search.jsp?R=19630012233&hterms=Biermann&qs=N%3D0%26Ntk%3DAuthor-Name%26Ntt%3DBiermann%2C%2520L.%26Ntx%3Dmode%2520matchall. Last accessed 11/2/2017. Reimar Lüst: Interplanetary Plasma. Space Science Reviews 1/3 (1963), 522â552. doi:
Ludwig Biermann: Relations between Plasma Physics and Astrophysics. Reviews of Modern Physics 32/4 (1960), 1008â1011. doi:
Van Allen, Space Scientist, 1997, 1â27.
See United Nations Treaties: Treaty Banning Nuclear Weapon Tests in the Atmosphere, in Outer Space and under Water. Submitters. United States of America United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Moscow 05/08/1963. https://treaties.un.org/pages/showDetails.aspx?objid=08000002801313d9. Last accessed 12/7/2017.
Reinke, The History of German Space Policy, 2007, 56, 107.
The pressure group of West German universities mentioned earlier in the chapter.
Thomas Stamm: Zwischen Staat und Selbstverwaltung. Die deutsche Forschung im Wiederaufbau 1945â1965. Köln: Wissenschaft und Politik 1981, 225â243.
See draft of the letter to MPG President dated München and Lindau, December 30, 1959 announcing that the four Institutes were jointly building a working group for âextraterrestrial research.â Following the Geophysical Year, the field entered a boom period in many countries, especially USA and USSR, and they were âurged by foreign colleagues that Germany should participate more activelyâ (AMPG, Abt. III, ZA1, No. 91). In a later document in the same folder (minutes of a meeting of the âArbeitsgemeinschaft Extraterrestrische Forschungâ held on 7 March 1961), in connection with research on meteorites it was mentioned that Gentner would represent the interests of Mainz in the group. The folder No. 91 of Biermannâs papers (Arbeitsgruppe Extraterrestrial Physik 1959â1963) contains key material related to the early phase leading to the foundation of the Extraterrestrial Institute, as well as memoranda written by Reimar Lüst about Germany and space research, also including notes on the research activities. Preliminary steps before the official formation of the research group imply correspondence with Peter Meyer (contained in the same folder No. 91) and outlining all the plans related to the project. Since 1950 Meyer had been a member of the Institute for Physics, where he had worked on cosmic ray research and detection methods. In 1954, he had moved to Chicago where he began to collaborate with John Simpson, an experimental nuclear and cosmic ray physicist, on investigations of the variation of cosmic rays with solar activities. Simpson was also a leading scientist within the International Geophysical Year project and later became one of the members of the Space Science Board formed by the National Academy of Sciences in 1958 to support the start of nasa space activities. On January 10, 1963, Heisenberg and Biermann proposed that a Department for Extraterrestrial Physics be built, and launched with about 10 collaborators led by Reimar Lüst (see discussion in CPTS meeting minutes of 01.03.1963, 13â14.05.1963, AMPG, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 1740, 1741).
There was a collected volume of the same period resulting from a review meeting held in Paris in 1963 and devoted to recently acquired knowledge of the space environment, in which Biermann participated with a contribution on âNew measurements of the interplanetary plasma and their interpretationâ: A. Ehmert (ed.): The Space Environment. Le Milieu Spatial. Report on the Survey Meeting of Information on the Space Environment Paris, 27 September 1963. Wien: Springer 1964. See also Gotthard Gambke, Rudolf Kerscher, and Walter Kertz: Denkschrift zur Lage der Weltraumforschung. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag 1961. Peter Fischer: The Origins of the Federal Republic of Germanyâs Space Policy 1959â1965. European and National Dimensions. Noordwijk: European Space Agency Publications 1994.
Georg Pfotzer: Kosmische Strahlung als Informationsquelle für Zustände und Vorgänge im Weltraum. In: Generalverwaltung der Max-Planck Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. (ed.): Jahrbuch 1960 der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. Göttingen 1960, 126â160. Biermann, Solar Corpuscular Radiation, 1957, 109â110. K. Goebel, P. Schmidlin, and J. Zähringer: Das Tritium-Helium- und das Kalium-Argon-Alter des Meteoriten âRamsdorf.â Zeitschrift für Naturforschung A 14/11 (1959), 996â998. doi:
The possibility of such experiments on artificial comets were discussed in early 1960, as mentioned by Biermann in his closing comment in an article on the subject, submitted in July 1961. Ludwig Biermann et al.: Zur Untersuchung des interplanetarischen Mediums mit Hilfe künstlich eingebrachter Ionenwolken. Zeitschrift für Astrophysik 53 (1961), 226â236. http://articles.adsabs.harvard.edu/pdf/1961ZA.....53..226B. Last accessed 10/30/2018. On April 18, 1961, Biermann was already mentioning plans for the artificial comet tails experiment, as in a letter written to Rhea Lüst from the US (original in English): âYour husband brought the news from Stockholm that it has been proposed to carry out our project of artificial comet tails on a European basis at least as the connected observations from the ground are concerned. The European study group for space research urgently requires more details about our proposed experiments. For this reason, your husband and I would like you and Dr. Hermann Schmidt to look into this matter.â Biermann also mentioned the recent results from the plasma probe built by Rossiâs group at mit (AMPG, Abt. III, ZA1, No. 91). The space probe Explorer X had performed the first in situ measurements of the solar wind at the boundary of the Earthâs magnetosphere. Bridge et al., Direct Observations, 1962, 553â559. In a letter written to Biermann on August 25, 1960, Siegfried Balkeâat the time German Federal Minister for Nuclear Energyâsuggested that, for financing optimization, a combination with the plasma group should be also established (AMPG, III. Abt., Rep. 145, No. 1004). See also Lüstâs report on Max Planck Societyâs involvement in international cooperation in space research prepared for the CPTS meeting of June 6, 1961, in Berlin, and typewritten page dated May 18, 1962, with preliminary research plans of the Department for Extraterrestrial Physics led by Lüst especially focusing on interplanetary medium, Earth-Sun and solar system, particles from the Sun, magnetic fields, artificial plasma clouds and comet tails in interplanetary space, and investigations with radio waves (AMPG, II. Abt., Rep. 66, No. 3047. Fol. 30 and 39â45).
Johan A. M. Bleeker, Johannes Geiss, and Martin C. E. Huber (eds.): The Century of Space Science. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers 2001.
Hannes AlfveÌn: The Plasma Universe. Physics Today 39/9 (1986), 22. doi:
The âOlympians and royalty of the astrophysical communityâ included AlfveÌn, Artsimovich, Biermann, Chandrasekhar, Cowling, Shklovsky, Schlüter, Spitzer, Burbidge, âand many other notables.â Winston H. Bostick: Stockholm, August 1956, Revisited (Plasma Astrophysics). IEEE
Transactions on Plasma Science 17/2 (1989), 69â75, 69. doi:
B. Lehnert (ed.): Electromagnetic Phenomena in Cosmical Physics. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press 1958.
For materials on the organization of space research at a European level taking place in 1960 and on the preliminary organizational phase of space research within MPG, see correspondence between Gentner and Bartels and related documents in Gentnerâs papers, AMPG, III Abt., Rep. 68A, No. 158. See also Reimar Lüst: Weltraumforschung in der Bundesrepublik und Europa. Weltraumforschung in der Bundesrepublik und Europa. Sonnenforschung. VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften 1966, 7â29.
Helmuth Trischler: A Talkative Artefact: Germany and the Development of a European Launcher in the 1960s. In: Martin Collins, and Doug Millard (eds.): Showcasing Space. London: Science Museum 2005, 7â28.
Adriaan Blaauw: ESOâs Early History. The European Southern Observatory from Concept to Reality. ESO 1991.
Georgina Ferry: EMBO in Perspective. A Half-Century in the Life Sciences. EMBO 2014.
Krige, and Russo, European Space Agency I, 2000, Vol. 1. p.198. The ten founding states were Belgium, Denmark, France, (Federal Republic of) Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom.
De Maria, Europe in Space, 1993. Krige, Russo, and Sebesta, European Space Agency II, 2000, Vol. 2. esro was merged with eldo (European Launcher Development Organization) in 1975 to form the European Space Agency (esa). Krige, and Russo, European Space Agency I, 2000, Vol. 1. The link with cern was made explicit by holding the major conference for its creation in Geneva, and by the participation of many cern representatives in the creation and leadership of esro. For the launch of cern and in particular on the role of Amaldi and Auger, see Chapter 1 in Armin Hermann et al.: History of CERN. Launching the European Organization for Nuclear Research. Vol. 1. Amsterdam: North-Holland 1987. In connection with this European trend to joint ventures, Klaus Pinkau emphasized âIn Europe we think about cooperation, while the Americans think about who will be the best. America could afford that, because it had enough resources; if you let the best win, you destroy five runners-up. This is a very painful and uneconomical way to proceed [our translation].â Klaus Pinkau: interview by Helmuth Trischler, March 9, 2010. Transcript, Historical Archives of the European Union. Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT072. Last accessed 12/4/2020. See also Lorenza Sebesta: US-European Cooperation in Space during the 1960s. Noordwijk: ESA Publications Division 1994. Seibert, History of Sounding Rockets, 2006.
Reimar Lüst: Carl Friedrich Weizsäcker. Ein Doktorand erinnert sich. In: Klaus Hentschel, and Dieter Hoffmann (eds.): Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker. Physik, Philosophie, Friedensforschung. Stuttgart: Wissenschaftliche Verlagsgesellschaft 2014, 263â270.Reimar Lüst: Ludwig Biermann. 13.3.1907-12.1.1986. Berichte und Mitteilungen der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft. München 1986, 78â81. See also the autobiographical volume Lüst, and Nolte, Der Wissenschaftsmacher, 2008.
Reimar Lüst: The European Space Research Organization. Science 149/3682 (1965), 394â397. doi:
CPTS meeting minutes of June 6, 1961, AMPG, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 1737. In this regard, see also minutes of a meeting at the Ministry of Research on ESROâs research program in AMPG, III Abt., Rep. 145, Nachlass Reimar Lüst, No. 999â1002 (Bundesministerium für Wissenschaftliche Forschung), and N. 1004 (Deutsche Kommission für WeltraumforschungâArbeitskreis âAstrophysik und Astronomie,â 1963â1967).
Reimar Lüst: interview by Horst Kant and Jürgen Renn, Hamburg, May 18, 2010 (DA GMPG, ID 601068). Actually, at an esro meeting in London Lüst met Jacques Blamont, the French physicist who experimented with research rockets by evaporating sodium in the atmosphere in order to measure atmospheric winds, and Lüst was able to plan rocket research with him, as we will see later in this chapter. See material related to Lüstâs extensive involvement with esro in his personal papers: AMPG, III. Abt., Rep. 145, No. 173, 260, 894, 971, 972, 980, 985, 986, 992, 1014, 1047â1049, 1054, 1055, 1060â1064, 1066â1068, 1090, 1248â1250, 1252.
In December 1962, a delegation of the Soviet Academy of Sciences had been invited by the Max Planck Society to visit West Germany for a couple of weeks. Präsidialbüro der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft (ed.): Mitteilungen aus der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften. Heft 1-2/1963. München 1963, 102â103. In 1963, Lüst visited Russian institutes and observatories as member of a Max Planck Delegation invited by the Russian Academy of Sciences. Ludwig Biermann, and Reimar Lüst: Jahresberichte astronomischer Institute 1963. München Max-Planck-Institut für Physik und Astrophysik. Institut für Astrophysik. Mitteilungen der Astronomischen Gesellschaft Hamburg 17 (1964), 180â186. http://adsabs.harvard.edu/abs/1964MitAG..17..180. Last accessed 4/13/2020. See also Reimar Lüst: Eindrücke von einer Reise in die Sowjetunion. Gegenbesuch einer Delegation der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft bei der Akademie der Wissenschaften der UdSSR. In: Generalverwaltung der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft (ed.): Mitteilungen aus der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft. Heft 1â2. Max-Planck-Gesellschaft 1964, 55â63. On Lüstâs involvement in these journeys to USSR, see AMPG, Abt. III, Nachlass Reimar Lüst, Rep. 145, No. 890. Later, Lüst was one of the members representing MPG during the Wissenschaftsratâs trip of Oct.25âNov. 2, 1971 (âBericht über eine Reise des Wissenschaftsrates in die Sowjetunion vom 25. Oktober bis 2. November 1971,â Rep. 145, No. 959), which was related to an exchange in the field of university education, and dedicated to visits to relevant scientific centers, also with the USA, as a representative of the Bundesrepublik Deutschland (see also No. 960). After the trip of the delegation of the German Federal Minister of Science, Lüst felt that there was change in the atmosphere compared to his visit in 1963. A number of Russian institutes were very interested in collaborating with the Max Planck Society and very soon a delegation of German experts would travel to Russia to hold preparatory talks. About the problem of direct interaction with scientists, it was now possible to invite Russian scientists directly, without involving the official bodies. During his stay in Russia, Lüst established new fruitful relationships and invited Russian colleagues to the Max Planck Institute for Physics and Astrophysics thus creating the premise for future collaborations. About such trips see several folders in Lüstâs papers in AMPG, III. Abt., Rep. 145, No. 1100â1106.
See Documents related to the history of space cooperation at the Historical Archives of the European Union (ESA.B.09-04.0201, https://archives.eui.eu/en/fonds/532919?item=ESA.B.09-04.02.01. Last accessed 5/23/2021). For obituaries of Lüst, see: European Space Agency: Professor Reimar Lüst (1923â2020). European Space Agency, 4/2/2020. https://www.esa.int/About_Us/ESA_history/Professor_Reimar_Luest_1923-2020. Last accessed 4/3/2020. See also, Roger Bonnet, and Gerhard Haerendel: Reimar Lüst (1923â2020). Space Research Today 208 (2020), 4â6. doi:
Reimar Lüst: Die Gegenwärtigen Probleme Der Weltraumforschung. München: Oldenbourg; Düsseldorf: VDI-Verl 1964.
Rauck, Horst: interview by Helmut Trischler, June 19, 2010. Historical Archives of the European Union. Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT073. Last accessed 7/30/2019. Feustel-Büechl, Jörg: interview by Helmut Trischler on 09.04.2010. Historical Archives of the European Union. Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT065. Last accessed 7/30/2019.
Jörg Büchner (ed.): Geschichte des Fachverbands Extraterrestrische Physik und der Arbeitsgemeinschaft Extraterrestrische Forschung. Katlenburg-Lindau: Arbeitsgemeinschaft Extraterrestrische Forschung E.V. 2009, 1.
Moreover, as future MPE director Pinkau remarked, âWhen I came to Munich in 1965, Mr. Lüst had practically taken the lead in the German commitment to space research. But this, given his scientific interests, played out more in the magnetosphere and ionosphere physics sector. He had developed the method of ion clouds. Astrophysics in space was underdeveloped in Germany. Lüst himself was a plasma physicist, [Walter] Dieminger in Göttingen had conducted ionospheric physics, and therefore the German strengths were also in the universities, in meteorology, the upper atmosphere, or the ionosphere, and not so much in the field of astronomy. That fit for two reasons. First of all, these satellites were cheaper than astronomical satellites and easier to launch, and therefore better suited for a start; and secondly, it suited the Americans. As you know, we had two approaches in Germany. One was working with NASA, the other was about European space exploration. Like many other nations, weâve always had competition between the national program, which was essentially conducted with NASA, and participation in Europeâ [our translation]. Klaus Pinkau: interview by Helmuth Trischler, March 9, 2010. Transcript, Historical Archives of the European Union. Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT072. Last accessed 12/4/2020, p. 8.
Ludwig Biermann et al.: Zur Untersuchung des interplanetaren Mediums mit Hilfe künstlich eingebrachter Ionenwolken. Zeitschrift für Astrophysik 53 (1961), 163â176. Gerhard Haerendel, and Reimar Lüst: Artificial Plasma Clouds in Space. Scientific American 219/5 (1968), 80â95. https://www.jstor.org/stable/24927565. Last accessed 5/16/2021. Jacques Blamont: The Beginning of Space Experiments in Munich. In: Gerhard Haerendel, and Bruce Battrick (eds.): Topics in Plasma-, Astro- and Space Physics. A Volume Dedicated to Reimar Lüst on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday. Garching: Max-Planck-Institut für Physik und Astrophysik 1983, 161â164. Reimar Lüst: Künstliche Wolken. Ein Mittel der Weltraumforschung. In: Generalverwaltung der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft (ed.): Jahrbuch der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. 1968. Göttingen 1968, 150â169. Gerhard Haerendel: Towards an Artificial Comet. In: Gerhard Haerendel, and Bruce Battrick (eds.): Topics in Plasma-, Astro- and Space Physics. A Volume Dedicated to Reimar Lüst on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday. Garching: Max-Planck-Institut für Physik und Astrophysik, Institut Extraterrestrische Physik 1983, 165â177. Reimar Lüst: Barium Cloud Experiments in the Upper Atmosphere. In: Johan A. M. Bleeker, Johannes Geiss, and Martin C. E. Huber (eds.): The Century of Space Science. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers 2001, 179â187. Blamont, Alkali Metal Cloud Experiments, 2001, 189â202. Ulf von von Rauchhaupt: Colorful Clouds and Unruly Rockets: Early Research Programs at the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics. Historical Studies of the Physical and Biological Sciences 32/1 (2001), 115â124. doi:
Blamont, Alkali Metal Cloud Experiments, 2001, 189â202.
Reimar Lüst: interview by Hans von Storch and Klaus Hasselmann. Niels Bohr Library & Archives, American Institute of Physics, College Park, MD USA, www.aip.org/history-programs/niels-bohr-library/oral-histories/33761. Last accessed 10/4/2020. Lüst, The European Space Research Organization, 1965, 394â397. Complementary investigations were those related to measurements of neutrons from the Sunâwhich could provide information on nuclear processes taking place in the solar photosphereâand to detection of neutrons generated in the Earth atmosphere from the interaction with primary cosmic ray particles, and which are the sources of the high-energy protons of the internal Van Allen belt. Together with the barium clouds experiments, these measurements allowed the study of interactions between interplanetary plasma and magnetic fields in the near-Earth environment also in connection with the SunâEarth relationship which was performed with the two Helios satellites, a joint venture of West Germany and nasa, launched in 1974 and 1976 for the purpose of studying the interplanetary medium from the vicinity of the Earthâs orbit to 0.3 astronomical units, that is about 135.000.000 km. Both observed the dust and ion tails of at least three comets. See web page by Max-Planck-Institut für Sonnensystemforschung, http://www2.mps.mpg.de/de/projekte/helios/#e8#e8. Last accessed 2/3/2022.
âIon cloud in the interplanetary spaceâ (September 1962), Historical Archives of the European Union, S-16 COPERS-1191, https://archives.eui.eu/en/fonds/96512?item=COPERS-06.01-1191. Last accessed 6/20/2020. See also the related proposal âIon cloud in the ionosphere,â submitted in October 1964, ESRO-5634, https://archives.eui.eu/en/fonds/143134?item=ESRO.A-04.06-5634. Last accessed 2/3/2022.
Bonnet, and Haerendel, Reimar Lüst, 2020, 4â6, 5.
A. Valenzuela et al.: The AMPTE Artificial Comet Experiments. Nature 320 (1986), 700â703. doi:
Hannes AlfveÌn: Paradigm Transition in Cosmic Plasma Physics. Geophysical Research Letters 10/6 (1983), 487â488. doi:
Such discussions of the Scientific and Technical Working Group of the âCommission PreÌparatoire EuropeÌenne de Recherche Spatialeâ were held in Stockholm in early April 1961 Krige, Russo, and Sebesta, European Space Agency
II, 2000, Vol. 2, 42. In view of future cometary missions by means of space probes sent to larger distances from the Earthâs orbit and from the ecliptic plane, which could not only study cometary physics but also use comets as probes for the solar wind and therefore contribute to a further understanding of the physics of interplanetary space, Biermann and his collaborator initiated in the early 1960s a systematic study of the observations of past comets. D. Antrack, Ludwig Biermann, and Reimar Lüst: Some Statistical Properties of Comets with Plasma Tails. Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2/1 (1964), 327â340. doi:
On May 15, 1963, the Department for Extraterrestrial Physics was transformed into an Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics within the Institute for Physics and Astrophysics in Munich, with Reimar Lüst as its director (CPTS Minutes of 04.12.1963, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 2023). Interestingly, nearly in parallel with Biermann and Lustâs initiative, in 1962 John Simpson and Peter Meyer (with whom Lüst had worked in Chicago during the 1950s) decided to establish a Laboratory for Astrophysics and Space Research within the Enrico Fermi Institute for Nuclear Studies at the University of Chicago, which was the first government-sponsored center of its kind in the US. The direct benefit of this to its future space missions induced nasa to fund a dedicated building, which was completed in 1964. Eugene N. Parker: John Alexander Simpson. November 3, 1916âAugust 31, 2000. Biographical Memoirs. Volume 81. Washington, DC: The National Academies Press 2002, 318â339. Eugene N. Parker: John Alexander Simpson. Physics Today 53/12 (2000), 83â84. doi:
CPTS meeting minutes of 06.06.1961 AMPG, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 1737. The discussions in this meeting regarding which ministries to collaborate with showcase the longstanding priority at the MPG to defend its scientific autonomy, which was codified as being able to pursue research that led to publications in the open literature.
About the international perspective which was opening up for MPG, see Lüstâs report at the Scientific Council meeting of June 6, 1961 on âInternationale Zusammenarbeit auf dem Gebiet der Weltraumforschung und Beteiligung der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft an dieser.â CPTS meeting minutes of 06.06.1961, AMPG, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 1737.
See the Financial Appendix at the end of this book.
Heinrich Völk: interview by Luisa Bonolis and Juan-Andres Leon, Heidelberg, October 9â10, 2017. DA GMPG, BC 601037. Herbert Palme: Heinrich Wänke und die Erforschung des Mondes und der terrestrischen Planeten. In: Horst Kant, and Carsten Reinhard (eds.): 100 Jahre Kaiser-Wilhelm-/ Max-Planck-Institut für Chemie (Otto-Hahn-Institut). Facetten seiner Geschichte. Berlin: Archiv der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft 2012, 203â239.
David E. Fisher: Much Ado About (Practically) Nothing. A History of the Noble Gases. New York, NY: Oxford University Press 2010.
Friedrich A. Paneth, P. Reasbeck, and K.I. Mayne: Helium 3 Content and Age of Meteorites. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 2/5 (1952), 300â303. doi:
Heinrich Wänke, and Heinrich Hintenberger: Notizen. Helium und Neon als Reaktionsprodukte der Höhenstrahlung in Eisenmeteoriten. Zeitschrift für Naturforschung A 13/10 (1958), 895â897. doi:
Wolfgang Gentner, and Josef Zähringer: Argon- und Heliumbestimmungen in Eisenmeteoriten. Zeitschrift für Naturforschung A 10/6 (1955), 498â499. doi:
Marvin, Oral Histories in Meteoritics, 2002, B69âB77, B71.
S. Pfalzner et al.: The Formation of the Solar System. Physica Scripta 90/6 (2015), 068001â068019. doi:
Oliver Schaeffer, and Josef Zähringer: Helium- und Argon-Erzeugung in Eisentargets durch energiereiche Protonen. Zeitschrift für Naturforschung A 13/4 (1958), 346â347. doi:
Josef Zähringer: Rätselhafte Mondproben. In: Generalverwaltung der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft (ed.): Jahrbuch der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. 1970. Göttingen 1970, 169â199.
Till Kirsten: interview by Luisa Bonolis and Juan-Andres Leon, Heidelberg, October 24â25, 2017. DA GMPG, BC 601051.
See, for example, Heinrich Wänke: 100 Gramm Mond nach Mainz. Interview mit Professor Heinrich Wänke vom Max-Planck-Institut für Chemie in Mainz. Der Spiegel 29 (1969), 105. http://www.spiegel.de/spiegel/print/d-45549231.html. Last accessed 3/1/2018.
Till A. Kirsten et al.: Experimental Evidence for the Double-Beta Decay of Te130. Physical Review Letters 20/23 (1968), 1300â1303. doi:
See John N. Bahcall: Neutrinos from the Sun. Scientific American 221/1 (1969), 28â37. John N. Bahcall, and R. L. Sears: Solar Neutrinos. Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics 10 (1972), 25â44. doi:
See the technical Memorandum of October 1980 (âErgebnisse des Aeros-Satellitenprogrammsâ summarizing data collected on the two Aeros missions edited by P. Lammerzahl, K. Rawer and N. Roemer: https://ntrs.nasa.gov/citations/19810012576. Last accessed 2/3/2022.
See, for example, U. von Zahn et al.: The Upper Atmosphere of Venus during Morning Conditions. Journal of Geophysical Research 85/A13 (1980), 7829â7840. doi:
Konrad Mauersberger: Measurement of Heavy Ozone in the Stratosphere. Geophysical Research Letters 8/8 (1981), 935â937. doi:
Walter Dieminger: Die Ionosphäre als Grenzschicht zwischen Erdatmosphäre und extraterrestrischem Raum. In: Generalverwaltung der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaft e.V. (ed.): Jahrbuch 1954 der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. Göttingen 1955, 42â80.
Peter Czechowsky, and Rüdiger Rüster (eds.): 60 Jahre Forschung in Lindau. 1946â2006. Vom Fraunhofer-Institut zum Max-Planck-Institut für Sonnensystemforschung. Eine Sammlung von Erinnerungen. Katlenburg-Lindau: Copernicus 2007. Julius Bartels, Walter Dieminger, and Alfred Ehmert: Max-Planck-Institut für Aeronomie in Lindau. In: Generalverwaltung der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. (ed.): Jahrbuch 1961 der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. Teil II. Göttingen 1962, 16â45.
Rawer, Meine Kinder umkreisen die Erde, 1986, 92â98.
See, for example, Julius Bartels: Weltraumforschung. Methoden und Ergebnisse. In: Generalverwaltung der Max-Planck Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. (ed.): Jahrbuch 1962 der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften e.V. Göttingen 1962, 19â50.
Chapman actually wrote Bartelâs obituary when the latter died in 1964. Sydney Chapman: Julius Bartels. Quarterly Journal of the Royal Astronomical Society 6 (1965), 235â245. https://ui.adsabs.harvard.edu/abs/1965QJRAS...6..235. Last accessed 5/3/2020.
In 1939 AlfveÌn was the first to devise the technique that enables the complex spiral movement of a charged particle in a magnetic field to be calculated with relative ease. In considering such complex motion, AlfveÌn introduced the simplifying approximation of circular rotation about a âguiding centerâ which was itself drifting along magnetic lines. He applied this principle to the study of magnetic storms and auroras, finding that particles in the Earthâs magnetic field should move back and forth along the field lines, reflected from regions of increasing field strength. The concept of a magnetic mirror became important in work on controlled thermonuclear fusion requiring the confinement of hot plasmas whose contact would destroy the walls of any container. These ideas were later useful also in interpreting such phenomena as the Van Allen radiation belt currents of electrons circulating in the Earthâs magnetic field during magnetic storms. For an account of AlfveÌnâs scientific achievements see R. S. Pease, and S. Lindqvist: Hannes Olof Gösta AlfveÌn. 30 May 1908â2 April 1995. Biographical Memoirs of Fellows of the Royal Society 44 (1998), 3â19. doi:
S. K. Runcorn: Prof. J. Bartels. Obituary. Nature 203/4947 (1964), 814â815. doi:
The best source on Keppler is his autobiographical work Keppler, Max Planck Institut für Aeronomie, 2003.
See, for example, the Human Spaceflight debates described in Chapter 5.
Reimar Lüst: interview by Helmut Trischler, September 8, 2010. Historical Archives of the European Union. Oral History of Europe in Space Collection, https://archives.eui.eu/en/oral_history/INT070. Last accessed 7/30/2019. A detailed account of the AZUR debacle is given in Johannes Weyer: Akteurstrategien und strukturelle Eigendynamiken. Raumfahrt in Westdeutschland 1945â1965. Göttingen: Schwartz 1993, 280â314. The causes of this failure were largely outside the responsibility of the project scientists, and instead the result of a lack of experience in space projects in Germany and the haphazard attempts at industrial coordination between the German federal government and the nascent industries in the space sector. Keppler himself admitted the difficulties with this first satellite project. Keppler and the Aeronomy Institute later proved their competence in space projects with many space probes starting with Helios. See Keppler, Max Planck Institut für Aeronomie, 2003. Chapters 3 and 4 are largely dedicated to Azur and Helios.
For discussions on Bartelâs succession (appointment of Ehmert and Pfotzer as directors of the two sub-institutes) and the future of the Aeronomy Institute in Lindau see CPTS meeting minutes of 05.03.1965 and 22.06.1965, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 1745, 1746.
Institutional paralysis during the wave of activism in the late 1960s, toward greater democratic participation by staff and junior scientists, is a ubiquitous theme in many Max Planck Institutes and is brought up as a significant cause of disarray in several of them. A recurring theme in these narratives is how institutes with weak leadership or in transition were struck harder by these movements, and, for example, Heisenbergâs own institute is described by Reimar Lüst as having been paralyzed by them, which situation was only resolved by measures taken by a newly appointed director, LeÌon Van Hove. At the Institute for Aeronomy, Keppler lamented that the acting directors let the matter get out of hand, and during the early 1970s, much time was lost on what he considered pointless political discussions, while critical indicators of productivity, such as scientific publications, plummeted. These indicators would later be mobilized by the Max Planck Society during enactment of the major reforms discussed later in this book. Reimar Lüst: LeÌon Van Hove and the Max-Planck-Institute for Physics. Scientific Highlights in Memory of LeÌon Van Hove. World Scientific 1993, 51â59. Keppler, Max Planck Institut für Aeronomie, 2003, 27. Future GMPG publications will deal with the issue of labor participation (Mitbestimmung) in richer detail and with a deeper historical perspective. See also, Juliane Scholz: Partizipation und Mitbestimmung in der Forschung. Das Beispiel Max-Planck-Gesellschaft (1945â1980). Berlin: GMPG-Preprint 2019.
Herbert Porsche: HELIOS-Mission. Mission Objectives, Mission Verification, Selected Results. In: Burke, W.â¼R. (ed.): The Solar System and Its Exploration. ESA 1981, 43â50. The space probes Helios I and Helios II, an ambitious plan to dispatch space probes on a highly eccentric path round the Sun and penetrating into the orbit of Mercury, were constructed in duplicate by a consortium of firms headed by the West German aerospace manufacturer Messerschmitt-Bölkow-Blohm, and were sent into their orbits in the years 1974 and 1976 by American carrier rockets. Seven of the 11 scientific experiments carried on board were developed and controlled in German institutes and thus the Federal Republic of Germany thereby first established for itself the organizational and technological basis necessary for outstanding performance in space research. See documents related to the project in Lüstâs papers (AMPG, III. Abt., Rep. 145, No. 1220, 1235).
As we will see in the next section, these territorial claims continued to be mobilized by Max Planck Institutes, for example, with the division of responsibilities of institutes along wavelengths, or in the case of the Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics, the claim to be the site for space-based science in the Society. These territorial claims, however, especially at the boundaries, could also be challenged along disciplinary or instrumental lines.
These episodes are well described in Cathryn Carson: Heisenberg als Wissenschaftsorganisator. In: Christian Kleint, Helmut Rechenberg, and Gerald Wiemers (eds.): Werner Heisenberg, 1901â1976. Beiträge, Berichte, Briefe. Festschrift zu seinem 100. Geburtstag. Leipzig: Verlag der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig 2005, 214â222. And in Cathryn Carson: Heisenberg in the Atomic Age. Science and the Public Sphere. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2010. See also, Cathryn Carson: Beyond Reconstruction. CERNâs Second-Generation Accelerator Program as an Indicator of Shifts in West-German Science. In: Helmuth Trischler, and Mark Walker (eds.): Physics and Politics. Research and Research Support in Twentieth Century Germany in International Perspective. Stuttgart: Steiner 2010, 107â130. And Helmuth Trischler, and Dieter Hoffmann: Wolfgang Gentner und die GroÃforschung im bundesdeutschen und europäischen Raum. In: Dieter Hoffmann, and Ulrich Schmidt-Rohr (eds.): Wolfgang Gentner. Festschrift zum 100. Geburtstag. Berlin: Springer 2006, 95â120.
Lüst, LeÌon Van Hove and MPG, 1993, 51â59. Heisenbergâs stance on new developments in theoretical physics, most strikingly the move toward a Standard Model of elementary particles based on entities such as quarks, alienated him from newer generations of theoreticians, and reinforced his skepticism toward accelerator projects such as cern. For some of these theoretical positions of his later years, see Werner Heisenberg: Encounters with Einstein and Other Essays on People, Places, and Particles. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press 1989. Heisenbergâs critical stance on quarks, and his general dissatisfaction with the current state of experimental particle physics is ubiquitous in all the essays in this publication.
One notable episode of this kind led to the establishment of the European Molecular Biology Laboratory in Heidelberg, essentially pulling the rug out from under Munich. This episode is proudly retold by the participants in: Ferry, EMBO in Perspective, 2014.
In May 1963 (CPTS meeting minutes of 13/14.05.1963, AMPG, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 1741), Gentner proposed to appoint as Scientific Member and Director Anselm Citron (1923â2015), who had been his student at Freiburg University immediately after the war, and had first joined the Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge, taking part in research on accelerator physics. As part of the first staff physicists, Citron had contributed to the construction of cernâs first accelerator, the Synchro Cyclotron, later moving to work on the Proton Synchrotron, a machine with which it became possible to investigate artificially produced âmesons,â leaving behind the field of nuclear physics and taking the next step forward: particle physics. Gentnerâs proposal was related to the intention of building within the Max Planck Society the new, more powerful proton accelerator being planned at the time and particularly discussed at ecfa (European Committee for Future Accelerators). The minutes of the meeting held on December 4, 1963 testify the ongoing discussion about having such big machines inside the MPG and even the possibility, being considered at the same time, of integrating within the Society desy, the Deutsches Elektronen-Synchrotron research center in Hamburg. A similar discussion included the Institute for Plasma Physics. This project and Citronâs appointment were blocked, and he instead later became Director of the Center for Nuclear Research at Karlsruhe, where he developed technologies which became instrumental for later accelerators. Echoes of this debate can be also found in the CPTS meeting minutes of 01.11.1963 and 09.06.1964, AMPG, II. Abt., Rep. 62, No. 1742, 1743. On these accelerator debates, see also Carson, Beyond Reconstruction, 2010, 107â130. Bernd-A. Rusinek: Europas 300-GeV-Maschine: Der grösste Teilchenbeschleuniger der Welt an einem westfälischen Standort? Geschichte im Westen 11/2 (1996), 135â153.
The director (Arnulf Schlüter) and major scientific figures of the IPP came directly out of Biermannâs plasma physics group, and the institute was on the same campus in Garching as would eventually host also the Institutes for Extraterrestrial Physics, Astrophysics, and Quantum Optics. The acceptance of this de facto control by the MPG led to its reabsorption into the Society in 1971. Susan Boenke: Entstehung und Entwicklung des Max-Planck-Instituts für Plasmaphysik 1955â1971. Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag 1991.
Erich Lohrmann, and Paul Söding: Von schnellen Teilchen und hellem Licht. 50 Jahre Deutsches Elektronen-Synchrotron
DESY. Weinheim: Wiley-VCH Verlag 2009. Thomas Heinze, Olof Hallonsten, and Steffi Heinecke: From Periphery to Center. Synchrotron Radiation at DESY, Part I. 1962â1977. Historical Studies in the Natural Sciences 45/3 (2015), 447â492. doi:
Michael Eckert, and Maria Osietzki: Wissenschaft für Macht und Markt. Kernforschung und Mikroelektronik in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. München: Beck 1989, 67.
Trischler, Luft-und Raumfahrtforschung in Deutschland 1900â1970, 1992, 442.
For a description of the long path to the final juridical form of desy, see Lohrmann, and Söding, Teilchen, 2009. Hohn, and Schimank, Konflikte, 1990. See also Eckert, and Osietzki, Wissenschaft für Macht und Markt, 1989, 63â73.