Rebuilding German Research
In a bucolic valley near Bonn, a giant 100-meter-wide radio telescope listens to the faint beeps and squawks of objects at the very edge of the known universe. At a research center in Tuebingen, scientists struggle to understand the elusive biochemical secrets by which the brain performs its wizardry. Inside a sprawling complex near Munich, researchers heat ionized gases to temperatures of many millions of degrees in hopes of taming the almost unlimited power of thermonuclear fusion. These varied projects are all being conducted under the auspices of one organization --West Germany's Max Planck Society for the Advancement of Science, which has led the rebuilding of German science from the rubble of World War II.
Unique among the world's leading scientific organizations, the Max Planck Society operates 52 separate institutions, all pursuing different lines of basic research. The semiautonomous units range in size from the 1,000-man Plasma Physics Institute, site of the fusion experiments, to the tiny four-man Limnological Institute, which has pioneered the use of rush and reed cultures to purify industrial-waste water. The institutes do no secret research, accept few military or industrial contracts, and can pick their own areas of investigation. Largely government-funded (about 90%), they have experienced little political unrest or "brain drain" of scientists to the U.S. And they have enjoyed a steady increase in funding in the past decade (up 300% to a current budget of $160 million a year).
Perhaps the most astonishing thing about the society is that it exists at all. It is successor to the old Kaiser Wilhelm Society, founded in 1911 under the patronage of Germany's last emperor. By the '20s, the original society had attracted a galaxy of scientific stars, including Albert Einstein, Werner Heisenberg, Otto Hahn, Fritz Haber and Max Planck, whose quantum theory is the cornerstone of modern physics. When the Nazis came to power in the '30s, the society's fortunes sagged. Planck, who was head of the society during those turbulent years, tried to stop the Nazis from interfering with research, but he could not prevent the forced exodus of some 2,000 Jewish scientists. Finally, when World War II ended, the great research organization was as shattered as Germany itself. Renamed in honor of Planck in 1948, the society began its slow postwar revival. At the Institute for Behavioral Physiology, Konrad Lorenz's experiments with geese and fish shed important new light on aggression and other behavioral characteristics. At the Institute for Cell Chemistry, Feodor Lynen won a Nobel Prize for his work on fat metabolism. Another Nobel Prize went to Manfred Eigen of the Institute of Physical Chemistry for his success in measuring chemical reactions that last no more than a billionth of a second. More recently the society has branched into less familiar terrain. Under the direction of Physicist Carl Friednch von Weizsaecker, it has set up the new Institute for the Study of Life in the Technological-Scientific World. Its mission is to investigate pressing contemporary issues including the role of science and the problems of developing countries.
For all its success, the society is not without its critics. Only last month, at its annual meeting, a group of Young Turks demanded more democratic rule in the various member institutes, some of which have long been run as personal fiefdoms by their directors. Such autocracy can be costly. The new radio telescope near Bonn, for example, has been plagued by serious vibration problems because, critics say, the institute acted as its own general contractor.
Critics also feel that the institutes are not innovative enough, and that the Germans tend to rush into ineffective "panic science" programs in a frenetic effort to catch up with research abroad.
Such criticism may dwindle in the future. Last month the society's senate elected a new president, Physicist Reimar Luest, a modest young (49) scientist whose easygoing and informal manner should fit in with the Young Turks ambitions to speed the democratization process. A U-boat engineering officer during World War II, Luest was captured after his submarine was hit. Sent to a prisoner-of-war camp in Texas, he began attending courses given by some P.O.W. professors. Luest soon developed a liking for physics, which he continued to study in both Germany and the U.S. after the war. During his internment, he also showed a penchant for Hogan's Heroes type of pranks: he and fellow prisoners snatched up wandering turtles, painted their shells with swastikas and then let them crawl over the Texas countryside.
Among his fellow scientists, Lst is well known for his experiments involving the firing of rockets laden with canisters of barium high into the atmosphere. Once released, the barium particles formed into ionized clouds that were used to study the movements of winds in the upper atmosphere and the shape of the earth's magnetic field. To the German public, Luest is even better known for his lucid scientific commentaries over television during Apollo moon shots. That combination of talents may be highly productive. By using his influence with his fellow scientists as well as promoting greater public understanding for basic scientific research, Luest could lead the Max Planck Society --and, indeed, all of German science --into new avenues of knowledge.
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