A History of the University in Europe: Volume 3, Universities the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries (1800-1945) (A History of the University in Europe)

This page intentionally left blank A H I S T O RY O F T H E U N I V E R S I T Y I N E U R O P E general editor ¨ EGG...

Author: Walter Ruegg

213 downloads 1080 Views 3MB Size Report

This content was uploaded by our users and we assume good faith they have the permission to share this book. If you own the copyright to this book and it is wrongfully on our website, we offer a simple DMCA procedure to remove your content from our site. Start by pressing the button below!
Report copyright / DMCA form

DOWNLOAD PDF

This page intentionally left blank

A H I S T O RY O F T H E U N I V E R S I T Y I N E U R O P E general editor

¨ EGG WA LT E R R U

This is the third volume of a four-part History of the University in Europe, written by an international team of authors under the chair¨ manship of Professor Walter Ruegg. The series has been sponsored by the Standing Conference of Rectors, Presidents and Vice-Chancellors of the European Universities (CRE), now European University Association (EUA), and is intended for the general reader as well as the specialist. It covers the development of the university in Europe (east and west) from its origins to the present day, focusing not on the history of individual institutions, nor on the universities in any individual country, but on a number of major themes viewed from a European perspective. The originality of the work lies in its comparative, interdisciplinary, collaborative and transnational nature. It is not a history of ideas, even though each volume has a ‘Learning’ section dealing with the content of what was taught at universities during this time, but rather an appreciation of the role of the universities seen against a backdrop of changing conditions, ideas and values. Volume III, ‘Universities in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries’, attempts to situate the universities in their social and political context throughout the one and a half centuries spanning the period from 1800 to 1945.

A H I S T O RY O F T H E U N I V E R S I T Y I N E U R O P E ¨ General Editor and Chairman of the Editorial Board: Walter Ruegg (Switzerland) Asa Briggs (United Kingdom) Alison Browning (United Kingdom) Aleksander Gieysztor† (Poland) Notker Hammerstein (Germany) Olaf Pedersen† (Denmark) Hilde de Ridder-Symoens (Belgium) John Roberts† (United Kingdom) Edward Shils† (United States of America) Jacques Verger (France)

This four-volume series, prepared under the guidance of an editorial board, has been directed by the Standing Conference of Rectors, Presidents and ViceChancellors of the European Universities (CRE), now European University Association (EUA). The EUA, which is a non-governmental organization based in Brussels and Geneva, has over 650 member universities in both eastern and western Europe. Its Brussels and Geneva secretariat oversees the administration of the project. The university is the only European institution to have preserved its fundamental patterns and basic social role and function over the course of the last millennium. This History shows how and why the university grew to encompass the whole of knowledge and most of the world, how it developed an intellectual tradition common to all Europeans, and how it trained academic and professional elites whose ethos transcends national boundaries. Volumes in the series I Universities in the Middle Ages Editor: Hilde de Ridder-Symoens II Universities in Early Modern Europe (1500–1800) Editor: Hilde de Ridder-Symoens III Universities in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries (1800–1945) ¨ Editor: Walter Ruegg IV Universities from 1945 to 1992 ¨ Editor: Walter Ruegg

A H I S T O RY O F T H E UNIVERSITY IN EUROPE general editor

¨ walter r uegg VOLUME III

U N I V E RS I T I E S I N T H E N I N E T E E N T H A N D E A R LY T W E N T I E T H C E N T U R I E S (1800–1945)

EDITOR WA LT E R R U¨ E G G

   Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge  , UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521361071 © Cambridge University Press 2004 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2004 - -

---- eBook (EBL) --- eBook (EBL)

- -

---- hardback --- hardback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of s for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To the memory of our dear colleagues John Roberts and Edward Shils In grateful recognition of their human and scholarly qualities

CONTENTS

Contributors and editors Reader’s guide Bibliographical abbreviations used in notes Foreword

page xiii xvii xviii xxi

w a l t e r r u¨ e g g ( g e n e r a l e d i t o r )

Acknowledgements

xxv

PA R T I : T H E M E S A N D PAT T E R N S CHAPTER 1: THEMES

3

w a l t e r r u¨ e g g

Introduction The French and German university models Secularization, bureaucratization, specialization The European adoption of the two models The new scientific spirit From the age of philosophy to the age of science ‘The freedom that I believe in is what fills my heart’ David vs. Goliath C H A P T E R 2 : PAT T E R N S

3 4 6 9 13 16 20 25 33

christophe charle

Introduction University revolutions in Germany, France and Russia Slow development in north-west and southern Europe The growth of nation states and universities in central and eastern Europe vii

33 33 36 40

Contents The Napoleonic university model The Prussian university model The European university model: Great Britain French partial reform 1868–1904 The crisis of the German model Changes and attempts at harmonization within the British systems Changes in the influence of the German model The difficult process of renewal for the southern European universities Concluding remarks Select bibliography for chapters 1–4

44 47 53 55 57 61 64 70 73 75

PA RT I I : S T R U C T U R E S C H A P T E R 3 : R E L AT I O N S W I T H AUTHORITY

83

paul gerbod

Financial dependence Creation of Ministries of Public Education Educational dependence Legal guaranty and actual repression of academic freedom University resistance CHAPTER 4: RESOURCES AND MANAGEMENT

84 88 90 94 98

101

paul gerbod

Introduction Facilities reconsidered Increasingly heavy and diverse expenditure outlays Sources of finance Increasingly diverse and complex administrative tasks University governance CHAPTER 5: TEACHERS

101 102 107 111 115 117 123

matti klinge

General situation The development of new chairs Access to an academic career Appointment procedures Income and lifestyle

123 128 130 134 140 viii

Contents Public image Political role Social status Select bibliography

147 151 156 160

CHAPTER 6: THE DIFFUSION OF EUROPEAN MODELS OUTSIDE EUROPE

163

e dwa r d s h i l s a n d jo h n ro b e rt s

General remarks North America Latin America Middle East Africa South Asia: India and Ceylon South-East Asia Australasia East Asia Concluding observations Select bibliography

163 164 177 186 191 198 208 213 216 227 229

PA RT I I I : S T U D E N T S CHAPTER 7: ADMISSION

233

fritz ringer

The quantitative approach The inclusiveness of university studies Preparation and distribution of students Costs of university studies The development of university access The social origins of university students Select bibliography CHAPTER 8: STUDENT MOVEMENTS

233 235 246 250 254 257 266 269

lieve gevers and louis vos

Students fighting for freedom (1800–1830) Revolution and Restoration (1830–1845) Students in revolt (1845–1850) Integration or insurrection (1850–1870) Consolidation and anti-liberalism (1870–1885) Social and national emancipation (1885–1900) World politics and corporatism (1900–1914) A world safe for democracy? (1919–1939) ix

271 281 288 296 307 315 325 337

Contents ¨ Volkischer Nationalism (1919–1939) The charm of Fascism (1919–1939) Student movements without borders (1919–1939) Select bibliography C H A P T E R 9 : G R A D U AT I O N A N D C A R E E R S

345 351 356 359 363

konrad h. jarausch

Introduction The role of knowledge in the rise of the professions The process of professionalization The numerical expansion of the professions National variations Concluding remarks Select bibliography

363 365 369 374 380 384 388

P A R T I V: L E A R N I N G CHAPTER 10: THEOLOGY AND THE ARTS

393


Introduction Catholic theology and the influence of ultramontanism The papacy’s pyrrhic victories over modernism Protestant theology as a subject of university research Positive and liberal wings in the study of theology and religion Philology as a Geisteswissenschaft The breakthrough of classical philology The origin of modern philologies The European diffusion of modern philology Oriental studies and comparative linguistics Philosophy Select bibliography C H A P T E R 1 1 : H I S T O RY A N D T H E SOCIAL SCIENCES

393 395 401 405 410 415 420 429 438 442 453 457

459

asa briggs

The rise of critical history The search for authenticity French historiography from Michelet to the ‘Annales’ The rise of the social sciences Select bibliography

x

459 463 476 479 489

Contents C H A P T E R 1 2 : T H E M AT H E M AT I C A L A N D THE EXACT SCIENCES

493

paul bockstaele

Mathematics and the exact sciences in France after 1800 The exact sciences at German universities The exact sciences at British universities Higher education in the exact sciences in Russia Professionalization and scientific research 1870–1939 Select bibliography CHAPTER 13: BIOLOGY AND THE EARTH SCIENCES

495 499 506 508 511 517

519

anto leikola

The birth of biology Different patterns: France and Germany A new physiology The cell theory Claude Bernard and Louis Pasteur Charles Darwin and Darwinism New fields for the new century Select bibliography CHAPTER 14: MEDICINE

519 521 523 525 528 530 536 542 543

antonie m. luyendijk-elshout

Introduction The Romantic era (1790–1830): the influence of Enlightenment The Romantic era: organization of medical education The new learning (1830–1870) The expanding medical faculties The growth of medical specialization (1870–1940) The ‘modernization’ of medical education The inter-war period Concluding remarks Select bibliography CHAPTER 15: TECHNOLOGY

543 544 553 563 570 575 579 585 588 590 593

anna guagnini

Introduction Technical education for public servants The influence of the French model The emergence of industrial engineering, 1830–1850 The ferment of initiatives, 1850–1890 xi

593 594 600 606 611

Contents The quest for status Research and diversification The development of research institutions Higher technical education in the inter-war period Select bibliography E P I L O G U E : U N I V E R S I T I E S A N D WA R I N T H E T W E N T I E T H C E N T U RY

617 623 626 629 631

637

notker hammerstein

Introduction Background: the learned world of the nineteenth century The First World War and its consequences Great Britain from the First to the Second World War The countries occupied by the German army Neutral countries and states aligned with Germany Germany The Soviet Union The United States of America Postscript Select bibliography

EUROPEAN UNIVERSITIES AND SIMILAR INSTITUTIONS IN EXISTENCE BETWEEN 1812 A N D T H E E N D O F 1944: A CHRONOLOGICAL LIST

637 639 641 645 651 659 659 666 667 668 671

673


Alphabetical list of towns with important institutions of higher learning Name index Subject index

702 707 729

xii

CONTRIBUTORS AND EDITORS

p a u l b o c k s t a e l e (Belgium), born in Melle near Ghent in 1920, is emeritus professor of mathematics and the history of mathematics at the Catholic University of Leuven. He is a member of the Royal Flemish Academy of Belgium for the Sciences and of the International Academy of the History of Science. a s a b r i g g s (United Kingdom), from 1976 Lord Briggs of Lewes, was born in Yorkshire in 1921. He is former provost of Worcester College, Oxford (1976–92), former vice-chancellor of the University of Sussex (1967–92), former chancellor of the Open University (1978–94), former chairman (1974–80) of the European Institute of Education and Social Policy in Paris, and former president of the British Social History Society (1966–71). His writings span economic, social and cultural history and the history of broadcasting. He is a Fellow of the British Academy and of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. a l i s o n b r o w n i n g (United Kingdom/USA) was born in Buckinghamshire in 1951. In her role as Deputy Secretary General of the CRE, the Association of European Universities (1986–94), she had responsibility for a number of the organization’s international and interdisciplinary projects, including the preparation of this History of the University in Europe. She now divides her time between the USA and Europe. c h r i s t o p h e c h a r l e (France) was born in Paris in 1951. He is professor of contemporary history at the University of Paris I Panthéon (Sorbonne) and director of the Institut d’Histoire moderne et contem´ poraine (CNRS/Ecole normale supérieure). He has published several books, some of them translated into several languages, on the history

xiii

Contributors and editors of intellectuals and the comparative history of cultures and societies in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Europe. p a u l g e r b o d (France) was born in Paris in 1925. Emeritus professor of contemporary history at several French universities, president of the Association des historiens contemporanéistes des universités françaises and of the Comité français des sciences historiques, he has published a dozen books and more than a hundred review articles on themes related to the history of education and culture. l i e v e g e v e r s (Belgium), born in Turnhout in 1947, is professor of church history in the Faculty of Theology at the Catholic University of Leuven, where she teaches on the history of the church and religion in modern times. A former visiting fellow at the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, she has published several books and articles on the European and Belgian history of the Catholic Church, secondary and higher education, religion and nationalism, student movements and youth associations. a n n a g u a g n i n i (Italy), born in Milan in 1952, is a researcher in the department of philosophy at the University of Bologna. Her interests lie in the history of technology in Europe in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; she is the author of several publications on the organization of technological education and research in Britain and Italy. n o t k e r h a m m e r s t e i n (Germany) was born in Offenbach-amMain in 1930. Emeritus professor of early modern history at the University of Frankfurt-am-Main, he has published several works on the history of German universities and the history of learning. He is a member of the editorial board of History of Universities. k o n r a d j a r a u s c h (Germany/USA), born in Magdeburg, Germany, in 1941, is Lurcy Professor of European Civilization at the University of ¨ zeitNorth Carolina at Chapel Hill, and co-director of the Zentrum fur historische Forschung at the University of Potsdam in Germany. He is the author or editor of more than twenty books on modern German history, and co-authored recently with Michael Geyer The Shattered Past: Reconstructing German History (Princeton, 2003). m a t t i k l i n g e (Finland), born in Helsinki in 1936, was professeur associé at the University of Paris-Sorbonne (1970–72) and professor of history at the University of Helsinki (1975–2001), where he directed its monumental history. He has taught and published extensively on the political and cultural history of the Nordic countries and their relationship to other parts of Europe. Former president of the Société d’étude du XVIIe siècle in Finland and President of the Societas Scientiarum Fennica, he has xiv

Contributors and editors an honorary doctorate from the University of Uppsala and is a member of the Royal Academy of History and Literature in Stockholm. a n t o l e i k o l a (Finland), born in Helsinki in 1937, was professor of history of science at the University of Helsinki from 1988 until his retirement in 1997. He was also a docent in history of science at the University of Oulu from 1980 until 2002 and at the University of Helsinki from 1998 until 2002. He chaired the Finnish Society of the History of Science and Ideas from 1976 to 1997, and is a member of the International Academy of the History of Sciences, of the Finnish Society of Sciences, and of the Latvian Academy of Sciences. a n t o n i e m . l u y e n d i j k - e l s h o u t (The Netherlands), born in Gorinchem in 1921, is emeritus professor of the history of medicine at the University of Leiden. She was actively involved in the work of the Boerhaave Museum in Leiden, and has published on the history of universities in relation to the history of medicine. h i l d e d e r i d d e r - s y m o e n s (Belgium), born in Sint-JansMolenbeek (Brussels) in 1943, is professor of early modern history at the University of Ghent (Belgium) and president of the International Commission for the History of Universities. She has published on European university history and education in the Middle Ages and the early modern period. f r i t z r i n g e r (Germany/USA), born in Ludwigshafen (Germany) in 1934, is visiting adjunct professor of history at the BMW Center for German and European Studies at Georgetown University in Washington, DC, and Mellon Professor of History emeritus at the University of Pittsburgh. He has taught and published extensively on modern European intellectual history, the history of higher education, and the history and philosophy of the cultural and social sciences. j o h n r o b e r t s (United Kingdom) was born in Bath in 1928 and died in the county of Somerset in 2003. Warden of Merton College, Oxford (1984–94), where he was previously fellow and tutor in modern history, he was also vice-chancellor of the University of Southampton (1979– 83). From 1967 to 1976 he was joint editor of the English Historical Review. w a l t e r r u¨ e g g (Switzerland), born in Zurich in 1918, was professor of sociology at the universities of Berne (1973–86) and Frankfurt-am-Main (1961–73), he also served as rector of the latter (1965–70). He was president of the Westdeutschen Rektorenkonferenz (1967–68) and a president of the International Federation of Social Science Associations (1976–78). He is a member of the Academia xv

Contributors and editors scientiarum et artium europea. His numerous publications focus on humanism, historical sociology, and the history of higher education. e d w a r d s h i l s (USA) was born in Springfield, Massachusetts, in 1910, and died in Chicago in 1995. He was professor of social thought and sociology at the University of Chicago, a fellow of Peterhouse, Cambridge, and of the London School of Economics. Founder and editor of the journal Minerva, he was the author of many works on sociology, with special reference to the role of science and scholarship in contemporary societies. j a c q u e s v e r g e r (France) was born in Talence near Bordeaux in 1943. He is professor of medieval history at the University of Paris IV´ ´ Sorbonne and Directeur d’études at the Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes, IVe Section (Paris). He is a leading medievalist whose publications on the intellectual and cultural world, especially on the universities of the Middle Ages, have been translated into several foreign languages. l o u i s v o s (Belgium), born in Mol in 1945, is professor of history in the Faculty of Arts at the Catholic University of Leuven. A former visiting professor at the universities of Pennsylvania and Nijmegen, he teaches on contemporary European history and the history of Poland. He has published several books and articles on the history of student movements, youth associations and nationalism in Belgium.

xvi

R E A D E R ’S G U I D E

This series, although compiled by specialists, is destined for the general reader. The notes and bibliographies accompanying the different chapters have therefore been kept to a minimum. The notes are either bibliographical references to specify sources, generally the most important or recent works relating to the subject, or they have been introduced to justify quantitative data or to explain any significant differences between two interpretations of a particular point. Select bibliographies follow the chapters, designed to stimulate further reading and are not exhaustive. The reader will find more complete bibliographical references in the works indicated. As a number of well-known works for the period are quoted in several chapters, abbreviations of the titles of these works have been used in the notes. A list of bibliographical abbreviations follows this page. Furthermore, the reader will find a more general bibliography at the end of chapter 2 (‘Patterns’), as this chapter locates the presence and nature of universities during the period covered by this volume. In order to avoid unnecessary overlaps between the various chapters, the editors have made cross-references to other chapters in the text as well as in the notes, thereby informing the reader that more ample information on the subject can be found elsewhere in the volume (see also the subject index). The standard English version of proper names has been used throughout; when necessary, a form more commonly used in continental Europe is indicated by means of a cross-reference in the name index.

xvii

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL A B B R E V I AT I O N S U S E D IN THE NOTES

¨ Bildungsburgertum ¨ W. Conze and J. Kocka (eds.), Bildungsburgertum im 19. Jahrhundert, vol. I: Bildungssystem und Professionalisierung in internationalen Vergleichen (Stuttgart, 1985). Charle, République des universitaires C. Charle, La République des universitaires (1870–1940) (Paris, 1994). Forschung im Spannungsfeld R. Vierhaus and B. vom Brocke (eds.), Forschung im Spannungsfeld von Politik und Gesellschaft. Geschichte und Struktur der Kaiser-Wilhelm-/MaxPlanck-Gesellschaft (Stuttgart, 1990). Gerbod, Condition universitaire P. Gerbod, La Condition universitaire en France au XIXe siècle (Paris, 1965). ¨ Frankfurt am Main Hammerstein, Universitat ¨ Frankfurt am N. Hammerstein, Die Johann Wolfgang Goethe Universitat Main, vol. I: 1914 bis 1950 (Neuwied and Frankfurt-am-Main, 1989). History of Oxford VI M. G. Brock and M. Curthoys (eds.), The History of the University of Oxford, vol. VI: The Nineteenth Century (general editor: T. H. Aston) (Oxford, 1997). History of Oxford VII M. G. Brock and M. Curthoys (eds.), The History of the University of Oxford, vol. VII: Nineteenth-Century Oxford (Oxford, 2000). History of Oxford VIII B. Harrison (ed.), The History of the University of Oxford, vol. VIII: The Twentieth Century (general editor: T. H. Aston) (Oxford, 1994). Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany K. H. Jarausch, Students, Society and Politics in Imperial Germany: The Rise of Academic Illiberalism (Princeton, NJ, 1982). J´ılek, Historical Compendium L. J´ılek (ed.), Historical Compendium of European Universities/Répertoire historique des universités européennes (Geneva, 1984).

xviii

Bibliographical abbreviations used in notes Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia S. D. Kassow, Students, Professors and the State in Tsarist Russia, V. E. Bonnell and L. Hunt (eds.), Studies on the History of Society and Culture 5 (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1989). ¨ Helsinki Klinge, Universitat ¨ Die Universitat ¨ Helsinki 1640–1990 M. Klinge, Eine nordische Universitat. ¨ (Helsinki and Gottingen, 1992). ¨ Nipperdey, Burgerwelt ¨ T. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte 1800–1866. Burgerwelt und starker Staat (Munich, 1983). Paul, Knowledge H. W. Paul, From Knowledge to Power: The Rise of the Science Empire in France 1860–1939 (Cambridge, 1985). ˜ Peset, Universidad Espanola ˜ M. Peset and J. L. Peset, La Universidad Espanola (siglos XVIII y XIX). ´ liberal (Madrid, 1974). Despotismo ilustrado y revolucion Ringer, Education and Society F. K. Ringer, Education and Society in Modern Europe (Bloomington and Londen, 1979). Schwabe, Deutsche Hochschullehrer K. Schwabe (ed.), Deutsche Hochschullehrer als Elite 1815–1945 (Boppard, 1988). Shinn, Savoir scientifique T. Shinn, Savoir scientifique & pouvoir social: L’Ecole polytechnique, 1794– 1914 (Paris, 1980). University of Cambridge IV C. N. L. Brooke, A History of the University of Cambridge, vol. IV: 1870– 1990 (Cambridge, 1993). Verger, Universités en France J. Verger (ed.), Histoire des universités en France (Toulouse, 1986). Weisz, Emergence G. Weisz, The Emergence of Modern Universities in France (1863–1914) (Princeton, NJ, 1983).

xix

FOREWORD


Nonumque prematur in annum: ‘let it be kept quiet till the ninth year.’ This famous advice given by Horace in his Ars poetica applied to poetry. When the same time-span occurs in the publication of a history book that was planned and carefully prepared for 1994, the reader may ask for an explanation. As outlined at some length in the Foreword to the first volume, in 1982 the Standing Conference of Rectors, Presidents and Vice-Chancellors of the European Universities (CRE), now the European Association of Universities (EUA), which meets regularly to discuss the contemporary problems and the future requirements of its more than 650 member universities, decided that it needed a better knowledge of the history of universities. Since a modern work of this kind was lacking, it undertook a feasibility study with the help of university historians and sociologists. In March 1983 a conference was held in Berne, Switzerland, which gave a positive evaluation for such an undertaking. In September of the same year the CRE appointed an editorial board entrusted with the task of publishing a History of the University in Europe in four volumes, on the basis of the current state of the art – paying all due attention to a comparative and comprehensive thematic analysis of historical changes and regional differences. The first volume was published in English in 1991, in German in 1992, and the second in 1996 in both languages. Spanish and Portuguese translations followed from 1994 on, while a Russian edition is currently being prepared in Moscow, and a Chinese one in Hebei. The planning for volume III began in July 1985 at the University of Salamanca. In view of the complex development of the history of universities in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a ‘brain-storming’ session with specialists was organized in March 1986 at Bad Homburg, near Frankfurt-am-Main. As a result of this meeting, guidelines were drawn xxi

Foreword ˜ Marcos Palace up by the editorial board in September 1986 at the Sao in Portugal, an historic building belonging to the University of Coimbra. Potential authors met with the board for a first workshop in June 1988 at the University of Oxford and then presented their drafts for discussion in May 1990 at the University of Bochum. When, in September 1992 at the University of Ghent, the editorial board examined the draft contributions for volume III, three chapters were still lacking. Owing to previous unfortunate experiences with an author of volume II who, after many delays, delivered an unsatisfactory draft, the editorial board decided to replace the renegade authors by others who promised to finish their chapters by the end of 1993. This solution succeeded only partially. In the case of one chapter, the delivery was postponed from one year to the next. Twice the volume editor travelled hundreds of miles in order to urge the delivery of the text. Eventually, in September 2002, he received the last part of the missing chapter. Even had we received this chapter in 1994, the fatal illness of our colleague Edward Shils, which led to his death in 1995, would have postponed the publication by a few years. With his sociological knowledge of the world-wide expansion and social impact of the modern university and its scientific discoveries, with his acute judgement and friendly and reliable advice, he was not only a most active member of the editorial board; he had also written the first draft of three chapters in volume III. The draft of chapter 1 (Themes) served as a kind of map for the whole volume and would have needed to be adjusted according to the conclusions of the other authors. With his passing this introductory chapter became obsolete, and it was duly rewritten by the volume editor. His preliminary sketch of chapter 6 (‘The Diffusion of European Models outside Europe’) was an impressive testimony of his first-hand knowledge of universities on other continents, but his death interrupted his work on this topic. Our co-editor John Roberts – with the help of specialists for each region – duly revised the whole chapter and supplemented it with references and recent information. The opposite occurred in the case of the sub-chapter on the social sciences. Edward Shils had expanded the draft of this topic – so familiar to him – to the size of a monograph, and his illness prevented him from shortening it. Eventually our co-editor Asa Briggs decided to add to the sub-chapter on history in chapter 11 the most significant developments in the social sciences before World War II. In fact, with the exception of law and the new economics, most social sciences such as sociology, social anthropology and political science were not generally included in university curricula in Europe before the 1950s. These circumstances may explain, although not excuse, the fact that volume III only went to press some nine years later than originally planned. It is parallel in its structure to the first two volumes, but this structure has xxii

Foreword been adapted to reflect three important changes in the history of the universities. First, the traditional university model, common to all European universities until the end of the eighteenth century, was replaced by different models of higher education; second, the modern university focused increasingly on specialized scientific research; and third, student movements began to play an important role in both national and international struggles for individual, social and political freedom. For this reason, the former chapter 8 of the previous two volumes (‘Student Education, Student Life’) concentrates in this volume on ‘Student Movements’. It presents the first comparative survey of the political power that emerged from universities and illustrates it with numerous examples from different European countries. The other facets of student life in colleges, fraternities or private circles remained essentially unchanged throughout this period, with the exception of the two world wars that are treated in the Epilogue. Student mobility, described in a separate chapter in previous volumes, lost its educational and cultural importance for whole generations of students. The most important changes in student education related to innovations in the humanities, sciences, medicine and technology, as these gradually became recognized as parts of the curriculum. These innovations are treated in Part IV (Learning). The huge expansion and specialization of research-orientated studies was related to the replacement of the traditional university, consisting of four faculties, by three different institutional models of higher education, leading to new faculties, schools and departments. These are analyzed in Parts I (Themes and Patterns) and II (Structures). The ‘List of European Universities’ that figured in the first two volumes at the end of the second chapter has been enlarged to a list of ‘European Universities and Similar Institutions of Higher learning in Existence Between 1812 and the End of 1944’ and placed at the end; besides the universities it includes similar institutions of higher education which, from the eighteenth century, were founded in the fields of technology, commerce and teacher training. To comply with multiple requests, the list indicates as far as possible the introduction of new faculties and departments. Following the death of Edward Shils in 1995 the editorial board lost further members: in 1997 the Danish historian of science, Olaf Pedersen, and in 1999 the Polish Historian, Aleksander Gieysztor. With their particular expertise and broad European horizons they were not only instrumental in assuring the success of the first two volumes, but they also enriched them as authors: Gieysztor wrote in the first, Pedersen in the second volume. On 30 May 2003 the editorial board lost one of its most active members, John Roberts. Professor Roberts was distinguished by an unusual combination of talents and accomplishments. A wide-ranging historian, he wrote well-regarded volumes on vast subjects; xxiii

Foreword one of his books has been praised as the ‘best modern presentation of the history of the world’. A practised academic administrator, he served as vice-chancellor of the University of Southampton and as Warden of Merton College, Oxford. A true and always helpful friend, he contributed substantially to the planning and critical review of our project. He edited the chapter in our second and third volumes on the world-wide effects of the European university models. His intention of writing the introductory chapter to the fourth volume was frustrated by his debilitating illness, which he bore with admirable fortitude. In 1995, a new member, Alison Browning, joined the editorial board; as deputy secretary general of the CRE, she had played a major role in bringing about this History, promoting with tireless devotion and alertness the harmonious – indeed friendly – co-operation between so many European scholars, and participating actively in the English edition of the volumes.

xxiv

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The preparatory work for A History of the University in Europe has been generously supported by Dutch, German, Portuguese, Swedish, Spanish and Swiss foundations and sponsors, the European Cultural Foundation in Amsterdam, the Fritz-Thyssen-Stiftung in Cologne, the Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung in Sankt Augustin, the Robert Bosch Stiftung ¨ die deutsche Wissenschaft in Essen, in Stuttgart, the Stifterverband fur the Stiftungsfonds Deutsche Bank in Essen, the Volkswagen-Stiftung in Hanover, the Portuguese Secretary of State for Higher Education, the National Institute for Scientific Research as well as the Calouste ´ Ramon ´ Areces in Gulbenkian Foundation in Lisbon, the Fondacion Madrid, the Antonio de Almeida Foundation in Oporto, the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Fund in Stockholm, the Crédit Suisse in Zurich, ¨ Hoffmann-La Roche & Co. in Basle, the Jubilaumsstiftung der Ver¨ sicherungsgesellschaften Zurich/Vita/Alpina in Zurich, the Max und Elsa Beer-Brawand-Fonds of the University of Berne, the Nestlé Corporation ¨ in Vevey, and the Schweizerische Nationalfonds zur Forderung der wissenschaftlichen Forschung in Berne. Among the national correspondents mentioned in volume II, Walter ¨ Hoflechner (Graz), Mariano Peset Reig (Valencia), Ilaria Porciani (Bologna) and Griigori A. Tishkin (St Petersburg), helped especially in giving the volume a ‘European’ dimension. The assistance of other colleagues is recognized in the chapters concerned. We are very grateful for all the financial and scholarly support of the project. We thank the universities at which our conferences and discussions have taken place, notably the universities of Berne, Salamanca, ¨ Oxford, Bochum, Bologna and Ghent. Above all we Coimbra, Eichstatt, thank the CRE and its successor, the EUA, their long-standing Secretary

xxv

Acknowledgements General, Dr Andris Barblan, and their Geneva office for their invaluable help. Last but not least we wish to thank the authors, sponsors and publishers for their patience and understanding during the long delay of this publication.

xxvi

PA RT I

T H E M E S A N D PAT T E R N S

CHAPTER 1

THEMES


introduction The political upheavals of the French Revolution and Napoleon’s conquests devastated the university landscape in Europe. In 1789 it was filled with 143 universities. In 1815 there were only 83. The 24 French universities had been abolished and in twelve towns these were replaced by special schools and isolated faculties. In Germany, eighteen of the 34 universities had disappeared, and in Spain only ten of the previous 25 had any life in them. After fifteen new foundations, Europe had 98 universities by the middle of the nineteenth century. On the eve of the Second World War, this figure had doubled. In around 200 universities, 600,000 students were taught by 32,000 professors, while during the 1840s when university statistics began to be compiled, there numbered around 80,000 students and 5,000 professors; this means an increase over one hundred years of 500 per cent for professors and 700 per cent for students.1 This extraordinary expansion in number and strength is all the more astonishing because the replacement of the universities by specialized and professional institutions coincided with the dominant trend in the Age of Enlightenment to orientate higher education towards practical knowledge and useful careers for the public good. Indeed, the 200 universities existing in the 1930s were surrounded by some 300 institutions of higher education in the military, technical, polytechnic, commercial, medical, veterinary, agricultural, educational, political and musical fields. But they had not replaced the universities and were attended by a relatively small minority of students. In France, the universities were restored in 1895, and the new nation states in Eastern Europe were eager to set up their own universities, thus 1

See chapters 2 and 4, ‘List of European Universities and Similar Institutions’.

3

¨ Walter Ruegg allowing the concept of ‘the university as the European institution par excellence’2 to take on its full meaning. With the exception of France, where the grandes e´ coles were placed at the apex of higher education thanks to their rigorous systems of selection and training, the special colleges struggled to obtain university privileges and certification – which they succeeded in doing in Germany and Austria – or to be assimilated into the universities – as was the case in Great Britain and Italy. Most of the special institutions of higher education are today among the 670 members of the European Universities Association. Universities spread beyond Europe, too, where, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, except for Latin America, there were only colleges, academies, seminaries, madrasahs or other schools for the training of the intellectual, political or spiritual elite. How can the upturn in the fortunes of the modern university be explained? This is the basic question asked in the third volume of our History of the University in Europe. I will try to summarize some of the results by starting with the competition between the university models that opened the way to the modern university. Until the French Revolution, European universities, although divided by their dependence on Catholic or Protestant sovereigns, were organized in the same way and taught more or less the same branches of knowledge in four or five classical faculties. The structure and content of higher education converged to such a point that Rousseau complained in 1772: ‘Today there are no longer any French, Germans, Spanish or even English, in spite of what they say: there are only Europeans. They all have the same tastes, the same passions, the same morals, because none of them has received a national moulding from a particular institution.’3 the french and german university models At the beginning of the nineteenth century two new university models appeared which opened the way to a fundamental reform of the traditional university. The first was the French model of special colleges subjected to severe, often military, discipline, strictly organized and controlled by an enlightened despotism that governed to the last detail the curriculum, 2 3

See the Foreword to volume I of this series, p. xix. J.-J. Rousseau, Considérations sur le gouvernement de Pologne et sur sa réformation projetée, ed. Jean Fabre, Œuvres complètes, ed. B. Gagnebin and M. Raymond (Paris, 1964), vol. III, 620. The incorrect attribution to Voltaire, e.g. in O. Dann and J. Dinwiddy (eds.), Nationalism in the Age of the French Revolution (London and Ronceverte, 1988), 14, has been corrected thanks to the insight of Charles Wirz, curator of the Voltaire Institute and Museum in Geneva.

4

Themes the awarding of degrees, the conformity of views held concerning official doctrines, and even personal habits such as the ban on the wearing of beards in 1852. This model was implemented thanks to the tabula rasa of the Revolution and completed by Napoleon, but some essential traits, such as a centralizing state control, the isolation of the faculties and the establishment of special colleges, had already been evident in the Age of Enlightenment. The French model remained in force under successive regimes, and it was only in the last third of the nineteenth century that it was eroded under the influence of the German model. Some French historians believe that it was not abandoned until 1968 by Edgar Faure’s loi sur l’orientation de l’enseignement supérieur,4 which was inspired by the reform programme drawn up on 6 January 1968 by the Rectors of the West German universities. The German model bears the name of the Humboldt University. The credit must indeed go to the scholar and statesman Wilhelm von Humboldt, brother of the great naturalist Alexander, for persuading the King of Prussia, who favoured the French model, to found a university in Berlin in 1810 built on the liberal ideas of the theologian and philosopher Friedrich Schleiermacher. According to the latter, the function of the university was not to pass on recognized and directly usable knowledge such as the schools and colleges did, but rather to demonstrate how this knowledge is discovered, ‘to stimulate the idea of science in the minds of the students, to encourage them to take account of the fundamental laws of science in all their thinking’.5 The manner of study, the content of the teaching, and the relations of the university with the authorities were to be characterized by ‘freedom’. According to Humboldt, the state only had two tasks to fulfil with regard to the universities: to protect their freedom and to appoint professors. This idealistic model did not lend itself to implementation as easily as Napoleon’s interventionist model. Humboldt’s plan to provide the new university with a large amount of land in order to ensure its financial independence was abandoned by his successor; freedom of opinion was hampered in 1819 by control and censure measures, following student demonstrations, and was not restored until after 1848. 4 5

Cf. chapter 4, 120; J. G. Passeron, ‘L’explosion institutionnelle de 1968: légendes noires et dorées’, in Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 378–89. ¨ ¨ F. Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken uber Universitaten im deutschen Sinn. Nebst ¨ ¨ einem Anhang uber eine neu zu errichtende (Berlin, 1808), 32–3, see W. Ruegg, ‘Der ¨ in M. Krieg and M. Rose (eds.), Universitas Mythos der Humboldtschen Universitat’, ¨ Hans Heinrich Schmid zum 60. in theologia – theologia in universitate, Festschrift fur Geburtstag (Zurich, 1997), 162–6; cf. chapter 2, 48.

5

¨ Walter Ruegg Similarly, the introduction of students to scientific research through seminars and laboratories only came about slowly.6 However, liberal reform bore fruit. While, at the beginning of the century, Paris had been a Mecca for scholars and scientists from all over the world, from the 1830s the French Government sent representatives to Germany to enquire about progress in higher education. In the same way, young French people, as well as Americans later on, trained at German universities in the new scientific methods. From the end of the nineteenth century, the German model represented the modern university not only in Europe, but also in the United States and Japan. secularization, bureaucratization, specialization This could not have occurred without the secularization and bureaucratization of nation states. The charts in the second volume of our ‘History of the University in Europe’, which stops at the end of the eighteenth century, distinguish between Catholic and Protestant universities. Although some countries had begun to be secularized during the Enlightenment, most universities remained essentially ecclesiastical institutions, to the extent that they were either directly supervised by the respective churches or strongly connected to them through the importance of religious profession for the appointment of teachers, the admission of students, and the ideological orientation of academic studies and careers. During the nineteenth century, public universities were transformed into lay institutions everywhere. The few faculties of Catholic theology reintroduced into France and Spain could not survive and disappeared from public education. ‘Theology had taken refuge in the seminaries, while the state university continued for a decade with the studies which, for several centuries, had dominated and filled the auditoria.’7 At the same time, the universities became increasingly subjected to state bureaucracy, which managed university affairs as part of a national education policy. At the beginning of the century, the sovereign continued to be directly involved with the help of a trustworthy person and a rudimentary administration. When in 1806 Napoleon set up ‘under the name of the Imperial University, a body exclusively responsible for teaching

6

7

¨ ihre Blute ¨ See B. vom Brocke, ‘Die Entstehung der deutschen Forschungsuniversitat, und Krise um 1900’, in R. C. Schwinges (ed.), Humboldt International, Der Export ¨ ¨ des deutschen Universitatsmodells im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Veroffentlichungen der ¨ Universitats¨ und Wissenschaftsgeschichte 3 (Basle, 2001), 367–401. Gesellschaft fur ˜ Peset, Universidad Espanola, 717. (Translation of quotations, if not otherwise attributed, by the author of this chapter.)

6

Themes and public education throughout the Empire’,8 the official who ran it reported directly to the emperor and enjoyed great independence. Two years later he was the head of a central administration, and this was maintained, or even expanded, by later political regimes, to become the Ministry of Education in 1828.9 After sixteen months of successful activity, Wilhelm von Humboldt resigned his position as Director of the Section for Ecclesiastical Affairs and Education at the Ministry of the Interior in 1810, just before the opening of the University of Berlin, because the King did not want to upgrade the Division into a Ministry of Education, which would have given it the necessary political clout. Seven years later the upgrade took place. During the nineteenth century, all over the Continent, similar ministries were set up to cope with the growing importance that public education on every scale had assumed in the general policy and budgets of nation states. The ministerial administration decided on the type and composition of the whole higher education of the country, as was the case in Spain or Italy after unification; it governed access to the universities, and controlled their curricula and exams. It provided the universities with modern buildings and laboratories, as the French Government did after the defeat of 1871 – which a large section of public opinion attributed to the superiority of higher education in Germany. In the end, however, the most important consequence of this process was the professionalization of university careers. On the European Continent the professor became a civil servant of the lay and bureaucratic state. The most significant example is the institution intended to train the elite of ´ higher education teachers in France, the Ecole Normale (Supérieure). Its students, ‘at least seventeen years of age’, selected ‘from secondary schools by examination and competition’, agreed to serve in public education for at least ten years after graduation.10 Public education was therefore run as a branch of state administration. The academic degrees and the means of selection by competition and examination, which had been established under the old regime, were integrated into a hierarchy: the baccalaureate was essential to obtaining a post in a college, the license allowed for promotion to college chairs and higher offices, the agrégation, a competitive examination, gave ‘access to careers in administration . . . and chairs in higher education’.11 The proof that this system of merit was linked to 8

9 11

Loi du 10 mai 1806, Art. 1; V. Karady, ‘De Napoléon a` Duruy: origines et naissance de l’Université contemporaine’, in Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 269. Cf. G. Schubring, ‘The Impact of the Napoleonic Reforms on the Educational System in Europe’, in L. Blanco and L. Pepe (eds.), Stato e pubblica istruzione. Giovanni Scopoli e il suo viaggio in Germania (1812), Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento 1995, 21 (Bologna, 1996), 435–43. 10 Ibid., 277. Karady, ‘Napoléon’ (note 8), 284. Gerbod, Condition universitaire, 57–64; quotation 64.

7

¨ Walter Ruegg bureaucratization and secularization is provided by the reactionary elements that regained power in France between 1822 and 1830: they closed ´ the Ecole Normale and entrusted ‘numerous posts . . . to members of the clergy, often without degrees’.12 From the inception of the universities, the doctorate attested that the holder had mastered his academic discipline to such a point that he was qualified to teach it at university level. At the end of the eighteenth century, the examination consisted of the presentation and discussion of a thesis that developed a subject without scientific originality and value over several printed pages. After 1830, the theses defended before the faculties of letters and sciences in Paris began to give way to more extensive research and were often distinguished by having real scientific value.13 The man chiefly responsible for this change of direction was Victor Cousin who, after losing his chair in philosophy because of his liberal ideas inspired by ´ Kant and Fichte, became the head of the re-established Ecole Normale following the revolution of July 1830. He undertook a journey to Germany to study the state of public education there and published a report on his findings.14 Although the reforms which resulted met the combined opposition of the clerics and the leftists, Cousin, because of his key position in the training of professors, was able to introduce scientific criteria into doctoral theses15 as they were applied in Prussia. There scientific education, which had been the founding idea behind the University of Berlin, needed to be reflected in a ‘masterpiece’16 that inaugurated a career characterized by the scientific spirit. The German university professor was also a state functionary. But there were several German states, and he was free to accept the best position offered to him. His career did not unfold, as in France, among a hierarchical body of functionaries who remained subordinate to their superiors. In general, the German professor began his university career as a Privatdozent who, after demonstrating to the faculty his ability to teach his discipline, was entitled to do so at will, but also at his own expense. He thus learned and earned with great difficulty to practise the libertas docendi and, if lucky, persisted in it when he became a professor. The French model, based on scientific merit in the framework of a closed and centralized body, gave as much power and prestige to the professor as the German model, based on competition and freedom. He was entrusted by the state with a public office, the importance of which for the common good continued to grow, and he won increasing 12 14 15 16

13 Ibid., 65. Ibid., 57. V. Cousin, De l’instruction publique dans quelques pays de l’Allemagne, et particulièrement en Prusse (Paris, 1832), 2 vols. Cf. Gerbod, Condition universitaire, 74–5. U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Reden und Vortrage, 3rd edn (Berlin, 1913), 107.

8

Themes power through the monopoly for awarding diplomas and degrees that allowed access to the professions. On the other hand, his personal prestige depended increasingly on the collective prestige of his professional or scientific specialization. In France, the polytechnicien, the normalien and graduates of other grandes e´ coles referred to themselves by their school, taking advantage of its reputation. In the university systems of the German model it was the specialization of the scientific disciplines that introduced new forms of communication, identification and reputation for the professors. The sancta quaedam communitas eruditorum, set up in the Middle Ages under the protection of the papacy and preserved throughout the denominational scission by the humanist dialogue in the exchange of letters as well as in scholarly academies and their journals of general interest, was increasingly divided in the nineteenth century into a number of scientific disciplines. The professors began to exchange their ideas and their work in specialized journals, to meet at national conferences (even international conferences after the end of the century) and to organize societies by discipline.17 Consequently, it was no longer only individual performance and glory, but also belonging to a recognized discipline that first and foremost endowed the professor with his social prestige. The specialization of scientific disciplines, accompanied by the modification of their rank in the academic and social hierarchy, characterizes the modern university. the european adoption of the two models In the states annexed by Napoleon, the universities that had not been abolished but rather replaced by faculties were re-established after 1815, but they kept the division between the faculties of letters and sciences. Special colleges, e´ coles normales, e´ coles supérieures, and professional colleges, which spread throughout these countries, did not reach the level and rank of the French grandes e´ coles or the German Hochschulen and were only 17

L. Daston, ‘Die Akademien und die Einheit der Wissenschaften. Die Disziplinierung der ¨ Wissenschaften’, in J. Kocka et al. (eds.), Die Koniglich Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin im Kaiserreich (Berlin, 1999), 73–4. (Comparative table of German, French and British scientific journals; quotation of a work by Hermann Diels, who in 1906 regretted ‘the huge number of excessively specialized scientific associations’ and counted 892 scholarly societies in Germany in 1887, and 1,278 journals in the mathematical and natural sciences in 1900.) According to C. Grau, ‘Profildifferenzen und Profildifferenzierung der Preussischen Akademie und anderer deutscher WissenschaftlerGemeinschaften im 19. Jahrhundert’, in Kocka et al. (eds.), Preussische Akademie, 48, ¨ the Gesellschaft deutscher Naturforscher und Arzte, which was divided into seven sections in 1828, numbered 41 in 1894. The Societas pro Fauna et Flora Fennica, founded in 1821, was one of the first specialized societies in the field of the natural sciences; cf. A. Leikola, ‘The Importance of Scientific Societies for Biological Research in Finland’, Memoranda Soc. Fauna Flora Fennica, 72 (1996), 99–102.

9

¨ Walter Ruegg integrated into the universities in Italy, and not until 1933–37. The French model, which Napoleon imposed on the annexed countries, did not leave deep traces; the centralizing tendencies characteristic of this model were the inheritance of an enlightened absolutism which had affected higher education in the eighteenth century in France, Spain and Austria. Outside Napoleon’s ephemeral empire, only Romania, a small country with a Latin language, adopted the French model in its organization of studies and the route from university office to public office. The main university in the capital of the new state, founded in 1861, trained the ruling class. One of the jewels of the French model, the Ecole Polytechnique, which was set up to train engineers and officers of the artillery, had a widespread and significant influence through its theoretical orientation. The mining and civil engineering colleges, founded in the eighteenth century by the German, Austrian, Hungarian and Russian governments, and intended for the practical training of civil servants, were transformed in the nineteenth century into Higher Polytechnical Schools by introducing advanced theoretical teaching in mathematics and the physical sciences. But they did not adhere to the other aspect of the French model, the military and meticulous control by the state. On the contrary, they aspired to the basic rights of the universities. First they received the corporate autonomy of internal organization, then the right to accredit Privatdozenten, and, by the end of the century, the right to confer the title of doctor, which put them in the ranks of the universities. Quite another form of influence arising from the French model characterized the development of the Russian universities. They rejected the French college model and adopted the German university model, a choice reinforced by the appointment of German lecturers or Russian lecturers trained in Germany. But at the same time, the state assigned these universities, which were dedicated in principle to science and enjoyed at least theoretical autonomy, the function of training its bureaucracy, as the French grandes e´ coles did. This antagonism between the two models marked the alternating phases of liberalism on the one hand and repression and militarization on the other. After the revolutionary events of 1830, the authorities made the students wear uniform, thus integrating them into the administrative hierarchy. After 1848 they reacted with the ministerial appointment of rectors, purged the teaching body, suppressed dangerous disciplines such as constitutional law and philosophy, and introduced strict educational control of studies and students, measures that typified the Tsarist university model throughout the liberal periods. It was to be taken up again and perfected by the Soviet regime, which in 1930/31 tried to dissolve the universities into specialized institutes. Two years later they

10

Themes re-established the universities with the task of offering the more theoretical disciplines alongside numerous professional training institutes, all higher education and research being governed and strictly controlled by the state. In the British Isles, the seven universities that existed in 1800 enjoyed much greater freedoms than their continental counterparts. They had kept the structure of the autonomous corporations of medieval universitates. Oxford, Cambridge and Trinity College, Dublin, represented the clerical type, based on residential colleges and provided with extensive financial backing and dispensing a humanist culture with the aid of internal tutors. The main function of the university was to award academic degrees. The almost total autonomy that the state granted new universities created an opening for initiative and flexibility that was unknown on the Continent. Between 1832 and 1905, thirteen local foundations without any real overall plan had been recognized by royal charter, most in large towns. Founded and financed by wealthy individuals, groups and municipal authorities, they included medical, polytechnic and commercial disciplines in university teaching. The four Scottish universities depended more on the state for their finances, but they were otherwise independent of government, imposed neither residence nor tutorials, and made much greater use of the lecture, through which modern ideas, like those of Adam Smith, were disseminated. They were largely open to the humbler classes and to professional training, especially medicine, the clinical teaching of which began in the eighteenth century as a university discipline in the British Isles. Their openness and flexibility allowed for the introduction of new disciplines like shipbuilding in Glasgow, for example, thanks to a chair founded by a shipowner’s widow. All four universities set up science faculties towards the end of the century, and Edinburgh another for music. With the exception of the science faculties, which were the result of reforms proposed by Parliament, all these innovations originated from local initiatives and owed nothing to a foreign model. This was not the case at Oxford and Cambridge. ‘Oxford became German after the defeat of the Oxford movement’ according to Arnaldo Momigliano.18 Indeed, in 1834 the Quarterly Review had already ascertained that in studies of antiquity – which were at the centre of elitist teaching at Oxford – the Germans had reached a level difficult to emulate and their historical criticism had transformed biblical and classical studies.19 Specialist journals appeared in England in 1831 and 1845 but 18 19

A. Momigliano, Quinto Contributo alla Storia degli studi classici e del mondo antico (Rome, 1975), vol. I, 128. Quarterly Review, 51 (1834), 144–5.

11

¨ Walter Ruegg disappeared after a few years.20 From 1880 such journals kept going until the present.21 Scholars returning from their trips to Germany had begun to introduce the scientific spirit into the colleges by trying to guide tutors towards research. By the turn of the century, Oxford and Cambridge had adhered to the German model to the extent that the importance of research in the teaching of a modern university was accepted. In the volume on the nineteenth century of the History of the University of Oxford, Laurence Brockliss states that the idea of the modern research university advocated by Humboldt was implemented more authentically in the universities of Oxford and Cambridge than in the institutions of Germany, since Oxbridge retained corporate and collegiate autonomy, as well as their primary mission of non-professional education. On the other hand, the continental universities subjected to state authority served first and foremost to train doctors, teachers of law and other academic professions, and only the most gifted students benefited from a scientific education through research undertaken in co-operation with their professor.22 This assertion is worth taking seriously when one remembers that Humboldt wanted to provide the University of Berlin with financial independence through endowment from the public domain, and when one takes into account the fact that the famous American research universities refer to Humboldt, whereas in Germany Humboldt’s university is presumed to be dead, stifled by the mass of students. In fact, the higher education systems of continental Europe have never been able to combine the general education of undergraduate students with scientific teaching a` la Humboldt, as they do in the best Anglo-American universities. Yet the scientific spirit also conquered the French model of universities, though not without resistance. When, from 1866, Romance philology became established in France with chairs, journals and a scientific association, a professor of French Literature in Paris spoke of ‘this rubbish, this German invention’,23 and in 1892 the Revue des Deux Mondes complained that ‘they want to make Germans out of us’. In fact, in 1868 the Minister of Education, Duruy, had set up in Paris the Ecole Pratique 20 21 22 23

The Philological Museum 1831–33; The Classical Museum 1845–50. See History of Oxford, VI, Part 1, 528–9. Journal of Hellenic Studies 1880– , Classical Review 1887– , Classical Quarterly 1907– . L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘The European University 1789–1850’, in University of Oxford, VI, Part 1, 131–3. ‘Ces cochonneries, cette invention des Germains’, see W. Hirdt (ed.), Romanistik, Eine ¨ Bonner Erfindung (Bonn, 1994), 1012. Cf. chapter 10, 416, and W. Ruegg, ‘Humboldt in Frankreich’, in R. C. Schwinges (ed.), Humboldt International. Der Export des deutschen ¨ ¨ ¨ Universitatsmodells im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Veroffentlichungen der Gesellschaft fur ¨ und Wissenschaftsgeschichte 3 (Basle, 2001), 247–61. Universitats-

12

Themes des Hautes Etudes to allow interested students to become familiar with scientific research as they could in Germany in university seminars and laboratories. Louis Pasteur performed most of his experiments on fermentation in two attic rooms and complained to the Emperor in 1868 that in Germany, England, America and Austria there were some great university laboratories, but not in France.24 In Italy, too, the German model that had influenced the university policy of the Kingdom of Piedmont from the beginning of the century, became – after the unification of Italy and especially after the Franco-Prussian war – the university ideal.25 Towards the end of the century, doctoral theses began to present serious research instead of mere compilations;26 specialist chairs were created, and scientific journals achieved a continuous existence. the new scientific spirit Perhaps this account may help to provide a tentative answer to the question raised at the beginning of the chapter: how can the strengthening of the modern university in the nineteenth century be explained? We have seen that it was the scientific spirit, developed in Germany and above all at the new University of Berlin, which transformed universities beginning in the 1830s in German-speaking countries and also in a few French and English precursors, and that this had worked its way into most European countries by the end of the century. Evidence for this claim lies in the introduction of students to research in university or para-university seminars, laboratories and institutes, the scientific content of doctoral theses, the foundation of specialized scientific journals and societies, as well as the organization of national and international conferences by discipline, and the reaction of colleagues and the public to these novelties. The various chapters of our History of the University in Europe give many examples, but there is still much work to be done in order to arrive at a complete picture. It will also be necessary to study more closely the role that the various actors played in this process: the ministries, often guided or advised by academics, the university institutions themselves, the student and teaching organizations, individual pioneers, the pressures and initiatives of different social groups, etc. 24 25 26

R. Vallery-Rabot, La Vie de Pasteur, 2nd edn (Paris, 1905), 216; see chapter 13, 529. M. Moretti, ‘La commissione reale e la relazione Ceci’, in I. Porciani (ed.), L’Universita` tra Otto e Novecento: i modelli europei e il caso italiano (Naples, 1994), 277ff. M. Isnenghi, ‘Per una storia delle tesi di laurea. Tracce e campioni a Padova fra Ottocento ` L’istruzione e Novecento’, in F. De Vivo and G. Genovesi (eds.), Cento anni di universita. superiore in Italia dall’ Unita` ai nostri giorni (Naples, 1986), 102–5.

13

¨ Walter Ruegg What were the reasons for the success of this scientific spirit? Comparison between the French, German and British models leads to a surprising conclusion: the success of the scientific spirit increased insofar as a model adapted the corporate autonomy of the traditional university to the freedom of its members in teaching, study and research. The greatest achievement of Humboldt and his advisor, Schleiermacher, was the rejection of the French model of professional colleges and the modernization of the medieval structure of the university; in the long term, this permitted the removal of the obstacle of the state to academic freedom. The example of the Anglo-American universities demonstrates the fundamental importance of academic freedom and corporate autonomy. But still more impressive is the role of this scientific spirit in the interaction between the growing autonomy of the universities and the public authorities, on which all higher education, even in Great Britain and the United States, came to depend. Our book shows the negative as well as the positive aspects of this interaction in the control and repression that supervisory authorities exercised over universities in the most authoritarian and repressive regimes of modern history: Communism, Fascism and National Socialism. The march of the universities towards corporate autonomy and the freedom of their members cannot be explained only by extrinsic reasons. The true cause of this success must be sought in the scientific spirit itself. This is a task that our book could not undertake in depth, since the rudimentary state of detailed studies on the history of the university in the nineteenth century obliged us first to establish the facts before looking for the reasons. But in re-reading the manuscript, I had the impression that the solution may be found in the following direction. The spiritual fathers of the University of Berlin distanced themselves from the humanist university, which according to them was content with exploring the external phenomena of things and did not penetrate to their essence. The theologian and philosopher Schleiermacher provided in his plan for the University of Berlin for seminars in which ‘the scientific spirit, awakened by philosophical teaching, would penetrate more deeply into the particular, to research, combine, and create something of its own, and to confirm by the correctness of its judgement the insight it has gained into nature and the coherence of all knowledge’.27 Savigny, the great historian of Roman law, gave an example of this ‘scientific spirit’ in the prologue to his masterpiece, ‘The History of Roman Law in the Middle Ages’. It distanced itself from the superficial separation of the history of law and the history of legal literature. To go beyond the descriptive writing of earlier studies, Savigny had to seek a centre, ‘a 27

F. Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken (note 5), 39.

14

Themes specific point, in order to explain how the most recent law results from development pure and simple and from the continuous transformation of Roman law as determined by the circumstances of the Western Empire’.28 Niebuhr, the pioneer of critical history, in his prologue to ‘Roman History’, spoke of the ‘decisive point’ revealed during a conversation with Savigny that allowed him to undertake a critical treatment of history. Earlier works had dealt with Roman history as ‘geographical charts or painted landscapes and had not even tried to bring to light from these rudimentary resources the image of the objects in their minds’.29 Wilhelm von Humboldt, as a philosopher of language, sought the specific point in the ‘faculty of the mind in which depth and abundance influence the course of global events, and which is the founding principle in the hidden and in some way mysterious development of humankind’.30 This recourse of the scientific spirit to the ‘centre’, the ‘specific point’, ‘decisive point’, or ‘founding principle’ could be extended by other examples. It led in the natural sciences to philosophical speculations that only slowly gave way to empirical research. But no one defined this scientific spirit better than the person who, after Schleiermacher, most influenced the development of the University of Berlin, the philologist and histo¨ rian of classical Greece, August Bockh. According to the latter the only appropriate scientific approach is the ‘cyclical method, which consists of linking all phenomena to their centre and of advancing from there step ¨ by step to all points on the circumference’. According to Bockh, this centre is to be found ‘in the innermost nucleus of its coherent whole’ (im innersten Kern seines Gesamtzusammenhanges).31 The new method is therefore worthy of the name ‘nuclear’ because it targets the nucleus, the philosophical essence and the historical or physical origin of natural and spiritual phenomena. This new scientific spirit, whose ‘enthusiasm and joy’ (Begeisterung und Seligkeit) according to Niebuhr, enlivened the first years of the University of Berlin;32 this nuclear method pushed research to the innermost core of all things and opened the way to the surge of the modern university. 28 29 30

31 32

¨ F. C. von Savigny, Geschichte des romischen Rechts im Mittelalter, vol. I: Vorrede zur ersten Ausgabe (Darmstadt, 1956, reprint), vii. ¨ B. G. Niebuhr, Romische Geschichte, Berichtigte Ausgabe in einem Bande, 5th edn (Berlin, 1853), vol. I, xv–xvi. ¨ W. von Humboldt, ‘Uber die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaus und ihren Einfluss auf die geistige Entwicklung des Menschengeschlechts (1830–1835)’, in Werke in ¨ Banden, ¨ funf ed. A. Flitner and K. Giel, vol. III, Schriften zur Sprachphilosophie (Darmstadt, 1965), 392. The new edition (2002) includes an epilogue (Nachwort) describing the research on Humboldt made since 1981 and adding a bibliography 1981–2001. ¨ A. Boeckh, Encyclopadie und Methodologie der philologischen Wissenschaft, ed. E. Bratuschek (Leipzig, 1877), 47, 56. ¨ Niebuhr, Romische Geschichte (note 29), xvi.

15

¨ Walter Ruegg from the age of philosophy to the age of science The ‘enthusiasm and joy’ that filled the University of Berlin with its 36 professors and eleven Privatdozenten in its first year33 is very surprising, and all the more so if one compares it with the uneasiness that a stay in Berlin had caused Wilhelm von Humboldt ten years earlier. He complained: ‘I’ve been in Berlin for a few months now, and I’m not pleased. If one must pick a city to stay in, all others except Paris are and will always be awful.’34 In fact, Berlin was a wasteland, scientifically speaking, at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Of course, the royal cabinet had firmed up a plan in 1801 to create a ‘Higher institute of learning in conjunction with the Academy of Sciences’ (Allgemeine Lehranstalt in Berlin in Verbindung mit der Akademie der Wissenschaften). So when the King returned to this plan after the loss of Halle in 1806, authoritative experts – among them the physician Hufeland (a regular member of the Academy since 1800) – were very negative about the scientific level of the Academy of Sciences. They stated that it was only a kind of Légion d’honneur that satisfied the vanity of its members, a meeting-place for learned veterans, a corpus mysticum et mortuum. To a higher institute of learning, the Academy could contribute hardly anything. However, it would derive something scientifically stimulating from the new foundation.35 In 1809–10, this led Wilhelm von Humboldt to base the foundation of the University of Berlin on the only non-government commissioned paper written by Schleiermacher, and to charge him with its implementation, thereby introducing scientific knowledge as the true mission of the university. Wilhelm von Humboldt visited Paris at the beginning of August 1789, a few weeks after the storming of the Bastille, and settled there with his family in 1797 in order to pursue his anthropological and linguistic studies as a private scholar, as ‘citizen Humboldt’. He was disappointed with the intellectual condition of the French capital, where he ¨ observed a certain ‘exhaustion and weakness’(Mattigkeit und Schwache). But he was favourably impressed by the level of the representatives of the 33 34

35

¨ ¨ ¨ See ‘Ubersicht uber die Zahl der Lehrer’, in M. Lenz, Geschichte der koniglichen Friedrich¨ zu Berlin (Halle, 1910), vol. III, 490. Wilhelms-Universitat ‘Ich bin also auf einige Monate in Berlin, was mir nicht lieb ist; da, wenn man einmal eine Stadt zum Aufenthalt nehmen muss, alle anderen, ausser Paris, doch rein unangenehm ¨ sind und bleiben.’ W. von Humboldt, letter to J. G. Schweighauser, Berlin, 22 October 1801, in R. Freese (ed.), Wilhelm von Humboldt. Sein Leben und Wirken, dargestellt in ¨ Briefen, Tagebuchern und Dokumenten seiner Zeit (Darmstadt, 1986), 339ff. 247. ¨ ¨ W. Ruegg, ‘Ortsbestimmung. Die Koniglich Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften ¨ und der Aufstieg der Universitaten in den ersten zwei Dritteln des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Kocka et al. (eds.), Preussische Akademie (note 17), 24.

16

Themes mathematical and natural sciences,36 whom he had come to know partly through meetings of the organization that succeeded the Académie des sciences, the first class of the Institut national des sciences et des arts, and partly through his frequent visits to the Jardin des Plantes, which in 1795 became part of the newly created Muséum national d’histoire naturelle.37 Thus, in the summer of 1798, he was able to arrange the introduction of his younger brother Alexander to the mathematician Pierre Simon Marquis de Laplace (1749–1827) from the Institut, and to Louis comte de Lagrange (1736–1813) from the Ecole Polytechnique, as well as to two naturalists active at the Muséum, Georges baron Cuvier (1769–1832) and Etienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire (1772–1844). In Paris, Alexander von Humboldt (1769–1859) was inspired to make his natural science research trips to Latin America. On his return, he found no better place than Paris to analyze the research he had been engaged in for twenty years. This changed after 1830. Germany became more important for the development of medical and scientific research than Paris. By the middle of the century Germany had surpassed France in the natural sciences. This triumphal march cannot be explained by German researchers’ singular genius. Important discoveries in the natural sciences and medicine were also being made in other countries. But the German university system allowed scientific research to be a professional, bureaucratically regulated activity. By the mid-century, practically all researchers in the natural sciences and medicine in Germany were active either as heads or collaborators of institutes or university laboratories, while in Great Britain and France research in these fields remained the preserve of the private initiative of amateurs or individual scholars or of institutions outside the university.38 In Germany, research contributions were an important condition for the academic career of its scientifically gifted sons – and in the twentieth century, daughters, too – on all social levels. After 1840, of three famous Berlin professors who reformed the study of medicine through their discoveries or innovations as well as through their numerous distinguished ¨ pupils all over Germany, the physiologist Johannes Muller (1801–58) was the son of a shoe-maker, the pathologist and teacher of clinical medicine ¨ Johann Lukas Schonlein (1793–1864) was the son of a rope-maker, and 36 37 38

W. von Humboldt, letter to F. H. Jacobi, Paris, 26 October 1798, in Freese (ed.), Wilhelm von Humboldt (note 34), 268–9. ¨ Idem, Tagebuch, 1 April 1798, ibid., 254; cf. Brief an Goethe aus dem Fruhjahr 1798, ibid., 252. J. Ben-David, The Scientist’s Role in Society: A Comparative Study (Englewood Cliffs, N. J., 1971), 108–38; L. K. Nyhart, ‘Civic and Economic Zoology in Nineteenth-Century ¨ Germany: The “Living Communities” of Karl Mobius’, Isis 4, 85 (1998), 605–7; the introduction to his case study provides an overview of the state of research for the whole topic.

17

¨ Walter Ruegg the surgeon Johann Friedrich Dieffenbach (1795–1847) was born to a high-school teacher. ¨ At barely 25 years of age, Johannes Muller was professor in Bonn. Eight years later he succeeded his teacher, the famous anatomist Carl Rudolphi (1771–1832), in Berlin. In his application to the Prussian Minister of Edu¨ cation for the post, Muller pointed to his internationally recognized abilities to direct a large scientific institute, a class that Bonn did not possess. Thus, he wrote, his appointment would ‘determine the spirit that for many years may emanate from the splendid institutions of Berlin and that might reasonably be expected from them, given the great activity in the other natural sciences there’.39 This letter is interesting for the self-confidence with which the young professor presented himself to his superior – an attitude that would later ¨ prove to be justified, since, thanks to Muller, Berlin became a European centre for comparative anatomy. Even more interesting is his repeated reference to the importance of a great university institute for the ‘spirit’ in which medical problems could be systematically and collectively investigated in connection with the natural sciences. To obtain funds for such an institute it was necessary to gain the support of the authorities in Berlin – the King, his Ministers, and his private councillors, among whom was Alexander von Humboldt, who had moved back to Berlin from Paris in 1827. In his capacity as ‘the daily table companion, constant travel companion and trusted friend of the unforgettable Lord his Majesty, he was the protective genius of the developing science in the time of Friedrich Wilhelm III and beyond’, who impartially used his influence to promote research and to further the careers of young researchers in the natural sciences.40 In Paris, on the contrary, Claude Bernard (1813–78) had to make his very important physiological discoveries in a cellar. Louis Pasteur (1822– 95) also carried out most of his experiments on fermentation in two attic rooms. Only after the Franco-Prussian war did he obtain a laboratory. Earlier he had unsuccessfully pleaded with the King: ‘It is time to free the experimental sciences from the state of poverty they have been exiled to. 30 years ago in Germany, there were already great laboratories fully equipped with all the necessary tools for research, and each year new ones are emerging; England, America, Austria and Bavaria have 39 40

See chapter 13, 523–4. ¨ ‘[Alexander von Humboldt] der tagliche Tischgenosse, der stete Begleiter auf Reisen, der ¨ vertraute Freund des unvergesslichen Koniglichen Herrn, Schutzgeist der fortschreitenden ¨ Wissenschaft in der Zeit Friedrich Wilhelms III. und noch daruber hinaus’. R. Virchow, ¨ ¨ ¨ und der Ubergang ‘Die Grundung der Berliner Universitat aus dem philosophischen in das naturwissenschaftliche Zeitalter’, Rektoratsrede 3 August 1893 (Berlin, 1893), 20– 29; here 20, 22.

18

Themes allocated considerable sums for this aim. Even Italy has made strides in this direction.’41 ¨ Like his colleagues, Muller was fascinated by the study of natural philosophy and throughout his life he admired Aristotle. Thus in the same way that the ‘nuclear’ method led the Berlin professor of the sciences of ¨ antiquity, Bockh, to undermine the new humanistic ideal of Greek classicism through his historical and philological investigations, but without abandoning it as a pedagogical model, it also allowed natural scientists to make revolutionary discoveries through their experimental investiga¨ tions, like Johannes Muller and his school for developing cell theories, without having to repudiate the philosophical impetus that had sparked interest in their research. Before World War I, mathematics and the natural sciences had their ¨ own departments in Germany only in Tubingen (1869), Strasburg (1872), Heidelberg (1890), and Frankfurt-am-Main (1914). The conviction that philosophy would guarantee – on an institutional level – the intellectual unity of the humanities, natural sciences and social sciences was so strong that Kiel, Cologne and Marburg maintained an undivided philosophy department until the 1960s, as did Graz and Vienna until 1975.42 Rudolf Virchow (1821–1902), who developed the cell theory of his ¨ teacher Muller through the knowledge that cells are generated when dividing, gave the annual speech for 1893 in memory of the royal founder of the University of Berlin. As his topic, he developed a thesis proposed by the founder of electrical engineering, Werner von Siemens (1816–92), who had stated that mankind had entered the age of science in which the natural sciences were orientated towards practical use, thus making good Francis Bacon’s (1561–1626) postulate that nature can be dominated through science. As Rector of the University and as a researcher, Helmholtz extolled the progress in the natural sciences since the time of the founding of the University of Berlin. But as an active liberal politician and committed social physician he warned of the power of ‘the mystical impulses instilled by a few adventurers into the soul of the people’ and referred to antiSemitism as a current example; ‘no-one actually knows its [anti-Semitism] purpose in these times of equal rights, and despite or perhaps because of this fact, it fascinates even educated youth’.43 41 42 43

See chapter 13, 529 (as already mentioned on p. 13). See chapter 10, 415–16. For details see European Universities and Similar Institutions in Existence Between 1812 and the End of 1944. ¨ ‘Starke der mystischen Regungen, welche von einzelnen Abenteurern in die Volksseele getragen werden . . . [Antisemitismus], von dem niemand weiss, was er eigentlich in dieser Zeit der Rechtsgleichheit will, und der trotzdem, vielleicht auch deshalb, fascinirend selbst ¨ auf die gebildete Jugend wirkt.’ See Virchow, ‘Grundung’ (note 40), 27.

19

¨ Walter Ruegg Virchow spoke on ‘The Passage from the Age of Philosophy to the Age of Natural Sciences’. In 1895 his colleague, the philosopher and historian of education Friedrich Paulsen, characterized this passage even more clearly: ‘A period of absolute lack of philosophy in Germany follows a period of absolute philosophy.’44 Philosophy in Germany was something different from what it was in France or Great Britain, because it had lost something of the sense of intellectual life in general; this was no small matter, since the German elite had not built up enough intellectual antibodies to combat pseudo-scientific ideologies. ‘the freedom that i believe in is what fills m y h e a r t ’ 45 Unlike Paulsen who – uselessly – wanted once again to make philosophy as a secondary school discipline the foundation in the literal sense of the academic elite, Virchow thought philosophy had played its role in education at the end of the nineteenth century. At the end of his speech, he recalled that at Berlin University, the ‘academic education of students [offered] a great deal of freedom’, ‘which assigned and conceded responsibility without restriction, in order that each become independent in his own way’. What was expected and demanded was the ‘free formation of a balanced, honest and beautiful personality’.46 This ideal met with some restrictions owing to state exam regulations, applications to seminars, and the social pressure exerted on students’ daily lives in the German university. In comparison with other countries, however, student freedom turned out to be the essential conquest of the German university in the nineteenth century. Already at the turn of the thirteenth century, students in Bologna who were not citizens of this town, as well as both masters and students in Paris, had coalesced into corporations called universitates. Their tasks were essentially to defend personal freedom against the arbitrariness of local power groups, to protect students from the political and ecclesiastical authorities in lawsuits, to combat home and business owners regarding the cost of living, and – in Bologna – to hold the ‘masters’ to their teaching obligations. The universitates consisted of ‘colleges’ in which students lived together, as well as ‘nations’ based on the region of origin. When these communities visibly lost power in the early modern era, they 44 45

46

‘Es folgte in Deutschland auf das Zeitalter der absoluten Philosophie ein Zeitalter der absoluten Unphilosophie.’ See chapter 10. ¨ ‘Freiheit, die ich meine, die mein Herz erfullt.’ Beginning of the first and last verses of a well-known student song that Max von Schenkendorf (1783–1817) wrote along with other patriotic songs of student life during the war for liberation. ¨ Virchow, ‘Grundung’ (note 40), 29.

20

Themes formed associations and clubs of students coming from the same region, whose ‘freedoms’ often subjected the personal freedom of their members to humiliating initiation and drinking rites. In contrast to the student liberties of the medieval and early modern university, personal freedom, which offered students an academic education according to the Berlin University model, referred to study as the core of its activity, and assigned it its own responsibility. Wilhelm von Humboldt took this as the basis of his idea of a university: ‘The university’s domain is what man can only find through and within himself – insight into science. Freedom is necessary and solitude helpful to this self-act in its own understanding, and the entire outer organization of the university flows from these two points. Attending lectures is only secondary; what is essential is that for a series of years one lives in close connection with like-minded people of the same age, who are aware that in this same place there are many thoroughly learned people, dedicated solely to the elevation and diffusion of science.’47 As a university professor, Schleiermacher gave a new meaning to the delivery of and attendance at lectures, in order to apply the liberal idea of the student’s own responsibility for his studies more concretely than did the private man of learning and statesman, Humboldt: ‘The teacher must produce everything he says before his listeners: he must not narrate what he knows, but rather reproduce his own way to knowledge, the action itself. The listeners should not only collect knowledge. They should directly observe the activity of intelligence producing knowledge and, by observing it, learn how to do it themselves.’48 Both Schleiermacher and Humboldt – and consequently the followers of the so-called Humboldt university model – no longer saw the professor as a teacher who lectured on the current state of the art in an orderly, textbook fashion, but rather as a model that the student should follow so that he might scientifically grasp an object in order to arrive at new, rationally scrutinized, knowledge. At the very least, study should aim for the 47

48

¨ ist vorbehalten, was nur der Mensch durch und in sich selbst finden ‘Der Universitat kann, die Einsicht in die Wissenschaft. Zu diesem Selbst Actus im eigentlichsten Verstand ¨ ist nothwendig Freiheit und hulfreich Einsamkeit, und aus diesen beiden Punkten fliesst ¨ ¨ ¨ zugleich die ganze aussere Organisation der Universitaten. Das Kollegienhoren ist nur Nebensache, das Wesentliche, dass man in enger Gemeinschaft mit Gleichgesinnten und Gleichaltrigen und dem Bewusstseyn, dass es am gleichen Ort eine Zahl schon vollendet ¨ Gebildeter gebe, die sich nur der Erhohung und Verbreitung der Wissenschaft widmen, eine Reihe von Jahren sich und der Wissenschaft lebe.’ W. von Humboldt, ‘Unmass¨ gebliche Gedanken uber den Plan der Errichtung eines Litthauischen Stadtschulwesens (27 September 1809)’, Werke (note 30), 191. ¨ ‘Der Lehrer muss alles, was er sagt, vor den Zuhorern entstehen lassen; er muss nicht ¨ erzahlen , was er weiss, sondern sein eignes Erkennen, die Tat selbst, reproduzieren, damit ¨ sie nicht etwa nur Kenntnisse sammeln, sondern die Tatigkeit der Vernunft im Hervorbringen der Erkenntnis unmittelbar anschauen und anschauend nachbilden.’ Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken (note 5), 63.

21

¨ Walter Ruegg acquisition of specialized knowledge, as with the capacity to solve problems, which result in scientifically disciplined analyses of this specialized knowledge. Thus, during the period discussed in this volume and at the universities based on the German university model, with the exception of medicine there were no compulsory lessons with monitored attendance or check-up exams. Only at the end of the course of study was the candidate tested through academic or state exams in his chosen field. However, the way in which the individual acquired this knowledge was left entirely up to him. The student could put a plan of study together as he liked, and this is exactly what scientifically successful candidates for the diploma did, as their autobiographical information shows. They often had lectures and seminars outside their own fields, or certain Privatdozenten might show them the way to new knowledge based on their own research. Freedom to learn and responsibility for oneself were thus not utopian ideals for the founding fathers of Berlin University. Rather, at universities that followed the German university model, the freedom of study bore its imprint until the middle of the twentieth century. Freedom and responsibility for oneself were not just limited to the reform of the university. This was only part of the programme of reforms with which Baron Karl vom und zum Stein (1757–1831) in 1807, and Count Karl August von Hardenberg (1750–1822) in 1810, tackled the problem of modernizing the Prussian authoritarian state. Both recommended independent government administration, the liberation of the peasants, the liberalization of science, and universal military service. From subjects, the Prussians should become free citizens responsible for their own lives and mutually responsible for the common good. The reform of state and society in the spirit of personal freedom and responsibility, as Kant’s followers in Berlin, Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762– 1814) and Friedrich Schleiermacher, proclaimed, called for an extensive reform of education. During his short period in office as Director of the Section for Ecclesiastical Affairs and Education in the Prussian Ministry of the Interior from March 1809 to June 1810, Wilhelm von Humboldt did not just lay the groundwork for the University of Berlin. He also reformed the Prussian primary school along the lines of the scholastic experimentation of the Swiss pedagogue, Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi (1746–1827), who united instruction and education. His pupils took responsibility for one another, and did not mechanically repeat prescribed skills but rather thought independently and learned how to act responsibly. ‘Such a clear, definite and spontaneous method of instruction also necessarily had repercussions on clearly known, definite and conclusive business.’ Humboldt did not only want to consolidate the liberation of the peasants through Pestalozzi’s method of elementary education, orientated towards the unity 22

Themes of ‘head, heart and hand’. Above all, he wanted to shape and bind the nation in the spirit of freedom and responsibility from the primary school to the university, and thus implement the idea of scholastic instruction as a general cultural education as a counter-model to the French-inspired concept of professional higher schools.49 This was also the case for the higher, so-called ‘learned’ schools, or Gymnasien. They aimed, as Humboldt said at ‘an overall education’ (allgemeine Menschenbildung) and ‘formation of a well-rounded personality’ ¨ (allseitige Bildung der Personlichkeit), based on the model of an idealized concept of the ancient Greeks, and this found its greatest expression in the shining star of Greek teaching.50 In 1806 and 1807 in Rome, Humboldt had already firmed up his ideas on an inner spiritual relationship between the ancient Greeks and the Germans of his time through his studies on the philosophy of language, and, like Goethe, had given vent to concern with the spirit of the ancient Greeks in the concept of the cosmopolitan citizen. In Germany, however, the ancient Greek wars for independence against superior powers were presented to academic youth as the glaring example of the fight against Napoleon’s conquests, and pedagogues compared the return to the Greek spirit viewed as the clean, immaculate morning of the world to the spiritual liberation of youthful Germany from the hegemony of the old-fashioned Latin-Roman culture that had sullied the pure German spirit over the course of the centuries. Greek, which through humanism had integrated and made the prevalent Latin linguistic culture more profound as the foundation for educating the European elite, often became the basis of a chauvinistic nationalist education in the German Gymnasium.51 Freedom from the arbitrary use of power as well as responsibility for their common causes had united students since the founding of the universitates. Thus their concerns focused on their own freedom and the responsibility that was directly connected with their studies. Around 1800, students began to feel they were also responsible for the freedom of other social layers or for the whole nation. In 1794 Polish students formed their own military units to take part in the unsuccessful 49

50 51

Humboldt, Werke IV (note 30), delegation of young pedagogues to Pestalozzi’s Schu¨ lanstalt in Yverdon: 65, 135; ‘planmassige Verbreitung einer besseren ¨ Unterrichts- Methode uber das ganze Land’, 221, here 225, Landschulwesen, 225–8. For an overall discussion on education see K.-E. Jeismann, ‘Schulpolitik, Schulverwaltung, Schulgesetzgebung’, in K.-E. Jeismann and P. Lundgreen (eds.), Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. III: 1800–1870. Von der Neuordnung Deutschlands ¨ bis zur Grundung des Deutschen Reiches (Munich, 1987), 106–9. Jeismann and Lundgreen (eds.), Handbuch, 108. ¨ ¨ W. Ruegg, ‘Die Antike als Begrundung des deutschen Nationalbewusstseins’, in ¨ und W. Schuller (ed.), Antike in der Moderne, Xenia Konstanzer Althistorische Vortrage Forschungen 15 (Konstanz, 1985), 267–87.

23

¨ Walter Ruegg uprising under the leadership of Tadeusz Kos’ciuszko (1746–1817). A similar uprising occurred – successfully – in the German struggle for liberation under Napoleon. After the devastating Prussian defeat in 1806, a true patriotic awakening campaign was promoted by university professors like Fichte with his ‘Reden an die deutsche Nation’, Schleiermacher with his sermons, and Ernst Moritz Arndt (1769–1860) with his poetry; this campaign spread through student groups after 1810, above all, the Burschenschaften founded in Jena in 1813. Student volunteers thus took part in the war in their own formations.52 Student engagement in political freedom and personal responsibility for the country became the model of student movements, when, after 1815, student war veterans tried to implement a liberal democratic constitution for a united Germany, and through this, provoked the reaction of the governments who had defeated Napoleon. In 1819, the Allied Powers approved in Carlsbad measures proposed by the Austrian statesman, Klemens von Metternich (1773–1859), to suppress student gatherings and freedom of opinion. He thus promoted the spread of student movements all across Europe. In the beginning phases, the following essential aspects of this new phenomenon, which was so important in terms of the history of the university, emerge and can be examined through further developments. Student movements cannot be explained by the students’ commitment to greater freedom and more responsibility for their studies and university organization. The highly regulated curricula in the French e´ coles and facultés did not inspire any sort of student protest. The students of the e´ cole polytechnique ostentatiously took part in their uniforms, which symbolized their military education, in the July Revolution of 1830. At the Finnish ˚ in 1816, the example of the German Burschenschaft was University of Abo imitated, but only in order to ask for greater ‘academic freedom’. When this passed in 1817, the protest was over. An historically effective student movement only came about in Finland when political dependence on the Russian authorities and cultural dependence on the Swedish language challenged Finnish national awareness. Student movements mark student life to the extent that students are concerned about the lack of political or social freedom in their social environment and use their privileged position to fight for it. This was often connected with internal academic demands. Thus Flemish students struggled for years to obtain the right to have lessons in their own language. But these were only avant-garde confrontations in the fight for the cultural and political emancipation of Flanders as a whole. The student movement was not limited to equal language rights in the realm of study, it 52

See chapter 8, also for the following, in as much as it is not referred to elsewhere.

24

Themes also waged a battle to make Flemish the only official language of Flanders and thus bring about political liberation from French Walloon domination. This was also true for the common representation of student interests in education in terms of self-help organizations and federations, especially their more active application towards a general social goal. The Russian agitation of the 1860s for the abolition of serfdom, which set off an emotional reaction in student groups and unions that kept the movement alive, is but one example. The political or social engagement of student groups was thus a necessary, but insufficient, condition for the birth of student movements. Neither the successful student initiatives aiming at the intellectual and material promotion of the rural population (especially in Great Britain and Scandinavia), nor the spread of socialist student groups, led to student movements. Only through responsibility for the political or social liberation of an entire people or a single social class did student commitment become endowed with the dynamics of a movement. d a v i d vs. g o l i a t h This takes us back to the origin of the student movement in the German war for liberation against Napoleon and to the battle for the civil liberties of the people initiated by the French Revolution and the constitution of the United States of America. Until the twentieth century student movements mainly fought for the political freedom of a whole nation from foreign domination; after the German war for liberation, they were active in defeated Poland, then in other nations in northern and southern Europe under foreign domination, as well as in European colonies in Africa and Asia. On the other hand, often in combination with national liberation, they were committed to civil liberties in their own regimes, as in Germany, France, Italy and Russia. In both cases, students had to contend with very powerful adversaries. They felt a strong sense of solidarity with students at other universities in their language area, and later, with foreign students, too. They supported each other physically and psychologically, and so increased their own selfassertion. They formed national federations, followed by international student unions. Above all, they overcame their weaknesses through ideologies that justified and idealized their goals. Student movements were thus from the beginning continually given impetus by spiritual fathers, often by professors, who, like Fichte in his speeches, or Schleiermacher in his sermons, gave student movements the legitimation they needed either in oral and printed form or through their names alone. Older students frequently took leading roles in the movement, roles not only organizational but also programmatic. If they had to pay with their lives, they died 25

¨ Walter Ruegg as martyrs, and the name of the spiritual father – reduced to a battle cry – had a symbolic effect that was just as important for the emotional power of the student movement as the ideological basis was for its legitimation. Concrete objects or people as symbols for common affairs evidently remind human groups of their solidarity and strengthen these emotionally, while separating individual groups from others and challenging adversaries with means that only become contestable if the object, for example the peculiar colour combination in a medal or cloth, can be understood as a sign of identification with a group, or the use of a person’s name as a provocative reminder of its programme. Thus symbolic forms are abundant in situations of collective disorientation.53 This also happens with student movements, which have been marked by an imaginative use of symbolic forms since their origins, to an extent which can only be observed in modern collective sports like football or hockey. The foundation of a pan-German student movement had been planned down to the last detail at the Wartburg in Eisenach in 1817, and it gave rise to repeated commemoration ceremonies. It was full of symbolic, cultural and political forms, beginning with a meeting place recalling the religious liberation of Germany through Luther, and degenerating into the ceremonial burning of reactionary writings.54 The symbolic meaning of the black, red and gold insignia worn by war veterans was national-political ¨ and had an unforeseen effect.55 It recalled the widespread Lutzow student free corps, and it spread in the German student movement as a symbol of the struggle for the freedom and unity of the country. The Weimar Republic replaced the black, white and red flag of the Empire with the black, red and gold that represents Germany today. The theme of ideological and symbolic solidarity in overcoming insecurity in the struggle for freedom and self-responsibility against the all-powerful state is one that runs through the history of the student movement, from its beginning with autonomous freedom fighters to its degeneration into the totalitarian student organizations of Communism, Fascism and Nazism. Three essential tendencies of student movements are very clearly illustrated by the struggle of Italian students for national unity and individual freedom against the Austrian powers, the Papal States, and the small 53

54

55

¨ W. Ruegg, ‘Symbole als politische Ausdrucksformen’, in A. Zweig (ed.), Symbolforschung ¨ ¨ mit politischen, religiosen und asthetischen Ausdrucksformen. Akten des 4. und 5. Sym¨ Symbolforschung Bern 1986, 1987, Schriften zur Symbolposions der Gesellschaft fur forschung 5 (Bern, Frankfurt-am-Main, New York and Paris, 1988), 9–32. For details on the ceremony at the Wartburg and for a bibliography, see J. Bauer, ‘Zur Geschichte einer Festlegende 1817–1848–1867’, in H.-W. Hahn and W. Greilling (eds.), ¨ Die Revolution von 1848/49 in Thuringen (Rudolstadt, 1998), 535–61. W. Klose, Freiheit schreibt auf eure Fahnen. 800 Jahre deutsche Studenten (Oldenburg and Hamburg, 1967), 136–41.

26

Themes principalities they protected. Ever since the Renaissance, universities in smaller cities were preferred because student associations could be more easily watched over in them than in larger places. Thus Lorenzo de’ Medici (1449–92) moved the University of Florence to Pisa. The Milanese had their university in Pavia, the Venetians theirs in Padua. On 12 September 1831 the authorities in charge of the remaining universities of the Papal States took away the institutional status of the ‘mother of universities’, Bologna, and allowed it to continue only as an examining institution for academic titles. The departments were spread out over different locations, where the professors taught and supervised resident students under the surveillance of the Church. Thus the Curia hoped to undermine student solidarity, which had put a massive revolutionary movement into action in a large part of Europe since the 1830 July Revolution in Paris. On 4 February 1831 the state officials of Bologna were replaced peacefully by a provisional regime. Only two days later a ‘militant student song’ was in circulation; its first and last verses praised the struggle for freedom. Two documents also show that, in Bologna, the student movements needed a spiritual father. One is the proposal for university reform that the students read to the revolutionary government. Its Minister of Public Education was the mathematics and philosophy professor, Francesco Orioli (1785–1856), who undoubtedly had helped the students in formulating their proposal: it was accepted almost verbatim by the government. The second document, a solidarity address to the Parisian students, published on 9 March, mentioned openly the intellectual assistance of their professor. The Bolognese students recalled the July Revolution, and, when underlining the importance of the French philosophers in the fight for freedom, referred to the shining Italian example by mentioning their teacher by name. This address praised the international solidarity of students fighting for freedom and closed with a diplomatically formulated plea for military help. Two weeks later, Bologna was occupied by Austrian troops. The university was closed by order of Metternich.56 The decree that regulated the dissolution of the university by separating the departments explicitly stated that only youths with irreproachable Christian lifestyles were allowed to study and sit for academic exams. What this meant in practice is shown by new investigations into student life in the medium-sized state university of Austrian-occupied Lombardy in Pavia and in the tiny university of the dukes of Austria-Este 56

A. Sorbelli, ‘L’Universita` di Bologna e la rivoluzione del 1831’, Studi e memorie per la storia dell’Universita` di Bologna IX (Biblioteca de ‘l’Archiginnasio’, Serie I, vol. IX) (Bologna, 1926), 147–86: Dissolution of the University 167; decree of the Sagra Congregazione degli Studj 167–70; Student song 152, proposal for university reform 159; solidarity address to Parisian students 157–8; Intervention by Metternich 164.

27

¨ Walter Ruegg in Modena.57 In 1814 the University of Modena had 28 professors in four departments and 200 students. By 1859 this number had tripled, while the body of professors had barely doubled. Its task was to educate graduates needed by the duchy. Foreigners were not allowed; natives had to study in Modena. Half of the applicants were rejected, but nine-tenths of the candidates passed the examinations for their degrees. The strictly regulated daily schedule of the students started with Mass at 7.00 and ended with lights out at 22.30. After morning lectures, precise rules reserved the afternoon and evening for private study. Students had to have permission to leave the college before evening prayers, and then only for a – theoretically – supervised purpose. Government ordinances forbidding student gambling in cafés in 1815 and restricting attendance at theatrical performances in 1821 show that students exploited their free time more freely than was foreseen by the regulations. The political significance of cafés as places for leisure time, reading newspapers, and for free, open exchange among students and with the public is being investigated for Italy.58 Where otherwise could students in Modena make contact with the secret societies of the Carbonari? Strolling in the streets enabled imaginative students to bond with politically important symbolic forms. This led the authorities to prohibit – under threat of imprisonment – students from wearing berets or smoking pipes and long cigars in the streets and squares: the latter was reserved for the military and was imitated by students as anti-Austrian provocation, while the former symbolized their solidarity with popular insurrection.59 In fact, the extreme discipline of student life makes it understandable that students in Modena in particular were deeply involved in the popular insurrections and thus had to pay the price. In 1821, 19 per cent of the student body was expelled, and in 1831, 32 per cent. That a leading role in a student movement in a provincial university like Modena could also be good training for an important public career is illustrated by Nicola Fabrizi (1804–85) and Manfredo Fanti (1806–65), 57

58 59

In 1995 Gian Paolo Brizzi complained that student movements – especially in Italy – had not yet received the attention of modern research focusing on external influences and consequences (G. P. Brizzi, ‘Studenti: una storia ancora da scrivere’, in Gaudeamus igitur. Studenti e goliardia 1885–1923 (Bologna, 1995), 10–11). And so I have gratefully used the following sources: S. Polenghi, ‘Studenti e politici nell’Universita` di Pavia durante il Risorgimento (1814–1860)’, Universita` e studenti nell’Italia dell’Ottocento, Storia in Lombardia, 21, 3 (2001), 5–38. A. Magnani, ‘Gli studenti pavesi fra contestazione e impegno politico (1885–1894)’, ibid., 39–58. R. Gambiglioni Zoccoli, ‘Gli studenti nel’ Universita` estense della Restaurazione. Un caso di studio’, ibid., 59–74; on p. 70, note 42, Brizzi’s above-mentioned state of the art). M. Agulhon, Il salotto, il circolo e il caffé (Rome, 1993). E. François, ‘Il caffé’, in H. G. Haupt (ed.), Luoghi quotidiani nella storia d’Europa (Rome and Bari, 1993). Zoccoli, ‘Studenti’ (note 57): attendance 59–61; exams 68–9; daily schedule 67; cafés 71; theatre 72; cigars, berets 71; discipline 66ff.; expulsion 73.

28

Themes who, as ringleaders, had to flee the country after 1831. They then joined the banned secret society ‘Young Italy’ founded by Giuseppe Mazzini (1805–72) in Marseille in 1832, and finally arrived by different routes to become successful generals and ministers of war in the national union of 1859–60. Fanti, who graduated from the military academy in Modena and obtained his doctoral degree from the university in mathematics in 1830, pursued a military career in Spain, took part as major-general in a Lombard Brigade in the battle for the liberation of Milan in 1848, was an army general in the war against Austria and the Pope in 1859–60, and was appointed by Cavour (1810–61) in 1860 as minister of war and charged with reorganizing the armed forces. From his posts in exile, the jurist Fabrizi organized secret society actions together with Mazzini, and then with his own ‘Italian Legion’, and took part in battles for the liberation of Sicily with his own troops in 1860. He was promoted by Garibaldi to army general, and as minister of war embarked on a vacillating political career in the new nation state.60 Modena illustrates the hidden development of the student movement in those closed institutions of higher education that, in the first half of the nineteenth century, were still quite frequent in Europe. They were governed either by foreign or absolutist local rulers and had as their only task to train, under strict discipline, the professionals needed for their territory. Another, more open, university type is to be found in Pavia. Its university had not only the task of training professionals for the economically developing Lombardy, it was also sought out by foreign students from time immemorial. Pavia bordered on the more liberal Piedmont governed by the King of Sardinia, and Lombardy had a close relationship with France in ages past. Stendhal noted in 1816 that the anger of students in Pavia against the Germans (that is, German Austrians) was so great, that a person could make himself better liked by frightening off young people of German origin with wooden clubs in dark alleys. Students recited from memory Petrarch’s lines on the hope of a unified Italy. Yet actual models for their hopes were only presented in 1821 by their own teachers, French examples and, above all, by Mazzini after 1831, with his appeals and his secretive, conspiratorial aura. In 1821, 84 of the 893 students in Pavia ran over the nearby border with Piedmont to help rebel fellow students there. However, half of them opportunely turned back, in order to justify their absences as sick leave and thus escape punishment. The ‘rebels’ who were caught were – with the exception of a few who had fled into exile – soon pardoned, while the 60

See G. Monsagrati, ‘Nicola Fabrizi’, Dizionario biografico degli italiani, 43 (Rome, 1993), 803–12; V. Caciulli, ‘Manfredo Fanti’, ibid., 44 (Rome, 1994), 635–8.

29

¨ Walter Ruegg teachers who took part in the revolt received severe sanctions. In 1825, the government sharpened its restrictions on student freedom. Foreign students, who mainly came from Piedmont or from the infamous political asylum for exiled freedom fighters in Switzerland, were no longer admitted. The native born were subject to the strict norms of behaviour of the so-called Christian way of life, and the professors had to act as supervisors. Many students tried, sometimes with the help of professors, to break free of the straitjacket of the Church. But it was more difficult for law students than for medical students, who could excuse their absence from obligatory attendance at Mass with the early morning anatomy courses. Above all, students tried to be provocative through their often excessively symbolic appearance. They let their beards grow, despite repeated prohibitions (beards were reserved for the military), but beards were finally allowed by the academic authorities. Or they showed their solidarity with the common people through their clothing, and wore head coverings of different kinds – already by 1821 a beret ‘a` la Sand’ was a message of revolt. In 1848 the wearing of politically suspect Calabrian hats was forbidden by the military authorities; in 1849 students sported straw hats, decorated with red, white and green rosettes. Theatrical events – especially the opera, with Verdi or Bellini’s Norma – gave rise to patriotic manifestations. In short, student movements always found politically harmless objectives that they could use as symbolic manifestations of their desire for personal and political freedom. In 1832 the young priest Tommaso Bianchi (1804–34) began to lecture to his students on Mazzini’s writings at the liberal Collegio Ghislieri. In 1834 he was reported by an assistant, arrested, and died in prison shortly thereafter. But Mazzini’s appeals spread, handwritten, throughout the entire university, and not only through the ‘martyrdom’ of Mazzini’s followers. Somewhat perversely, Mazzini’s lack of success brought him followers from all over Italy throughout the entire century. The more often the conspiracies and popular uprisings he instigated from exile in France, Switzerland or London failed, the stronger the effect on student movements of the message inspired by his radical desire for freedom. This lasted until national unity was achieved – and even beyond. Certainly students in Pavia read other forbidden authors considered subversive before and after 1848, such as Hegel, David Friedrich Strauss (1808–74), and above all, famous French writers, from Saint Simon (1760–1825) and Benjamin Constant (1767–1830) to Jules Michelet (1798–1874) and Louis Auguste Blanqui (1805–81).61 One can hardly find an Italian study on the 61

Polenghi, ‘Studenti e politici’ (note 57), Stendhal 11–12; Revolution of 1821 and measures of 1825, 12–15; clothing, hats, beards as political symbols 16–18, 26, 29–30; work 17; cigars 35; Mazzini 20, 31; subversive readings 21.

30

Themes history of the university during the Risorgimento in which Mazzini is not mentioned, often only with a word, reminding the Italian reader of an almost mythically present example of an intellectually radical fight for freedom that continually braved failures. ∗∗∗ This chapter has attempted to point out the new problems that are the main focus of this volume and to question the outcome of their treatment. In this volume, even more than in the preceding ones, the current state of the art gives rise to a series of preliminary theses rather than conclusive results. There is a real need for more in-depth treatment of the salient themes through systematic research into the complex field of the modern history of the university in Europe, despite many recent and promising endeavours. The point of departure of this chapter is the thesis that the Germans opened the way to the modern research university by focusing the idea of the university on the freedom of scientific research, teaching and study. Competing with the Napoleonic model of specialized schools directed by government, it opened the way for the victorious drive of the natural sciences, which led to the second epochal renewal of its institutional structures. The chapter closes with a third, equally important, innovation: student movements, thanks to which the university was cast in the role of an arsenal of political struggle in the fight for freedom. The example of the Italian student movement shows that ‘the freedom that I want’ had soon lost its original ties to the Prussian war for liberation and expanded to encompass a European-wide struggle for liberation, with its model based in Paris in 1820, 1831 and again in 1848. The struggle for liberty differed from country to country. But the underlying idea of freedom was everywhere, represented by those professors and other university graduates who desired to make the university a place in which this freedom could be exercised.

31

CHAPTER 2

PAT T E R N S

CHRISTOPHE CHARLE

introduction Over the long period from 1800 to 1945, beginning with the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Empire, the European university landscape changed in a number of different ways, sometimes gradually, sometimes in revolutionary fashion. Some of the university structures of the early modern period, indeed in many parts of Europe those of the Middle Ages continued to survive into the nineteenth century, particularly in the British Isles and in the peninsulas of the south and north of Europe, while at the same time very different, new models of university organization were emerging in France and Germany. These determined in the medium term a range of reforms in those countries with old universities and the foundation of universities in newly formed nation states. The German, so-called Humboldtian model prevailed across the whole of continental Europe at the end of the nineteenth century and influenced the other two models, the French and the English. Eventually, however, it too found itself in crisis, increasingly unable to adjust to the social and intellectual development of industrial society and the claims that this made on universities as institutions. The establishment of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society in 1910, one hundred years after the foundation of the University of Berlin, opening up an era of large-scale research and the gradual separation of research from teaching, was a sign of continuing change. u n i v e r s i t y r e v o l u t i o n s i n g e r m a n y, france and russia In 1789, of the 143 universities still functioning in Europe1 35 were in g e r m a n y with 7,900 students, of whom 40 per cent were in the 1

J. Verger, ‘Universités, pouvoir et société a` l’époque moderne (XVIe–XVIIIe siècle)’, in C. Charle and J. Verger (eds.), Histoire des universités (Paris, 1994), 35.

33

Christophe Charle ¨ four biggest, Halle, Gottingen, Jena and Leipzig. Eighteen old universities and a new one in Stuttgart disappeared during the period of the ¨ Revolution; sixteen survived in Erlangen, Freiburg, Giessen, Gottingen, ¨ Greifswald, Halle, Heidelberg, Jena, Kiel, Konigsberg, Landshut (trans¨ ferred to Munich in 1825), Leipzig, Marburg, Rostock, Tubingen and ¨ Wurzburg. In Prussia three new universities were created, the most influential of them, the Friedrich-Wilhelm University in Berlin, founded in 1810 in order to compensate for the loss of Halle, which fell to Westphalia after the Peace of Tilsit. The reconstitution both of Breslau in 1811 and Bonn in 1818 was designed to strengthen Prussian rule, which after 1815 had been restored in widely differing areas ranging from parts of conquered Poland to the Catholic and French-influenced Rhineland. In the second half of the nineteenth century the three Prussian foundations were among the most important German universities, incorporating, as they did, the Humboldt model which will be discussed in more detail later.2 In f r a n c e the changes were even more marked. Here the collèges and the faculties of theology, medicine, arts and law disappeared during the Revolution in a welter of laws and decrees issued between 22 December 1789 (linking universities to the newly established Départements) and the ˆ of the Year III (27 February 1794), when the collèges were 7th ventose abolished.3 After a relatively creative phase under the National Convention, following the fall of Robespierre (1758–94) and under the Directory (1795–99), the Napoleonic Consulate and the Empire imposed a straitjacket of bureaucratic administration, which allowed no room for university autonomy. The universities were replaced by professional schools: three for medicine in Paris, Strasburg and Montpellier from 1794; twelve for law in the whole of the Empire around 1804; and academic faculties of arts and sciences, two of them in every school area – such académies were mere appendages of the lycées and of the central administration, founded 2

3

¨ For statistical and historical data: H. Titze, with H.-G. Herrlitz, V. Muller-Benedikt and ¨ A. Nash, Wachstum und Differenzierung der deutschen Universitaten 1830–1945, Daten¨ handbuch zur deutschen Bildungsgeschichte 1, Hochschulen 2 (Gottingen, 1995), 71– ¨ 3, 122–3. About the three Prussian universities: M. Lenz, Geschichte der Koniglichen ¨ zu Berlin, 1810–1910, 5 vols. (Halle, 1910–18); M. Friedrich-Wilhelms Universitat ¨ Bonn 1818–1968 (Bonn, 1968); F. Andreae Braubach, Kleine Geschichte der Universitat ¨ Breslau (Berlin, 1928). For a comparison between and A. Grisebach (eds.), Die Universitat the French and the Prussian trends in higher education cf. G. Schubring, ‘Spezialschulmod¨ ell versus Universitatsmodell. Die Institutionalisierung von Forschung’, in G. Schubring ¨ (ed.), Einsamkeit und Freiheit neu besichtigt. Universitatsreformen und Disziplinenbil¨ Wissenschaftspolitik im Europa des 19. Jahrhunderts. dung in Preussen als Modell fur Proceedings of the Symposium of the XVIIIth International Congress of History of Science at Hamburg-Munich, 1–9 August 1989 (Stuttgart, 1991), 276–326. L. Liard, L’Enseignement supérieur en France (Paris, 1888), vol. I, 119–20; J. Schriewer, ¨ ¨ Die franzosischen Universitaten 1945–1968 (Bad Heilbronn, 1972), 24–5.

34

Patterns in order to award the baccalaureate, formally the lowest academic grade, the leaving certificate from the lycée. Fortunately Napoleon spared the actual centres of academic innovation, the great state institutions of education, which in part dated from the ancien régime, such as the Collège de France and the Jardin du Roi (Botanical and Zoological Garden), which had become the Muséum. Others had been founded during the Revolution, among them the Conservatoire des arts et métiers (Art and Trades Museum), the Institut de France (Central Institute of the five Academies), ´ the Ecole des langues orientales (School of Oriental Languages), and a ´ number of specialist schools, the Ecole polytechnique for military engineers and artillery officers, Saint Cyr for other types of officers, and the ´ Ecole Normale for university professors.4 Such extraordinary fragmentation and specialization explains the rich variety of the French university landscape in contrast particularly with the scene in Germany. Indeed, it remained subject to political and intellectual changes throughout the whole of the nineteenth century. Whereas the Restoration of 1816, reacting to losses of territory and finance, abolished at a stroke the seventeen faculties of arts and the three of sciences, the July Monarchy and the Second Empire created new ones, though with varying degrees of success. The Third Republic was so much under pressure from regional forces that it did not dare to concentrate on a few large university centres, as was the case in Germany. In 1896 sixteen universities were restored, although the reformers had only thought ten necessary in order to counterbalance what seemed to be the stifling predominance of the Paris institutions.5 In RUSSIA change took place in a similarly rapid and dirigiste fashion. In addition to the University of Moscow founded in 1755, a further five appeared in the first decades of the nineteenth century. In 1802 Alexander I (1777–1825) reopened the German-speaking University of Tartu (Dorpat) which had been closed in 1710, before founding new universities in 1803 at Vilnius (Vilna), in 1804 at Charkov and Kazan, and in 1819 he elevated the teaching section of the Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg to the position of Imperial University. The University of Vilnius was 4

5

´ ´ See the bicentenary publications of the Ecole polytechnique et l’Ecole Normale supérieure: B. Belhoste et al. (eds.), La formation polytechnicienne (Paris, 1994); B. Belhoste et al. ´ (eds.), La France des X, deux siècles d’histoire (Paris, 1995); J.-F. Sirinelli (ed.), Ecole normale supérieure. Le livre du bicentenaire (Paris, 1994); and their predecessors: Shinn, ´ Savoir scientifique; Ecole normale supérieure 1795–1895, le livre du centenaire (Paris, 1895), reprint with a historical study by J. Verger (Paris, 1994). About St Cyr: S. W. Serman, Le Corps des officiers français sous la Deuxième République et le Second Empire, 3 vols. (Lille, 1978). About the Muséum: C. Blanckaert, C. Cohen, P. Corsi and J.-L. Fischer (co-ord.), Le Muséum au premier siècle de son histoire (Paris, 1997). V. Karady, ‘De Napoléon a` Duruy: origines et naissance de l’Université contemporaine’, ´ in Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 282–8; Weisz, Emergence, 134–61.

35

Christophe Charle closed in 1832, the theological and medical faculties being moved to Kiev as independent academies.6 In the second half of the century universities in Odessa (1865), Tomsk (1888) and Saratov (1909) were added together with technical institutes, particularly in the capital city.7 In the rest of Europe the university scene changed much more slowly and consistently. s l ow d e v e l o p m e n t i n n o rt h - w e s t and southern europe Nowhere did people hold fast to traditions more determinedly than in g r e a t b r i t a i n . The university scene in 1800 reveals a single university in Ireland (Trinity College, Dublin), four in Scotland (Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Glasgow, St Andrews); two in England (Oxford and Cambridge), and none in Wales. The University of London followed in 1828–36. Without there being any particular national plan these were joined by a few provincial foundations: Durham (1832), Manchester (1851), Aberystwyth (1872), Leeds and Birmingham (1875), Bristol (1876), Sheffield (1879), Liverpool and Nottingham (1881), Cardiff and Bangor (1884), Reading (1902), and Southampton (1902). Following the reforms of Scottish universities in 1858, and those of Oxford and Cambridge after 1870, a national university system began to emerge before the First World War.8 Questioning traditions and adapting them to socio-economic change proved just as difficult on the Italian and Iberian peninsulas as it had in the small countries north of the Alps and in the Scandinavian countries. Governments rarely closed existing institutions and preferred to meet social and political demands with new institutions designed for particular functions. The result of this was an unequal, arbitrary distribution of universities. In i t a l y before unification there were 21 universities varying greatly in size, and corresponding in no way to actual needs. For historical reasons they were concentrated in north and central Italy, whilst the south consisted of a huge educational desert surrounding the one giant 6 7 8

D. Beauvois, Lumières et société en Europe de l’Est: l’Université de Vilna et les e´ coles polonaises de l’Empire russe (1803–1832) (Lille, 1977). A. Besançon, Education et société en Russie dans le second tiers du XIXe siècle (Paris and The Hague, 1974). R. D. Anderson, Universities and Elites in Britain since 1800, Studies in Social and Economic History (Basingstoke and London 1992), 12–23; W. H. G. Armytage, Civic Universities: Aspects of a British Tradition (London, 1990); A. H. Halsey and M. A. Trow, The British Academics (London, 1971); R. Lowe, ‘The Expansion of Higher Education in Britain’, in K. H. Jarausch (ed.), The Transformation of Higher Learning, Expansion, Diversification, Social Opening and Professionalization in England, Germany, Russia and the United States (Stuttgart, 1983), 37–56; G. Sutherland, ‘Education’, in F. M. L. Thompson (ed.), The Cambridge Social History of Britain (Cambridge, 1990), vol. III, 137–40, 154–8.

36

Patterns University of Naples. Matteucci’s (1811–68) attempt in 1861 to rationalize the university scene by closing some of the mini institutions ended in failure. Only with Mussolini’s (1883–1945) Riforma Gentile in 1923 did a reorganization take place, which introduced a distinction between efficient, state funded, full universities on the one hand, and on the other hand smaller institutions, only partly supported by the state, and free universities financed by the Catholic Church.9 Meanwhile university-like institutions of higher learning were introduced in large cities, such as Bari, Florence and Milan, which were then converted into universities in 1923. At the beginning of the 1930s, when Italy had 27 universities, not counting the Technical and Commercial Colleges, which for the most part, like the Business University, L. Bocconi in Milan, were financed privately,10 only fifteen of them, that is just a little more than half, had more than 1,000 students.11 Reforms from above on the Jacobin model of France had not proved possible because of local interests in the parliamentary system of the Italian nation state. In s p a i n , by contrast, thanks to a centralizing tradition, the Iberian university scene could be simplified throughout the nineteenth century by the gradual closing of old universities in 1807, 1824 and 1845, with ten universities remaining at the head of school regions, which had been formed on the model of the French académies. These were in Barcelona, Granada, Madrid, Oviedo, Salamanca, Santiago de Compostela, Zaragoza, Seville, Valencia and Valladolid.12 After the University of Alcala´ was moved to Madrid in 1836, the Spanish university scene, like that of France, suffered from the overwhelming influence of the capital city and the privileges of the ‘Central University’ as it was officially known. Together with Barcelona, it was the only university, which could contain all the faculties. It was also the only one which could award doctorates. In addition, following the French model, the specialized technical colleges for the education of state engineers were also located in the capital. 9

10 11

12

` in I. Porciani (ed.), I. Porciani, ‘Lo stato unitario di fronte alla questione dell’universita’, L’Universita` tra Otto e Novecento: i modelli europei e il caso italiano (Naples, 1994), 135–84; T. Tomasi and L. Bellatalla, L’Universita` italiana nell’eta` liberale (1861–1923) (Naples, 1988), 22–3, 100–103, 116–18; S. Polenghi, La politica universitaria italiana nell’eta` della Destra storica (1848–1876) (Brescia, 1993) with multiple tables. D. Musiedlak, Université privée et formation de la classe dirigeante. L’exemple de l’Université L. Bocconi de Milan (Rome, 1990). Statistiche sul Mezzogiorno d’Italia 1861–1953 (Rome, 1953), quoted by V. Karady, Relations interuniversitaires et rapports culturels en Europe (1871–1945), rapport de fin d’étude, décembre 1992, 177–8. P. Melon, L’enseignement supérieur en Espagne (Paris, 1898); Peset, Universidad ˜ ˜ ‘L’université espagnole vers 1900’, in J. Schriewer, E. Kleiner Espanola; J.-L. Guerena, ¨ and C. Charle (eds.), Sozialer Raum und akademische Kulturen. Studien zur europaischen Hochschullandschaft im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert / A la recherche de l’espace universitaire européen. Etudes sur l’enseignement supérieur aux XIXe et XXe siècles (Frankfurt-amMain, 1993), 113–331.

37

Christophe Charle Holland, Belgium, Switzerland and the Scandinavian countries also had difficulty in organizing their university systems in a rational way. As in the early modern period, confessional traditions and national, or cantonal, rivalries led to the existence of a disproportionately large number of universities in relation to actual needs. Indirectly, however, they contributed to social dynamism and openness, for they were reliant on foreign students, whose fees made up an important part of the university budgets that could hardly have been supported by local or national funding. The most characteristic example is s w i t z e r l a n d with seven universities for 3.75 million inhabitants in 1910, of which four were for the 800,000 French-speaking Swiss. Together they had somewhat more than 8,000 students. For the most part they consisted of older high schools which had been transformed into universities: Geneva in 1872/3 (formerly an académie founded in 1559), Lausanne 1890 (académie 1537), Freiburg 1889 (a legal academy founded in 1763 and then a legal faculty ˆ 1909 (académie 1838). In the German-speaking in 1882), and Neuchatel part of Switzerland the conversion into universities took place half a century earlier under German influence: Zurich in 1833 (formerly a theology school founded in 1525), and Bern 1834 (a theology school founded in 1528). In addition there was the University of Basel which had been in existence since 1459, the Federal Polytechnic in Zurich founded in 1855 and which received the title ‘Federal Technical High School’ in 1911, as well as the Business High School of St Gallen which was formed from a business academy in 1911 (finally becoming a university in 1996).13

13

The numbers of students were taken from the Schweizer Hochschulstatistik 1890–1935 (Bern, 1935) by Karady, Relations interuniversitaires (note 11), 23. About the Swiss ¨ Basel von den Anfangen ¨ universities: E. Bonjour, Die Universitat bis zur Gegenwart ¨ Bern 1834–1934 (Bern and Leipzig, 1460–1960 (Basle, 1960); R. Feller, Die Universitat 1935); U. Im Hof et al., Hochschulgeschichte Berns 1528–1984. Zur 150–Jahr Feier ¨ Bern 1984. Erganzungsband: ¨ der Universitat Die Dozenten der bernischen Hochschule (Bern, 1984); R. Ruffieux et al. (eds.), Histoire de l’Université de Fribourg 1889–1989 – ¨ Freiburg 1889–1989. Institutions, enseignement, recherche = Geschichte der Universitat Institutionen, Lehre und Forschung, 3 vols. (Fribourg, 1989–91); M. Marcacci, Histoire de l’Université de Genève 1559–1986 (Geneva, 1987); A. Delessert, L’Université au déft. Une histoire sociale de l’Université de Lausanne (Lausanne, 1991); R. Lorusso, D. Nilles, with E. Golay, Histoire de l’Université de Lausanne. Aspects e´ conomiques et financiers (Lausanne, 1996); L. Tissot, Politique, société et enseignement supérieur dans le canton de Vaud: l’Université de Lausanne 1890–1916 (Lausanne, 1996); Histoire ˆ de l’Université de Neuchatel, vol. I: La première Académie (Hauterive, 1988); vol. II: ¨ La seconde Académie 1866–1909 (Hauterive, 1994); G. Thurer, Hochschule St Gallen ¨ Wirtschafts- und Sozialwissenschaften 1899–1974 (St Gallen, 1974); G. Guggenbuhl ¨ fur ¨ et al., Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule 1855–1955 (Zurich, 1955); J.-F. Berbier and ¨ ¨ H. W. Tobler (eds.), Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule Zurich 1955–1980 (Zurich, ¨ Zurich ¨ 1980); E. Gagliardi, H. Nabholz and J. Strohl, Die Universitat 1833 bis 1933 ¨ ¨ Zurich ¨ und ihre Vorlaufer (Zurich, 1938); P. Stadler, Die Universitat 1933–1983 (Zurich, 1983).

38

Patterns In h o l l a n d , which like the Belgian Departments was part of the French Empire, Napoleon’s brutal policy had an impact on the universities. By 1815 only Leiden, Utrecht and Groningen remained. There was not time for full absorption into the French university system, but the old splendour of Leiden almost vanished completely – in 1814/15 there were only 328 students.14 King William I (1772–1843) reformed the university system nationally in 1815 when he limited the status of full state university to Leiden, Utrecht and Groningen, permitted the re-establishment of universities without the right to award doctorates (Athenaea) in those provinces without universities, and arranged for financial support for Franeker and Harderwijk, until the latter closed in 1818 and the former in 1843, because of a lack of students. The reform of the constitution in 1848 permitted the foundation of private universities under state supervision, and a law of 1905 granted state recognition (effectus civilis) to the academic qualifications awarded by them. In 1876 the Athenaea were closed and the institutions recognized as universities. The decisive factor in this was no longer the right to award doctorates but possession of the full range of faculties. Thus, the municipal Athenaeum in Amsterdam became the city’s university in 1877. Three years later orthodox Calvinists founded a ‘Free’ University, independent of state and church, which in turn was recognized by the state, as also was the University of Nijmegen founded by Catholics in 1923, and the Catholic School of Commerce in Tilburg, which dated back to 1919 and received university status in 1939, but which, like other part-universities, was called a Hoogeschool. In 1937 after state recognition of its Business Sciences the Business School in Rotterdam, a private foundation from 1913, was also recognized as a Hoogeschool with one faculty to be developed in 1973 into the Erasmus University.15 In the new Kingdom of b e l g i u m there was an oversupply of universities, less because of linguistic considerations – the recognition of Flemish only took place in the north after the First World War – than for political and confessional reasons. In 1816 William I had ordered the foundation of three universities in the southern part of the still United Netherlands, in order to provide a counterweight to the three Dutch universities already referred to. In this way Ghent and Liège were refounded, and the University of Louvain, which the French had closed in 1797, was reopened. In the independent Belgian state two private universities were set up in 1834, the Catholic University of Malines and the ‘Free University’ 14 15

W. Frijhoff, La Société néerlandaise et ses gradués 1575–1814 (Amsterdam, 1981), 23. W. Frijhoff, ‘Netherlands’, in B. R. Clark and G. Neave (eds.), The Encyclopaedia of Higher Education, vol. I (Oxford, 1992), 491–504; W. Frijhoff, ‘Netherlands’, in J´ılek, Historical Compendium, 43–6; M. Groen, University Education in the Netherlands, 1815–1980 (Eindhoven, 1988).

39

Christophe Charle in Brussels, funded by Free Thinkers and Freemasons. The reorganization of 1835 reduced the numbers to two state universities in Ghent and Liège, a Catholic university in Louvain, and the Free University in Brussels. In s c a n d i n a v i a the university scene shows similar changes which can be traced back to political events with ensuing scholarly reforms. Autonomous rights and finally full independence allowed Norway and Finland to develop their own university system in relation to Denmark and Russia respectively. There were old university foundations in Copenhagen (1475), in Uppsala (1477) and in Lund (1668). There then followed in 1811 the University of Oslo (Christiania) in n o r w a y , which, until the achievement of independence in 1905, was a centre of Norwegian nationalism. In f i n l a n d , too, the formation of an independent Grand Duchy within the Russian Empire in 1828 led to the transfer of the University of ˚ Abo (Turku) to the new capital city of Helsingfors (Helsinki).16 In Sweden ¨ the Stockholms Hogskola was founded in 1877 as a private high school enjoying state support, and offering different fare from that of Uppsala and Lund – for those who desired a more modern university education it was orientated towards practical needs. A similar private university was founded in Gothenburg in 1891.17 The rivalry between the two types of university focused on the award of university corporate privileges, which went back to the Middle Ages. The Liberals demanded the concentration of Swedish universities in the capital city in order that links with hospitals and other research institutes would strengthen concentration on practical research. A compromise was found by allowing the Karolinska Institute in 1873 the right to award the Medical Bachelor without undermining the position of the traditional universities. Although Gothenburg from 1893 and Stockholm from 1904 were both allowed to use staterecognized examinations, they were not recognized as universities until after the Second World War.18 t h e g row t h o f n at i o n s tat e s a n d u n i v e rs i t i e s in central and eastern europe In the early modern period the university scene in Central and Eastern Europe was thinly populated. The Thirty Years War, and the Turkish invasions, which had in part led to long periods of occupation, hindered the progress of scholarship. It was only religious and ethnic rivalries, the 16 17 18

M. Klinge et al., Kejserliga Alexanders Universitetet 1808–1917 (Helsinki, 1989); Klinge, ¨ Helsinki, 198–671. Universitat E. Crawford, The Beginning of the Nobel Institution: The Science Prizes 1901–1915 (Paris and Cambridge, 1984). S. Lindroth, A History of Uppsala University, 1477–1977 (Stockholm, 1976), 150. On Gothenburg and Stockholm: J´ılek, Historical Compendium, 158–9, 286.

40

Patterns emergence of national and of liberal movements, the education of local elites in the universities of Western Europe, the creation of new states, and the struggle to overcome Western Europe’s lead that gradually filled the blank spaces of the university map. a u s t r i a was best provided with universities. There were six, listed here in order of their foundation: Prague (1348), Cracow (1364), Vienna ´ (1365), Graz (1586), Lemberg (Lwow) (1661) and Innsbruck (1668). The University of Salzburg, which was opened in 1622, became a Lyceum for the study of theology and philosophy in 1810. The picture changed little in the course of the century. In 1875 a university was founded in Cernowitz and in 1882 Prague University was split into separate German and Czech universities.19 In addition there were almost as many technical universities. In Prague the engineering professorships at the university were transferred to a Polytechnic Institute in 1806, which was then divided into German and Czech institutes in 1868. These in turn were converted in 1879 into corresponding Technical Universities. Engineering institutes were founded in Graz (1811), Vienna (1815), Brno (1846) ´ and Lemberg (Lwow) (1873), mining academies in Leoben (1840) and Pribram (1843), and art schools in the most important towns. In Vienna an ‘Export Academy’ was established in 1898, becoming the ‘Institute for World Trade’ in 1919.20 In the Kingdom of h u n g a r y at the beginning of the nineteenth century there was only one university with power to award doctorates. It had originally been founded in 1777 in Nagyszombat (Trnava), then moved to Buda and finally to Pest in 1784. Studia generalia had been founded in Buda (1395), Pécs (1367) and Bratislava (Poszony) (1465) but had not survived for long. Only towards the end of the Danube Monarchy were there new university foundations: Kolozsvar (Cluj) in 1872, Agram (Zagreb) in 1874, Poszony (Bratislava) in 1912, and Debrecen in 1914 (opened in 1922). After the Treaty of Trianon the new universities with the exception of Debrecen found themselves in the territories of the states formed after the collapse of the Danube monarchy. In Hungary Pécs and Szeged were founded in 1921 to replace Bratislava (Poszony) and Kolozsvar. But the impoverishment and isolation of Hungary in the inter-war period made the survival of what was an excessively large university system difficult, especially as some of the Jewish students were forced by a numerus clausus to study abroad.21 19 20 21

¨ T. Vetter, ‘Die Entwicklung des Universitatswesens in der Habsburgermonarchie 1815– 1918’, Etudes danubiennes, 3, 2 (1987), 97–115. ¨ H. Engelbrecht, Geschichte des osterreichischen Bildungswesens, 5 vols. (Vienna, 1982– 88). Z. Magyari, Die Entstehung einer internationalen Wissenschaftspolitik (Leipzig, 1932), 444–50; V. Karady, ‘Une nation de juristes. Des usages sociaux de la formation juridique

41

Christophe Charle In p o l a n d , the development of the university system between 1795, when it was divided up among the neighbouring Empires, and 1919, when it regained its independence, was quite different. The elites of the repressed Polish nation were dependent on the universities in their particular region. In German Silesia they went to Berlin and Breslau, excluded as they were from administrative posts, and turned in particular to Catholic theology. In Austrian Galicia there were two university towns with a predominantly ´ Polish population: Cracow and Lemberg (Lwow). The more ambitious Polish students went to Vienna and were able to become state civil servants even in the capital itself. The most severe repression of the universities was to be found in the Russian ruled ‘Kingdom of Poland’. After the revolt of 1830 the University of Warsaw remained closed from 1831 to 1862. During this period those Poles who wished to study had to resort to Kiev or to St Petersburg. After 1864 the University of Warsaw was Russified, while a view of a free university, financed with private means, had difficulty surviving and in 1869 lost its independence. Towards the end of the nineteenth century Polish elites either studied abroad or in secret teaching establishments, or in the Polish-speaking, relatively autonomous universities of Galicia. Those who suffered the most severe repression were Jews who wished to study, because they had to face both Polish and Russian anti-Semitism. Thanks to the variety of more or less legitimate ways of gaining an education both within the divided state of Poland and outside, the Polish university system rose like a phoenix from the ashes in 1920 with thirteen institutions of higher learning and 690 professors, most of them returning from abroad.22 On the fringes of Europe, Romania, Greece and Bulgaria afford examples of the simultaneous emergence of universities and nation states under powerful foreign influences, in the first case French and in the others German. In these small, rural states the foundation of a university in the capital was an important symbol of an independence which had been won little by little over centuries of foreign dominance. In r o m a n i a Iasi University was created in 1860 from an academy which had existed since 1835. In Bucharest faculties of science, law,

22

dans la Hongrie d’ancien régime’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 86/87 (1991), 106–24; V. Karady and I. Keményi, ‘Antisémitisme universitaire et concurrence de classe: la loi du numerus clausus en Hongrie entre les deux guerres’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 34 (1980), 67–96; V. Karady and I. Keményi, ‘A l’ombre du “numerus clausus”. La restratification du système universitaire hongrois dans l’entre-deux-guerres’, in Schriewer, Kleiner and Charle (eds.), Sozialer Raum (note 12), 345–51. ¨ N. Koestler, ‘Intelligenzschicht und hohere Bildung im geteilten Polen’, in Bil¨ dungsburgertum, vol. I, 186–206; The University of Warsaw (Warsaw, 1967); J. B. Neveux, ‘Les universités de Galicie dans les conflits de nationalités 1851–1914’, Etudes danubiennes, 4, 1 (1988), 1–20; J. Buszko, ‘L’Université Jagellonne de Cracovie (1869– ˆ de l’université de Lemberg dans la vie scientifique 1914)’, ibid., 21–8; S. Grodziski, ‘Le role de la monarchie des Habsbourg’, ibid., 29–38.

42

Patterns politics, philosophy and a higher school of literature and languages, which had all been founded separately, were amalgamated into a university in 1860 and then augmented in 1869 by a medical faculty and again in 1884 by a faculty of Orthodox theology. The two universities reflected the struggle of the Moldavian and Walachian elites for independence from the neighbouring Austro-Hungarian educational centres. The political significance of the Romanian university system is shown in the very close connection between university study and political office. Nevertheless, Romania as a small country with a Romance language remained orientated towards France. Most of the professors and a considerable percentage of the students, especially those in law and medicine, finished their education in Paris.23 In g r e e c e the new kingdom under King Otto I (1815–67), the son of the King of Bavaria, was from the beginning equally determined to strengthen national consciousness by having its own university. On 3 May 1837 the University of Athens was opened, serving as a bridge during the nineteenth century to the Greek diaspora in the Ottoman Empire. More than 40 per cent of the students were born outside the boundaries of Greece. After returning to their place of birth under Turkish rule they were to keep alive the spirit of Greece until unification with the motherland was finally achieved. The University of Athens was organized on Prussian lines with four faculties of theology, medicine, law and philosophy. The latter was not divided into arts and sciences until 1904. The technical and scientific disciplines developed further with the foundation of the School of Pharmacy in 1840 and the Polytechneion in 1860.24 In b u l g a r i a the University of Sofia was created in 1904. Its origins were in a special advanced pedagogical course in philosophy, didactics, languages and cultural studies introduced in the Lyceum in 1888, which led to the creation of an independent high school in 1889 with the addition of the natural sciences. After the First World War the university was granted medical, theological, agricultural and veterinary faculties. It was joined in 1920 by the Svoboden Universitet, a private college preparing students for diplomatic and administrative service and modelled on the Ecole libre de sciences politiques in Paris. It was taken over by the state as the University of Finance and Administration in 1940. 23

24

O. Bozgan, ‘Din istoria Universitatii din Bucuresti in perioada 1864–1940 (I)’, Revista Istorica, serie noua, 2 (1991), 155–70 (with French summary); O. Bozgan, ‘L’Université de Bucarest et la France de 1864 aux années 1940’, Cahiers d’histoire, 37, 2 (1992), 151– 71; C. Durandin, Révolution a` la française ou a` la russe (Paris, 1989); J. Sadlak, Higher Education in Romania 1860–1990: Between Academic Mission, Economic Demands and Political Control, Special Studies in Comparative Education 27 (Buffalo, NY, 1990). ¨ ¨ 1837 durch die Bayern – nach K. Zormbala, ‘Die Grundung der athener Universitat welchem “deutschen” Modell?’, in Schubring, Einsamkeit und Freiheit (note 2), 268–73.

43

Christophe Charle Apart from this institution together with specialist schools such as the Art School (1896), the Music School (1904), and the Business School in Varna (1920), the University of Sofia remained the only scholarly institution in Bulgaria.25 In t u r k e y higher education up to the First World War was based on the Osmanic Medressas founded in the Middle Ages. The relations between Islam and the European universities and their importance to the history of scholarship was examined in the first volume.26 In the nineteenth century the original enthusiasm for discovery had long since given way to a traditionalism which blocked every attempt at modernization. However, the foundation of an Imperial School for Marine Engineers ¨ (Muhendischan-i Bahri-i Humayun) in Istanbul in 1771 encountered no resistance, and it was joined in 1883 by a High School for Civil Engi¨ neers (Hendese-i Mulkye), which was reorganized in 1909 and 1928 and then extended until, in 1944, it gained the status of university under the name of Istanbul Tekni Universitesi. It proved more difficult to found a university in Istanbul on the European model. The ‘House of Schol¨ unun-i), ¨ arship’ (Darulf which was opened in 1863 after a seventeen-year period of preparation, was closed and reopened twice until it finally began to function as a university college in 1900 with departments in Islamic theology, philosophy, mathematics, science and philology, and in 1912 it took steps to raise its academic standing by engaging twenty German professors. It was not until 1931 that a European university system was introduced into Turkey by the Genevan Professor and Education Minister Albert Malche (1876–1956) on the initiative of the government. In 1933 the University of Istanbul was reorganized on the German model and opened with a majority of German professors and all the faculties except theology. Ankara, the capital, followed suit in 1946.27 the napoleonic university model The French university system in the first half of the nineteenth century was quite different from all other European countries. It had been built up for the most part on a tabula rasa, while in the rest of Europe structures from the medieval period or the ancien régime remained in place despite partial reforms. Napoleonic university policy both retained certain innovations from the eighteenth century, such as specialist colleges, and reversed the 25 26 27

J´ılek, Historical Compendium, 20–1, 284; M. M. Chambers (ed.), Universities of the World outside USA (Washington, 1950), 163–6. See vol. I, subject index: ‘Arabic world’. A. Kuran, ‘Turkey’, in J´ılek, Historical Compendium, 59–60, 174–5.

44

Patterns opening up of the university system to all, a feature of the radical revolutionary period. There were three primary goals: first, to secure for the post-revolutionary state and its society the officials necessary for political and social stabilization; second, to make sure that their education was carried out in harmony with the new social order and to prevent the emergence of new professional classes; and third, to impose limits on freedom of the intellect if it seemed likely to prove dangerous to the state. Despite a few concessions enlightened despotism made itself felt in a variety of ways: in the predominant model of the school – even in those cases where it was called a faculty; in the tyranny of the state diploma, which opened up access to a narrowly defined career as a civil servant or a particular profession; in the classification of candidates, and competition (concours) between them, even for careers which did not demand it; in detailed regulations for unified plans of study; in the state’s monopoly in the awarding of academic degrees. The Université was the only corporation which was refounded after the Revolution, but it had nothing in common with the university of the ancien régime. It took in the teaching bodies of both the lycée and the collège and was a corporation controlled by the state and incorporated into the hierarchy of the civil service. The system encompassed a rigid division of labour between the faculties, and a specialization in career paths. In short it represented a structure of higher education, which, as we shall later see, was the opposite of Humboldt’s vision of the university. The academic faculties of lettres and sciences (arts and sciences), which in the form of the philosophical faculty acted as the stimulus for innovation in the German university, in no way fulfilled this role in France. With the exception of Paris they were restricted to holding examinations for the baccalaureate and putting on lectures for amateur enthusiasts. Research and innovation were limited to the great teaching institutions, to a few lectures in the Sorbonne and the Collège de France, to the Institut de France and to the learned societies. Until 1860 outside Paris the French university landscape comprised scholarly desert; and despite contemporary criticisms and repeated attempts by various governments to change the scene the ultimate goal of the professors themselves was to return to the capital city, where the vast majority of them had studied in one or other of the grandes e´ coles. As a result, until the reforms of the turn of the century, it proved impossible to develop any real scholarly activity alongside the provision of literary lectures for the general public. The education of the higher professions was carried out by the centralist state as though it were a business venture. University fees covered a large part of the costs. Indeed, during the Second Empire the arts and law faculties achieved surpluses. Academic investment in libraries, lecture

45

Christophe Charle rooms and laboratories, and also in scholarly ancillary staff, was strictly limited, as research was for the most part going on outside the faculties. The result was that German universities increased their lead in scholarship over their French counterparts. Mutual alienation between faculties and schools deepened as the status of the hierarchical teaching body varied according to the institutes they taught in, and the educational paths of students diverged. In the case of law the examination for the licence required three years of study and fees of 570 francs. For the arts the equivalent was one year and 150 francs. A doctorate in medicine cost 1,300 francs, one in the sciences 140 francs.28 The study of arts and science subjects led to a teaching post in provincial France, which was badly paid – especially in the provinces – whilst from the Second Empire onwards the professions, in Paris in particular, received large fees. The social origins of the students mirrored these gradations ranging from law through medicine, arts and sciences down to pharmacy.29 The same anti-egalitarian logic shaped the careers of the hierarchies of university teachers. As their income was partly derived from ‘l’éventuel’, the extra monies from examination fees, the professors in the professional faculties with their numerous students received particularly favourable treatment, and especially those in Paris. The addition of professional earnings, in particular by the lawyers and the doctors, further increased the differences in income. The arts and science professors in Paris especially strove to supplement their income through extra academic and administrative posts. This led to the irregular appointment of deputies or representatives with a hope of succeeding eventually to the post, and it encouraged neglect of research. In Germany, on the other hand a move to another university enhanced an academic’s reputation as a scholar. Meanwhile, the Napoleonic model had indirect effects on southern Europe: in Italy through the longing for a lost political unity; in s p a i n in the form of a reaction against Napoleon’s attempts at cultural colonization. In the revolt against the French the students took a leading role, with the result that lectures were suspended in 1811. In the ensuing Restoration anti-liberal, anti-French policies prevailed, but the government’s attitude to the universities differed little from Napoleon’s e´ tatisme. Legislation in 1857 strengthened absolute control over the universities by the government in Madrid. Just as Paris ruled over the French system, so Madrid 28 29

Karady, ‘De Napoléon a` Duruy’ (note 5), 298. On the social origin of French students only partial studies have been made: J. Burney, Toulouse et son université (Toulouse and Paris, 1988), 165 (statistics of the years 1841– 44); J.-C. Caron, Générations romantiques. Les e´ tudiants de Paris et le Quartier latin (1814–1851) (Paris, 1991), 96 (pharmacy); V. Karady, ‘Scientists and Class Structure: ´ Social Recruitment of Students at the Parisian Ecole Normale supérieure in the Nineteenth Century’, History of Education, 8, 2 (1979), 105 (arts and sciences 1830–49).

46

Patterns dominated the Spanish universities during the whole of the nineteenth century, and the same system of a central university was introduced into the South American colonies.30 In ITALY too, the Napoleonic university system was the model, though attempts to copy it met with varying degrees of success depending on the region.31 After the Restoration there was a return to earlier conditions. In Lombardy the universities were under the strict control of the government in Vienna; in the ecclesiastical states the bishops were in authority. In both cases this led to numerous student disturbances in pursuit of liberal and anti-clerical aims.32 Following unrest in 1821 the King of Piedmont handed over part of the teaching to the Jesuits, but after his conversion to liberalism he reformed the university system from 1840 onwards, creating new professorial chairs, extending the study of medicine and introducing pedagogy. On the other hand doctoral dissertations retained their purely formal character, and the catchment area of the students remained very local. To counter the flood of lawyers he introduced additional barriers.33 It was not until the following period that the two Mediterranean states made serious efforts to modernize their university systems. the prussian university model The Prussian university system, which was inaugurated by Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767–1835) in the foundation of the University of Berlin in 1810, was expressly directed against the Napoleonic system.34 Individual elements had been developed in the reformed universities of the nine¨ teenth century, Gottingen and Halle. These included the importance of research for the teaching of the professor and, as a consequence, the 30 31 32

33 34

S. d’Irsay, Histoire des universités françaises et e´ trangères des origines a` nos jours (Paris, ˜ 1935), vol. II, 253–6; Peset, Universidad espanola, 401–29. R. Boudard, Expériences françaises de l’Italie napoléonienne (Rome, 1988). La citta` del sapere. I laboratori storici e i musei dell’Universita` di Bologna (Bologna 1987), 94–6; G. Forni, ‘L’universita` di Bologna dalla Restaurazione all’Unita` nazionale’, Convegno di studi sul Risorgimento a Bologna e nell’Emilia (27–29 febbraio 1960), Parte seconda: Comunicazioni (Bologna, 1960), 490–509; F. Gasnault, ‘La réglementation des universités pontificales au XIXème siècle: 1. Réforme et restaurations: les avatars du grand projet zelante (1815–1834); 2. Pie IX et le monopole universitaire’, Mélanges de ´ l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Age Temps Modernes, 96 (1984), 177–237, 1105–68; F. Gasnault, La cattedra, l’altare, la nazione. Carriere universitarie nell’Ateneo di Bologna 1803–1859 (Bologna, 2001). F. Traniello (ed.), L’Universita` di Torino (Turin, 1993), 36–44. ¨ G. Schubring, ‘Spezialschulmodell versus Universitatsmodell. Die Institutionalisierung von Forschung’, in Schubring (ed.), Einsamkeit und Freiheit (note 2), 276–326; K. Stierle, ¨ ¨ ‘Zwei Hauptstadte des Wissens: Paris und Berlin’, in O. Poggeler and A. Gethmann-Siefert (eds.), Kunsterfahrung und Kulturpolitik im Berlin Hegels, Hegel-Studien (Bonn, 1983), 83–111; R. vom Bruch, ‘Il modelle tedesco’, in Porciani (ed.), L’Universita` tra Otto e Novecento (note 9), 35–59.

47

Christophe Charle supplementation of lectures with seminars encouraging research-based study for students preparing to enter the professions.35 The equal sta` tus, indeed superiority, of the philosophical faculty vis-a-vis other faculties, which was an essential element in the Berlin University model, had become an increasingly prominent theme in the writings of Immanuel Kant (1724–1804), Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762–1814) and Friedrich E. D. Schleiermacher (1768–1834). The last of these saw the university as a place offering a philosophically founded scholarly education through the ‘togetherness’ of the ‘masters with the journeymen’, an ideal located between the ‘togetherness of the masters with the apprentices’, which was to be found in the school, and the ‘academy as the meeting of the masters with each other’.36 He described the task of the university in the following terms: to awaken the idea of scholarship in noble-minded youths already equipped with knowledge of many kinds, to help them to a mastery of it in the particular field of knowledge to which they wish to devote themselves, so that it becomes second nature for them to view everything from the perspective of scholarship, and to see every individual thing not in isolation, but in its closest scholarly connections, relating it constantly to the unity and entirety of knowledge, so that in all their thought they learn to become aware of the principles of scholarship, and thus themselves acquire the ability to carry out research, to make discoveries, and to present these, gradually working things out in themselves. This is the business of a university.37

Such an ambitious ideal of a scholarly education explains the conscious rejection of the French specialist schools, which failed to fulfil the actual purposes of a university, that is to awaken of a spirit of scholarship, to instil a sense of the connections between the various areas of study and to offer a free choice as to subjects studied. The plans for the University of Berlin were formed by the ideas of German Idealism, but the plans as executed were only an imperfect embodiment of what came to be attributed to the myth of the Humboldtian university. In particular, although the link between teaching and research was at the heart of the Prussian model, initially, at least, research was limited to a subordinate 35 36

37

R. S. Turner, ‘University Reforms and Professorial Scholarship in Germany 1760–1806’, in L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society (Princeton, 1974), vol. II, 495–532. ¨ ¨ F. Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken uber die Universitaten im deutschen Sinn. ¨ Nebst einem Anhang uber eine neu zu errichtende (Berlin 1808), 22–3. (In general, later editions reproduce the original pagination.) On Schleiermacher’s importance for the idea, ¨ the execution and the implementation of the Berlin University model: W. Ruegg, ‘Der ¨ in M. Krieg and M. Rose (eds.), Universitas in Mythos der Humboldtschen Universitat’, ¨ Hans Heinrich Schmid (Zurich, 1997), theologia – theologia in universitate, Festgabe fur 155–74. Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken (note 36), 33.

48

Patterns role and only gradually permeated the seminars and the later institutes of the various faculties.38 That other feature of German universities – which was much admired by foreign observers because it promoted the renewal of scholarship – the institution of the Privatdozenten (private lecturers), from whom the professors were recruited, did not exist in Catholic countries in the first half of the nineteenth century. Except within the medical and scientific faculties, the innovative potential of this institution was limited by the fact that the governments decided on appointments and could reject unwelcome candidates. This happened in a number of famous cases.39 What gave the Berlin model its peculiar dynamism was probably the fact that it was not shaped according to the idealistic rigour of a Fichte, but by the liberalism of Schleiermacher and Humboldt,40 and thus remained more open to the various intellectual and social developments of the nineteenth century than other systems. Political decentralization also favoured the emergence of local variants in the way that the system was adopted or in part, at least, copied. Moreover, the mobility of the student body, which hardly existed in France, played a part in reducing the inertia which is a part of every educational system. It was the impetus to advance scholarship alone which gave the professors a material interest in supplementing the amount of teaching which was usual at other universities with new lectures, in order to attract particularly demanding and motivated students. The competition between the various states gave the professors a measure of freedom and allowed them to negotiate more favourable conditions, in particular with regard to the provision of equipment and assistants. Individual states could increase their prestige by recruiting famous professors, something which was never a possibility in centralized states such as France. These and other factors too are not attributable to a certain ideal of the university, but to the particular nature of German history. The sharp increase in the number of students at university improved the incomes of the professors in the first half of the nineteenth century since they had a share in the fees paid. Whilst the professors in Leipzig at the end of the eighteenth century earned only 225 Taler there is evidence of incomes ranging from 400 to 1,400 Taler at Berlin, ¨ Tubingen, Marburg and Rostock between 1820 and 1830.41 Such material 38 39

40 41

¨ ¨ zu Berlin, vol. III: M. Lenz, Geschichte der koniglichen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universitat Wissenschaftliche Anstalten, Spruchkollegium, Statistik (Halle, 1910), 3–446. A. Busch, Die Geschichte der Privatdozenten. Eine soziologische Studie zur grossbe¨ trieblichen Entwicklung der deutschen Universitaten (Stuttgart, 1959). On the origin and development of the Privatdozentur: chapter 5. ¨ ¨ (note 36), 169–70. Ruegg, ‘Humboldt’sche Universitat’ C. E. McClelland, ‘Die deutschen Hochchullehrer als Elite 1815–1850’, in Schwabe (ed.), Deutsche Hochschullehrer, 37.

49

Christophe Charle improvements increasingly allowed professors to dispense with the additional jobs, which were usual under the ancien régime, and to spend more time on their research. The social role of the universities changed with shifts in the relative weight of the faculties. Law and theology declined, whereas in the 1880s medicine and philosophy showed increasing numbers, making up 21.5 per cent and 40.3 per cent of all students, respectively. The philosophical faculty, which had not yet been divided into arts and science, had become the educational base for teachers in higher education, and as they were disseminated throughout the system competition and imitation grew apace. Even the forms of teaching changed. In addition to lectures, seminars were gradually introduced in theology, in classical and modern philology, history and economics.42 Seminars, institutes and laboratories, such as those of the chemist Liebig (1803–73) in Giessen, and also clinics were concerned increasingly with the education of future scholars, professors or researchers. Developments of this sort contributed to an increasing approximation of the reality of university life to the ideal, which the reformers had envisaged at the beginning of the century. Of course old ways of doing things survived. In Catholic states such as Bavaria there was still, for instance, confessional bias together with the subordination of the philosophical faculty, and the German princes continued with their old custom of keeping up political surveillance over ‘their’ university. In 1819 the Carlsbad conference of German states, called at the urging of Metternich (1773–1859), decided to appoint a state commissar at every university. After 1848 he was replaced in Prussia with a curator whose responsibilities were limited to matters which directly concerned the state. Theoretically free competition in a system which had a number of participants unparalleled in Europe, was undermined by the potential for inertia arising from nepotism in the filling of professorial posts in the smaller universities in particular, such as Kiel, Giessen and Marburg.43 Attempts by the states to provide a considerable part of the teaching by badly paid or indeed unpaid non-professorial or private lecturers stimulated competition among the younger academics, but it also limited the monopoly of the professors over posts and tempted them into preferring their own pupils over outside competitors. Competition could also be undermined on non-scholarly grounds: 42

43

B. vom Brocke, ‘Verschenkte Optionen. Die Herausforderung der Preussischen Akademie ¨ durch neue Organisationsformen der Forschung um 1900, Tabelle 2: Grundungswellen ¨ geisteswissenschaftlicher Seminare an den 21 Universitaten des Deutschen Reiches im 19. ¨ Jahrhundert’, in J. Kocka, R. Hohlfeld and P. T. Walther (eds.), Die Koniglich Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin im Kaiserreich (Berlin, 1999), 129. ¨ P. Moraw, ‘Humboldt in Giessen. Zur Professorenberufung an einer deutschen Universitat des 19. Jahrhunderts’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 10 (1984), 47–71.

50

Patterns Catholics were discriminated against in the predominantly Protestant states and Jews were excluded from professorial posts until the First World War.44 AUSTRIA, no doubt because of the common German language, followed the Prussian model, while adopting a much more traditional and authoritarian form than the German universities. After the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1773 the whole educational system, even in the nonGerman-speaking parts of the Empire, was put under the control of the government in Vienna by the law Ratio educationis in 1777, and between 1815 and 1848 the persistence of absolutism made it difficult to introduce the German reformed model. The university system had the purely functional task of training the necessary cadres, priests, civil servants, teachers, for a very varied empire. Teaching was thus prescribed from on high in every detail, in contrast to the freedom of teaching which prevailed in Germany. With the exception of the medical faculty in Vienna, the Austrian universities were obsolescent in their scholarship, and medieval traditions such as the student nations and the doctoral colleges survived. The Revolution of 1848, in which students in Vienna and Hungary played a leading role, forced the government gradually to adopt the Prussian model. As Minister of Education from 1849 to 1860, Count Leo von Thun und Hohenstein (1811–88) organized Gymnasien and colleges on the German model and invited numerous excellently qualified teachers from Germany to come to the Austrian universities. Teaching in the Gymnasien was extended by two years, so that the universities were freed from having to teach beginners, as had been the case in the old arts faculties, and it now became necessary to pass a school leaving examination in order to gain access to university. By these means the philosophical faculty achieved equal status with other faculties, as in Germany. The government abolished the student nations and gave the professors a financial share in the number of matriculations. The opening up of the market in professorial chairs by the increase in the number of Privatdozenten and the introduction of German professors strengthened competition and gradually lifted the level of scholarship. Yet the Austro-Hungarian university system was different from the German in that, until the First World War, the faculties which trained students for the professions, and in particular the law faculty, were significantly larger than the arts faculty. In Vienna in 1860, 45.7 per cent of all students were registered in the law faculty and in 1909, it was 53.8 per cent. In Hungary the proportion was around 44

N. Hammerstein, ‘Bildungsdefizit und Bildungschancen der Katholiken im 19. Jahrhun¨ Kirchengeschichte, ¨ dert: Universitaten und Wissenschaften’, Rottenburger Jahrbuch fur ¨ 14 (1995), 131–52; N. Hammerstein, Antisemitismus und deutsche Universitaten (Frankfurt, 1995).

51

Christophe Charle 60 per cent.45 This was a legacy of the bureaucratic tradition of ‘Josephism’, which reached its apogee in the Napoleonic system. In Tsarist RUSSIA, the Prussian model underwent even greater changes. The reform of higher education at the beginning of the nineteenth century rejected the French model of specialist high schools and adopted the German model. The first professors were either Germans or Russians edu¨ cated in Germany, especially in Gottingen. The inner contradiction of the new system, which remained in place throughout the whole of the Tsarist period, was to be found in the education of civil servants in a manner very similar to that offered by the French grandes e´ coles, at universities which were committed to the German model of research and, in theory at least, were autonomous. This tension led to a repeated alternation between liberal periods during which Western ideas and political engagement were manifest in student attitudes and behaviour, and phases of repression and militarization whenever the state felt it had allowed the reins to slacken too much. The first of these changes in the 1830s was a reaction to the revolutionary events in Western Europe and Poland during 1830–32. From 1835 onwards the students were obliged to wear a uniform, which made it clear to all that they belonged to the state administration. At the same time rigid curricula were prescribed and professors were obliged to profess support for orthodoxy, autocratic rule and Russian authority. The confused events in Europe in 1848 provoked a renewed militarization of Russian universities. Rectors appointed by the government ruled over the teaching body, dissidents were removed and the content of lectures had to be submitted for preliminary censorship. Matriculation fees were increased in order to reduce the number of students, and they in turn were compelled to enter military service and were subjected to strict surveillance. Politically dangerous subjects like constitutional law and philosophy disappeared from the teaching programme. But after 1860 a new and stronger liberalism again prevailed: discipline became slacker, and lectures were open to outsiders. In accordance with the original purpose, which was to integrate the aristocracy into the service of the state, the universities only took a minority of students from non-aristocratic classes. In Moscow 65.9 per cent of students in 1831 were either aristocrats or sons of higher officials, and in Kiev, Kazan and St Petersburg the percentage was equally high.46 The teaching system was very strict, with more than twenty hours per week of obligatory classes, yearly examinations which had to be passed before students 45 46

Engelbrecht, Bildungswesens (note 20), vol. iv, 237; Karady, ‘Nation de juristes’ (note 21), 196. ´ Calculated on the basis of statistics given by Besançon, Education et société en Russie (note 7), 82. Other information is taken from this work.

52

Patterns could proceed, and a norm of four years of study with automatic expulsion after six years. Yet more than two-thirds of the candidates passed the final examination. Because of their elitist structure and the social advantages which were associated with an academic qualification, universities enjoyed high esteem in Russian society, even if they by no means lived up to their educational ideals. the european university model: great britain To speak of British universities as a ‘model’ is only possible in a metaphorical sense. For most of the characteristics of both the English and Scottish universities were less the result of state policy than a compromise between centuries of tradition and long-overdue partial reforms. In addition, as the survey of British universities showed, there were new institutions which tried to make up for the deficiencies of the traditional universities through private or municipal initiatives. As a result there was a variety of types of higher educational institutes, which in contrast to the French and German models had few internal connections. It is only possible to speak of a ‘model’ during the period covered at the end of this volume, when a degree of national coherence was imposed on the originally heterogeneous British university system. Various factors played a part in this: the success of the new universities, the influence of the German model, efforts to restructure the old universities, the creation of an academic career path, which, because of the way that the professors in the newer universities looked to Oxbridge, meant that the various universities had a good deal in common.47 At the beginning of the nineteenth century the Scottish universities stood alone with the two ancient English universities.48 They were more like their continental counterparts, but were largely financed by the state and were frequented by more modest social classes. They did not require students to live in or to have tutors, and for their teaching they relied much more than the English colleges on lectures by the professors. There was in addition a generous system of grants, flexible programmes of study and admissions procedures which made it possible even for those in employment to study. In 1828 and 1876 two royal commissions and in 1858 and 1889 two parliamentary bills introduced reforms earlier than in England, bringing in new areas of academic study. From 1820 onwards the number of students, 4,250, was relatively high, especially in comparison with the fewer than 1,000 in England,49 and critics of the reforms complained 47 48 49

Sutherland, ‘Education’ (note 8), 138. R. D. Anderson, Education and Opportunity in Victorian Scotland (Oxford, 1983). Ibid., 347.

53

Christophe Charle that they were checking the power of the ‘democratic intellect’.50 Whilst at Oxford and Cambridge the emphasis was on the provision of a humanist education, with professional training taking place largely outside the university, the Scottish universities, like most of those on the Continent, offered both. They were the first British universities which offered a clinical teaching of medicine, and this attracted students from northern Europe and indeed from England. At the beginning of the nineteenth century Oxford and Cambridge presented a quite different picture in every respect. They were slowly recovering from a stagnation that had characterized the larger part of the eighteenth century. With 840 student registrations each year, around 1829 they eventually reached the sort of numbers common in the seventeenth century.51 Compulsory residence in the colleges, the high cost of study, the lack of any preparation for a profession, except that of the Church, and the obligation to be a member of the Anglican Church limited the number of would-be students. The introduction of formal examinations, such as the Tripos in Cambridge, gradually improved the quality of study and of the students. The total autonomy enjoyed by the two universities with regard to the state stemmed from their wealth in property and land and their close links to the Anglican Church. Their educational ideal was still that of the generally educated gentleman, to whom morality was as important as scholarly knowledge. Thus the number of students in relation to the academic staff was low, especially in comparison with the Continent. In Oxford there were nineteen students to each teacher in 1814, and sixteen in 1900.52 The examinations leading to the honours degree did indeed introduce a certain amount of meritocratic competition, like that of the French concours. They too provided an important qualification for a future career, but they gained their value, as the name suggests, from the challenge they represented to the individual student’s own intellectual ability. Before the confessional restrictions at Oxford and Cambridge were removed by legislation in 1870, they were circumvented in 1828 by the foundation in London of the first non-Anglican college, later to be known as University College. The Anglicans responded in 1831 by founding King’s College. The liberal Whig government brought the two together in 1836 as the University of London, and gave it the right to award degrees 50

51 52

G. Davie, The Democratic Intellect: Scotland and Her Universities in the 19th Century, Edinburgh University Publications: History, Philosophy and Economics 12 (Edinburgh, 1961). L. Stone, ‘The Size and Composition of the Oxford Student Body, 1580–1910’, in Stone (ed.), University (note 35), 3–109. A. J. Engel, From Clergyman to Don: The Rise of Academic Profession in 19th-century Oxford (Oxford and New York, 1983), 288.

54

Patterns to the graduates of the London colleges. The new university thus introduced a further variant into the British university system, for it did not require its students to be in residence and in contrast to the Scottish universities it did not form an inner unity.53 It awarded external degrees and encouraged the creation of university colleges in the provinces such as at Southampton and Leicester. The third stage in the development of the British university scene consisted in the foundation of the civic universities, some of them formed in this way, others, like Birmingham, the products of local enterprise and with a practical focus. Alongside these there was a range of what was considered sub-university institutions, primarily for education in technical subjects and art. f r e n c h p a r t i a l r e f o r m 1868–190454 The period from 1860 to 1940 has been characterized in educational and social histories as the epoch of the diversification, expansion and professionalization of the university system.55 These three phenomena go hand in hand with the increasing influence of the German model; yet they differ according to national factors and features particular to the various systems. From 1830 onwards the failings of the Napoleonic system of faculties became increasingly evident and it was publicly criticized by professors and politicians alike.56 The double task of developing research in the faculties on German lines and of bringing the over-centralized organization of the education system into some sort of harmony reached its highpoint in the intensive investigation into the reasons for the defeat in war of 1871, which gave new impetus to reformist tendencies. The foundation of the ´ ´ first four sections of the Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes, which was pushed through by Victor Duruy (1811–94) in 1868, fulfilled the first of these tasks. Research institutes which also carried out teaching and where knowledge was transmitted though specialized seminars, came into being. There was thus a break with the traditional approach in the faculties of offering general lectures aimed at a broad public. The second task could not be realized so quickly. For this, effective local support was needed, and this came with republican liberalization and the involvement of elected 53 54 55 56

S. Rothblatt, ‘London: A Metropolitan University?’, in T. Bender (ed.), The University and the City: From Medieval Origins to the Present (Oxford, 1991), 119–49. See especially the contributions by Karady and Weisz, quoted in note 5. Cf. the subheading of Jarausch (ed.), ‘Transformation’ (note 8). Titze et al., Wachstum und Differenzierung (note 2). Cf. V. Cousin, Rapport sur l’état de l’instruction publique dans quelques pays d’Allemagne et particulièrement en Prusse (Paris, 1832).

55

Christophe Charle magistrates, usually of liberal persuasion, in the university towns. There was also a need for the teaching staff to be strengthened and for financial investment. In fact, the number of lecturers tripled between 1865 and 1919, as did expenditure on the faculties between 1875 and 1913. Most of the universities received new or larger buildings. The academic faculties also joined the professional ones and thus came closer to the German norm. Reform of the administrative structure proved the greatest hurdle. As result of a law of 1896, the faculties were once more brought together in universities, which as in Germany were now bodies in law with elected committees who could control part of their budgets, create or abolish professorial chairs and accept donations – in short, could initiate changes themselves. In comparison with the German model this was only a partial reform. Decentralization did indeed take place, but it left overall power still with Paris. In 1876, 55 per cent of all French students were registered in Paris. In 1914 the figure was 43 per cent, and in 1934/5 it had risen again to 54.9 per cent. Furthermore, groups of faculties had been combined everywhere into universities of equal status, whereas in Italy and Spain a distinction was made between first- and second-rank universities. This prevented the formation of regional centres of excellence, which might have competed with Paris. Some steps which were taken after 1900 further strengthened ´ centralization, such as, for example, the decision to integrate the Ecole normale supérieure into the University of Paris in 1903. Last but not least the accumulation of wealth in the capital meant that, with the exception of the applied sciences, private donations to provincial universities did not bear comparison with those to the University of Paris. These private funds allowed the creation of new chairs and research institutes and thus increased Paris’s lead over the provincial universities.57 Reform led to a diversification of the subjects taught. The creation of new professorships rejuvenated the teaching body. The latter consisted of various categories: the professeurs titulaires corresponded to the German Ordinarien; the chargés de cours and professeurs adjoints to the Extraordinarien; and an entry level of maˆıtres de conférences was introduced on the model of the Privatdozenten – but they had the status of civil servants and were usually promoted within a short period to regular lecturers. University reform had a particular effect on the arts and science faculties. Those of law, medicine and pharmacy retained the system of concours d’agrégation despite fierce criticism. As a result, various forms of admission to a university career became established. Arts lecturers came mainly 57

R. Fox and G. Weisz (eds.), The Organization of Science and Technology in France (1808–1914) (Paris and Cambridge, 1980); M.-J. Nye, Science in the Provinces: Scientific Communities and Provincial Leadership in France 1860–1930 (Berkeley, 1985); Paul, Knowledge.

56

Patterns from the higher schools, whereas scientists also had the possibility of achieving promotion through their prowess in the laboratory. These variations, together with the other differences between the faculties, hindered the formation of that sense of solidarity between the various elements of the university which was possible in Germany.58 State supervision remained oppressive, for the actual heads of the universities were the recteurs appointed by the state, and they were responsible for the whole education system in their particular administrative area or académie. The concours restricted intellectual innovation. In particular, reform was hindered by the grandes e´ coles, which controlled access to technical and administrative careers.59 Despite all attempts at reform by the Republicans these elite schools not only maintained their dominant position, they extended it and retained most of their privileges. To ´ ´ ´ the older ones – Ecole des mines, Ecole des ponts et chaussées, Ecole ´ normale supérieure, Ecole centrale (engineering) – were added in 1881 business schools, the HEC, hautes e´ tudes commerciales, new technical ´ schools such as in 1894 the Ecole supérieur d’électricité, and in 1909 the ´ Ecole supérieure d’aéronautique, schools of administration like the Ecole ´ coloniale, Ecole supérieure des PTT, and in 1871 the private preparatory school for the entrance examinations to higher administrative posts in the ´ civil service, the Ecole libre des sciences politiques. The Catholic faculties, which were founded after 1875, also prepared students for professional careers. The graduates from all these schools came from a much broader range of social classes than is generally assumed, but because of their acceptance through the concours they were distinguished mainly by technical and professional knowledge, by a competitive spirit and by the sense of belonging to a particular elite or corps, qualities which contradicted the university ideal of education. the crisis of the german model At the end of the nineteenth century and in the inter-war period, when the German model was being copied throughout the whole of Europe and beyond, it entered into a crisis in Germany, which brought to light some of the problems neglected by those who framed the original concept. These related to the difficulty of integrating modern technology into the university and the tendency of the teaching body to form a hierarchy. The crisis affected not only the growth but also the aims of the universities. Student numbers, which had scarcely changed between 1830 and 1865, had quintupled by 1914 to a total of 61,000. This growth benefited the 58 59

Charle, République des universitaires. Cf. Belhoste et al. (eds.), Formation polytechnicienne (note 4).

57

Christophe Charle small universities and the arts faculties in particular. For the first time for centuries there were more students in the arts faculties than in law, and registrations in the theology faculties had dropped by a half over the period 1830 to 1914. These developments mirrored the change in orientation of university study towards modern careers. In addition to the established universities, technical universities had developed from the former state or private specialist colleges: Aachen in 1879–80 (founded in 1865 as a polytechnic), Berlin in 1879 (1799, a royal building academy), Brunswick in 1877 (1745, Collegium Carolinum), Danzig in 1904, Darmstadt in 1868 (1812, a school for building), Dresden in 1890 (1742, an engineering academy), Hanover in 1879 (1831, a higher school of commerce), Karlsruhe in 1865 (1800, Weinbrenner’s school for building), Munich in 1868 (1827, a polytechnical central school), Stuttgart in 1876 (1829, a united art, science and commerce school).60 The student populations of these schools grew even faster than those of the universities: from 5,000 in the winter term of 1871/2 they had increased to 17,000 by 1903, that is more than threefold, whilst the number of university students in the same period doubled. Yet the technical schools were looked down upon by the universities as second rate. It was only after a fierce struggle that, in 1865, they finally received the right to administer themselves, and in 1899 they received the right to award doctorates, thereby achieving the same status as the universities. The new students, who were less likely to come from the educated middle classes than before, took a pragmatic view. Studying in order eventually to earn their living (Brotstudenten), they had little sympathy for Humboldt’s educational ideals and sought instead a training for a particular career. This often led to misunderstandings with the professors, who were becoming ever more specialized in their particular fields and more remote from existing society, some of them taking refuge in a profound yearning for a lost Germany.61 The growth in student numbers and the multiplicity of possible fields of study awakened conservative fears of ‘an academic proletariat’. Indeed, there was a lack in the German university system of a regulatory mechanism like the French concours. Furthermore, the liberalization of access to the professions meant that the number of students of law, medicine, arts and sciences at a certain point on the growth curve started to exceed the likely need. At the turn of the century the flexibility of the German system made it possible to cope with

60 61

See ‘European Universities and Similar Institutions in Existence Between 1812 and the End of 1944’, 673–709. Cf. Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany; J. Craig, Scholarship and Nation Building: The Universities of Strasbourg and Alsatian Society, 1870–1939 (Chicago and London, 1984).

58

Patterns the overproduction of graduates without resorting to compulsion, but the crisis re-emerged in a more acute form in the Weimar Republic.62 Even more severe in its effects than the numbers crisis was the crisis in ideas for the German model, for it led to internal divisions in the universities. The Humboldtian university was set up to educate elites in scholarly methods, particularly those from the educated middle class and the aristocracy. This changed when the universities started to attract a majority of students – and after 1900 there were also female students – who wanted to capitalize on their education. Only some of them had attended a humanist Gymnasium, and in consequence they were less attached to humanist values; their studies focused entirely on practice, on vocational usefulness, and on specialization. The governments of the individual states, which still remained responsible for the universities after the founding of the Empire, encouraged these tendencies by creating, in existing institutions and universities, courses which corresponded to the needs of an industrial society. They also supported the links between research and business and, in order to spread German influence, made it easier for foreign students to attend German universities. These new tasks inevitably raised a question mark over the old ideal of the university. The crisis also affected those who sustained this ideal, the professors, as can be seen in the structural, social and ideological changes in the teaching body. The first change led to a rapid growth in non-professorial staff, who in certain disciplines, such as the sciences and medicine, formed the majority without having any say in the decisions of their faculty. The disparity between the numbers of professors and those of readers or private tutors slowed down and made career advancement more difficult. All of this encouraged a dissatisfaction, which found expression before 1914 in a movement founded by the non-professorial staff.63 The rapid growth of non-professorial staff can only be explained in part by the financial policies of the state, which benefited from teachers with lower salaries or indeed with none at all. It was also a consequence of the greater social status of the professorship, which attracted ever more candidates. A further factor was the growing specialization of scholarship, which usually meant that the emergent fields of study were delegated to non-professorial colleagues, at least initially. This had a positive effect on their innovatory powers, but at the same time it produced frustration, for it was not possible to promote all of them. The difference in status was reflected in the levels of income. Candidates for a professorship either had to have their 62 63

¨ H. Titze, Der Akademikerzyklus. Historische Untersuchungen uber die Wiederkehr von ¨ ¨ ¨ Uberf ullung und Mangel in akademischen Karrieren (Gottingen, 1990), 389–422. ¨ R. vom Bruch, ‘Universitatsreform als soziale Bewegung. Zur Nicht-Ordinarienfrage im ¨ spaten deutschen Kaiserreich’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 10 (1984), 72–91.

59

Christophe Charle own income until they were appointed, or had to make do with a secondclass position. Shortly after the First World War, Max Weber (1864–1920) declared that: ‘In essence a career in academic life in Germany is based on a plutocracy’.64 The result was a social closing up of the teaching body just as the student population was opening up socially. After 1918 many of the ‘mandarins’ remained loyal to the Kaiser, and for the most part had reservations about democracy or indeed were hostile to it, and were more and more alienated from German society in general.65 In addition, the autonomy of the universities was increasingly circumscribed by the interventions of the state in appointments to professorships66 – as indeed was the case in the whole of Europe – and by an increasing dependency on the state for the financing of research institutes in the sciences, of medicine, of research expeditions, and for the funding of expanding library expansion in the arts. In Berlin the salaries of the main professorships formed the major part of the university budget in 1860. From 1870 onwards it was the seminars and institutes, and their costs were growing faster than those of the personnel, so that in 1910 half of the university budget was taken up by the running costs of the institutes and seminars, to which must also be added the costs of buildings and equipment. In the Prussian universities over the period 1882 to 1907 there were nine new law seminars, four in theology, 77 arts and science seminars or institutes, and 86 medical institutes, laboratories or clinics.67 The foundation of the Imperial Physical-Technical Institute in Berlin in 1887, and of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society in 1911, which brought together state, industry and research in institutes outside the universities, represented a major step in the division of labour between research and teaching.68 On the one hand the removal of ‘large-scale research’ (Grossforschung), as 64 65

66

67 68

M. Weber, Wissenschaft als Beruf (1917/19), ed. W. J. Mommsen and W. Schluchter ¨ (Tubingen, 1992), 71–2. Cf. F. K. Ringer, The Decline of the German Mandarins: The German Academic Community, 1890–1933 (Cambridge, Mass., 1969); F. K. Ringer, ‘A Sociography of German Academics, 1863–1938’, Central European History, 25, 3 (1993), 251–80. B. vom Brocke, ‘Hochschul- und Wissenschaftspolitik in Preussen und im Deutschen Kaiserreich 1882–1907: Das System Althoff’, in P. Baumgart (ed.), Preussen in der Geschichte, vol. I: Bildungspolitik in Preussen zur Zeit des Kaiserreiches (Stuttgart, 1980), 9–118. McClelland, ‘Die deutschen Hochschullehrer’ (note 41), 280–1. R. Riese, Die Hochschule auf dem Wege zum wissenschaftlichen Grossbetrieb. Die Uni¨ Heidelberg und das badische Hochschulwesen 1860–1914 (Stuttgart, 1977); versitat Forschung im Spannungsfeld; D. Lee Cahan, An Institute for the Empire: The Physikalisch-Technische Reichsanstalt (Cambridge, 1988); B. vom Brocke, ‘Forschung und industrieller Fortschritt: Berlin als Wissenschaftszentrum’, in W. Ribbe and J. ¨ Schmadeke (eds.), Berlin im Europa der Neuzeit (Berlin, 1990), 165–97; B. vom Brocke, ‘Im Grossbetrieb der Wissenschaft. Adolf von Harnack als Wissenschaftsorganisator und Wissenschaftspolitiker – zwischen Preussischer Akademie und Kaiser-WilhelmGesellschaft. Auch ein Beitrag zur vergeblichen Reform der deutschen Akademien seit ¨ 45, 2 (2001), 59–144. 1900’, Sitzungsberichte der Leibniz-Sozietat,

60

Patterns demanded by Theodor Mommsen (1817–1903) in 1890, was supposed to prevent the university from turning into ‘a huge factory’ (Grossbetrieb), a phrase used by the founding president of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society, the theologian Adolf von Harnack (1851–1930), and the link between research and teaching was in fact maintained in the universities. On the other hand, however, the German university and academic system as a whole, if one ignored the concours-system and the elite universities in the form of the grandes e´ coles, was getting perilously close to the Napoleonic model which in its origins it had rejected totally. The foundations between 1900 and 1945 of a business university in Mannheim (1908) and the three city universities of Frankfurt-am-Main (1914), Cologne and Hamburg (1919) with new social studies and economics faculties and, in the case of Hamburg, a teacher-training section, shows that there was an awareness of the inadequacies of the classical universities. But such hesitant changes were not enough to meet the social crisis which confronted graduates in the inter-war period. In any case the reforms were blocked by the hostile policy of the Nazi regime towards the universities. The purges which fell most heavily on innovative and liberal professors, strengthened the reactionary elements within the teaching body, whilst state cutbacks in the numbers of students, although reducing the problem of graduate unemployment, still left the question of structural change in the universities unresolved.69 changes and attempts at harmonization within t h e b r i t i s h s y s t e m s 70 At the end of the nineteenth century the British universities underwent their most significant reforms since their beginnings in the early part of the thirteenth century. In the 1870s Oxford and Cambridge were forced by acts of parliament to open themselves to the modern world and admit nonAnglican and women students. The fellows in the colleges were gradually given permission to marry.71 There now existed a real university career, whereas previously, teaching at university was usually only a transitional stage on the way to a career in the Church, a professional post or public service. After a long period of stagnation the numbers of students rose perceptibly.72 The curriculum, which around the middle of the century 69

70

71 72

H. Titze, ‘Hochschulen’, in D. Langewiesche and H. E. Tenorth (eds.), Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. V: 1918–1945. Die Weimarer Republik und die nationalsozialistische Diktatur (Munich, 1989), 209–40. Anderson, Universities and Elites (note 8); C. Brooke and R. Highfield, Oxford and Cambridge (Cambridge, 1988); History of Oxford, VIII; N. Boyd Harte, The University of London, 1836–1986 (London, 1986). Engel, From Clergyman to Don (note 52), 288. Lowe, ‘Expansion’ (note 8), 45, table 1.

61

Christophe Charle had been mainly limited to classics and mathematics, now expanded to admit the natural sciences, history, law and foreign languages. Research finally started to develop, especially in Cambridge thanks to a bequest from Spencer Compton Cavendish, 8th Duke of Devonshire (1833–1908), which made possible the foundation of the Cavendish Laboratory in 1871 from which a majority of the scientific elite of Britain was later to emerge. The most important changes in the British university landscape took place, however, outside Oxbridge as the civic universities in the large provincial cities multiplied in order to provide an education for the new leaders in an industrial urban society. Before they were fully recognized by the award of a royal charter their graduates received a diploma from the University of London, which underwent a rapid expansion through a, for the most part, formal merger of numerous special institutions, such as the medical schools of the various hospitals, the Royal School of Mines, the Royal College of Science, and the Central Technical College, which came together in 1907 to form the Imperial College of Science and Technology, the London School of Economics, founded in 1898, and a number of women’s colleges. In 1898 the mammoth university received its own statutes.73 The second innovation which broke with medieval tradition was the increasing level of state funding of even those universities such as Oxford and Cambridge, which had been able to sustain themselves through income from their investments or – as in the case of the provincial universities – through private and city foundations. State funding was agreed in 1889 and by 1906 had reached a level of £100,000, a not inconsiderable sum, though considerably smaller than the contributions to universities on the Continent. In 1890 for instance France spent four times as much on its fifteen faculty groups. The Scottish universities were even more reliant than their English counterparts on state funding. From 1892 onwards they received £72,000 annually. In addition there were contributions to the costs of buildings, grants from local business people to establish chairs in the more obviously practical disciplines, and from 1901 there was a provision of £100,000 per year from the foundation established by the American billionaire Andrew Carnegie (1835–1919).74 The social origins of those studying at Oxbridge remained for the most part elitist. In the new universities and especially in the Scottish ones, it corresponded to the situation on the Continent. In 1910, 24 per cent 73 74

Boyd Harte, University of London (note 70), 166–7. In 1913 the colleges in Cambridge totalled £451,500 in income and £437,600 in expenditure, those in Oxford £565,200 in income and £560,900 in expenditure: J. P. D. Dunbabin, ‘Oxford and Cambridge College Finances’, Economic History Review (1975), 640. On finances of the Scottish universities: Anderson, Education (note 48), 285.

62

Patterns of the students in Glasgow came from a working-class background, 20 per cent from shopkeepers, small traders and clerks, although these two categories represented 10 per cent of the student population of Oxford and 90 per cent of the active population of Great Britain.75 The differences in social composition were for the most part conditioned by financial circumstances. In Scotland, the student had to pay quite small fees and could hope to gain one of many scholarships. What is more, the school system was well developed. In England, students at Oxbridge, where there were college scholarships, were overwhelmingly from the expensive public schools and had to pay £200 a year for their studies, which at that time corresponded to the average yearly income of a middle-class family. In 1910 only 7 per cent of the students at English universities received grants, and these were mainly for technical training, which was encouraged by the municipalities. The social role of the British university system began to change during this period. Before the new universities established their reputations in particular fields, Oxford and Cambridge educated almost all of the English elite. Since their colleges could select the best pupils from the public and grammar schools and reformed their curricula in line with contemporary needs it was they who determined academic standards.76 Meanwhile, some students from the provincial universities concluded their studies in Oxbridge, and, conversely, some fellows became professors in the new universities. There was further talk too of an ‘Anglicization’ of the Scottish universities.77 In fact, a new commission led to changes after 1889, which weakened the distinctive nature of the Scottish university model by introducing entrance examinations, creating new chairs, augmenting professorial posts with assistants and lecturers, setting up faculties of science, creating research arrangements linked to the doctorate, broadening the curriculum and organizing honours courses.78 But the fundamental structures of the English model remained unchanged: the hierarchy of disciplines, which made it difficult to introduce sociology or business studies at university, the overwhelming importance attached to a general literary education, personal supervision of the students and, as far as possible, the retention of the college structure.79 75

76

77 78 79

Anderson, Education, 310–11; Stone, ‘Size and Composition’ (note 51), 103, Table 11. On Cambridge: University of Cambridge, IV, 602: between 1752 and 1886 3.2 per cent were ‘Plebeians’. On Oxford: History of Oxford, VIII, 56, Table 3.3 (1900–1913, 1920–1939, 1946–1967). ¨ See the contribution by B. Simon, H. Steedman, J. Honey and R. Lowe, in D. K. Muller, F. Ringer and B. Simon (eds.), The Rise of the Modern Educational System, Structural Change and Social Reproduction 1870–1920, 3rd edn (Cambridge and Paris, 1989). Anderson, Universities and Elites (note 8), 17; Anderson, Education (note 48), 16–24. Anderson, Education (note 48), 268–75. Halsey and Trow, British Academics (note 8).

63

Christophe Charle In the inter-war period there were no fundamental changes in British universities, but increasing financial difficulties led to a larger participation by the state. After 1920 state scholarships for students (male and female) were introduced. By 1936 there were 360. In 1919 the University Grants Committee was established as an autonomous university body to distribute the contribution of the state to the university sector among the various universities and it soon became an indispensable source of finance.80 Even Oxford and Cambridge, whose wealth had suffered badly as a result of war-induced inflation, were forced to rely on contributions from the state. In the period 1936–37 these amounted to £2,311,978, or 36.06 per cent of the income of the British universities.81 The relatively low proportion of these contributions shows that the British universities, in contrast to those on the Continent, had managed for the most part to remain self-financing bodies. changes in the influence of the german model In the second half of the nineteenth century a u s t r i a - h u n g a r y and the newly formed Balkan nations came under the influence of the German model. The universities were thus pulled backwards and forwards between two different worlds. On the one hand they modernized and had close links with Germany by remaining open to German-speaking professors and students in Austria and as far afield as Budapest. On the other hand, however, they were shaped by the under-development of their largely peasant hinterlands, so that career prospects for academics – as in the Western universities during the first half of the century – were more likely to be found in the state administration, the Church, or the legal and health authorities than in the sciences or the arts. One legacy of the Josephine era was the large number of technical colleges. A further distinctive feature of this university scene was to be found in the numerous tensions arising from frictions between different nationalities and confessions. The further east a student came from, the stronger was the impulse to get to the West, to Vienna, or to the German or Swiss universities, and in the later years to Paris. As a consequence, the most recently founded universities failed to attract the most motivated students. The Austro-Hungarian universities gradually received the right to teach in the language of their surrounding area, that is, Hungarian first in Budapest and then in Koloszvar (Klausenburg, Cluj), Debrecen and ´ Bratislava (Poszony), Polish in Lemberg (Lwow) and Cracow, Czech at 80 81

E. Hutchinson, ‘The Origins of the University Grants Committee’, Minerva. A Review of Science, Learning and Policy, 13, 4 (1975), 583–620. Ibid., 612, Table IV; cf. Sutherland, ‘Education’ (note 8), 157; Halsey and Trow, British Academics (note 8), 63.

64

Patterns the technical university in Prague, Croatian in Zagreb (Agram). In this way they became centres of nationalist movements, which alienated them both from the German university model and from international cultural life. The Hungarian universities were characterized by an emphasis on law, which was so much favoured by the leading classes that Hungary was known as ‘the nation of lawyers’.82 This preponderance can be explained by the development of Hungarian bureaucracy after the compromise of 1867 and by the importance of legal training for a liberal economy. The lower and middle nobility whose income from ground rents was diminishing studied law in order to qualify for posts as civil servants. Around the turn of the century they encountered competition from the middle class and especially from the Jews, who made use of the vast range of subjects offered in order to combine an easily mastered period of study with related activities. Access to the legal world was further eased by the assimilation of those of German and Slavonic origins into the dominant Hungarian culture. In the inter-war period Hungary’s function as a melting pot brought disadvantages to the Hungarian minorities. The mutilation of the country by the Treaty of Trianon left behind an excess of academics and officials in a nation shaken by crises, which despite impoverishment had been forced to repatriate both universities and elites from the lost territories. The controlling class reacted to this situation with a law introducing an anti-Semitic numerus clausus, and this in turn led to many Hungarian Jews leaving the country to study, often to settle permanently abroad.83 The numerus clausus was also directed against those young women who before the war had tried with some success to gain higher teaching posts. As a result of this two changes took place. On the one hand scientific, technical and medical studies began to catch up on legal studies, on the other hand the numbers of students in Hungary began to decline, whilst the numbers studying abroad grew. In b e l g i u m a n d t h e n e t h e r l a n d s access to university until the 1880s was very open as a result of the denseness of the university network mentioned earlier. As examinations took place until 1876 outside the universities, the number of foreign students was high. In 1876 there were 1,800 students of whom 450 were foreigners. Around the turn of the century French linguistic imperialism led to the outbreak of the language struggle. In 1920 the universities of Flanders finally received the right to teach in their native language, though Ghent did not follow suit 82

83

Karady, ‘Nation de juristes’ (note 21), 106–24; V. Karady, ‘Jewish Over-schooling: Its Sociological Dimensions’, in V. Karady and W. Mitter (eds.), Sozialstruktur und Bildungswesen in Mitteleuropa (Vienna and Cologne, 1990), 209. Karady and Keményi, ‘Antisémitisme’ (note 21), 67–96.

65

Christophe Charle until 1932. The originality of the Belgian system lay in its openness to foreigners, which was not limited to taking the best students from France, Germany or England. The Belgians took not only organizational structures for their universities from France and Germany, but also numerous professors, so that the Belgian universities formed an interface between cultures.84 Much the same applied to the Dutch universities. A law of 1815 divided the arts faculty into a faculty for philosophy and literature, and one for mathematics and physics. Admittedly these continued to serve as a preparatory stage for the higher faculties, but they could award the diploma of candidaat and the doctorate and thus had the same status.85 Individual elements, such as the linking of teaching and research and the introduction of seminars, together with the use of lecturers (Privatdozenten) were taken over from the German model. But in the use of governing bodies to run the universities and in the existence of a centralized university legislation which also acknowledged the use of private universities the Dutch went their own way. In s c a n d i n a v i a the Prussian model played a decisive part in the foundations of new universities such as Oslo (Christiania) in 181186 and ˚ in the modernization of old ones in Copenhagen, Lund, Uppsala and Abo 87 (Turku). In the course of the nineteenth century German influence on academic work and research grew steadily, not only in Lutheran theology, law and the arts, but also in chemistry and physics. Between 1909 and 1914 about half of the dissertations at the University of Helsinki were written in the German language and as late as 1916 the majority of the books used in teaching were German.88 In the higher education sector in r u s s i a the contradictions mentioned earlier grew more marked.89 On the one hand the state, in line with its tradition of enlightened despotism, saw the universities as the bearers of modernization and westernization. On the other hand reactionary forces which regularly gained the upper hand after periodic outbreaks of endemic revolutionary agitation were quick to curb the universities as breeding grounds for subversive ideas and conspiracies against the social order. The growth in the student population was all the more spectacular as it started 84 85 86 87 88 89

E. Lamberts and J. Roegiers (eds.), Leuven University 1425–1985 (Louvain, 1990); cf. Chapter 10, p. 427. W. Frijhoff, ‘Netherlands’ (note 15), 492. S. Langholm, ‘Norway’, in J´ılek, Historical Compendium, 42. ¨ Helsinki, 240. Klinge et al., Kejserliga Universitetet (note 16), 48; Klinge, Universitat ¨ Helsinki, Klinge et al., Kejserliga Universitetet (note 16), 906–10; Klinge, Universitat 565–7. Cf. D. R. Brower, ‘Social Stratification in Russian Higher Education’, in Jarausch (ed.), ‘Transformation’ (note 8), 247–8; J. C. McClelland, Autocrats and Academics: Education, Culture and Society in Tsarist Russia (Chicago and London, 1979), 39, 64.

66

Patterns from a very low figure. In 1860 there were 5,000 students registered in the nine Russian universities, most of them in Moscow and St Petersburg. Fifty years later the numbers had grown to 37,000, despite the restrictions introduced after the assassination of Alexander II (1818–81) in 1881, which included quotas for Jewish and poor students. This rapid surge in numbers is explained by the prestige accorded to university study in a society in which government service led to the highest social esteem. In addition to law, which afforded a direct path to such service, medicine was attractive, since there was a huge demand for health services throughout the whole country and it had proved itself to be a very effective weapon in the struggle against poverty and ignorance. The social advancement of the middle classes and the lower orders was reflected in the reduction in the proportion of aristocratic students both in the universities and in the technical schools. Between 1865 and 1914 it fell from 67 to 35 per cent in the former and from 55 to 25 per cent in the latter. When the state made it more difficult for those from the petty bourgeoisie, the middle class and Jewish communities to study, their sons and daughters went abroad in droves in order to obtain their university diplomas. Paris, Berlin and the Swiss universities had such large colonies of Russian students that their numbers had to be added to the official statistics of Tsarist Russia. Women, too, sought access to study and got round the official restrictions by private initiatives or by studying abroad. In the decade before the First World War the obstacles were gradually removed, and by 1914/15 the proportion of women students had reached 30 per cent. Political agitation continued after the turn of the century and was an indication that the Tsarist university was not adapting to a society which was in the process of change. For the revolts were triggered by the insensitivity of the authorities towards student organizations, and by attempts to force through authoritarian measures. Agitation reached its highpoint in the Revolution of 1905. The mobilization which led to the general strike in October, had its origins in the universities. That the Russian university model was no longer adequate to its social role is clearly revealed by the fact that liberal ideas and reforms were supported by the professors who came largely from the upper classes and indeed the aristocracy (in 1904 it was 39 per cent). Their university ideal was that of Humboldt, whilst the Tsarist forces were opposed to the freedom of study which was essential for research.90 The ‘general statute’ of 1884, which strengthened state control over the universities after the assassination of Alexander II, gave preference to a practical training over academic education, but was unable to make any headway. Lecturers on 90

McClelland, Autocrats, 78ff.

67

Christophe Charle the German model failed to bring the hoped-for success because of a lack of qualified staff to recruit from. Mediocre salaries and difficult working conditions reduced the attractiveness of an academic career.91 From 1900 to 1914 the situation at the universities deteriorated because of the poor financial situation. The state provided 60 per cent of the university budget and the rest had to be raised from fees. Despite the increase in student numbers no new chairs were created. Growing internal tensions between professors and non-professors, and external tensions between professors and students and the power of the state, all contributed to the collapse of the system, which a commission appointed in 1902 could do nothing to remedy. It recommended the adoption of German university statutes. But the proposals remained a dead letter. The Revolution of 1917 changed the Russian system totally: it accelerated the changes in the student body and created entirely new university structures. The opening up of higher education by the Bolsheviks increased the student numbers from 127,000 in 1914 to 216,000 in 1922, created ten new universities and more than a hundred new specialist technical schools, especially outside Russia. The numbers attending decreased during the 1920s when there was a social numerus clausus in favour of the working class. Afterwards the higher education sector became a part of economic planning, and preference was given to engineering and other applied sciences over subjects which were viewed with suspicion by those in power, and these were consequently closely controlled. The academic elite was supposed to stem from the people, be technically orientated and politically reliable. With 4.3 per cent of the age group in university education, the Soviet Union reached a level comparable to the West by means of a total reversal of social elites.92 Despite variations in the political regimes Russian university policy was characterized by an authoritarian system of rules and regulations extending from top to bottom, which allowed no autonomy at all to those in the system. An example of the trouble-free modification and adaptation of the German model is provided by s w i t z e r l a n d . Its university system is characterized in this period by three particular features. First, it was not a unified system, since, with the exception of the Federal Polytechnic in Zurich, the universities were institutions of the university cantons. Second, their authorities intervened directly in the running of the universities, so that these were affected directly by political changes. Third, the university towns were so close together that they could easily be attended by students from outside the canton from the same linguistic area or from one of the two others in Switzerland. This provided an important 91 92

Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 31ff. P. L. Alston, ‘The Dynamics of Educational Expansion in Russia’, in Jarausch (ed.), ‘Transformation’ (note 8), 107.

68

Patterns stimulus to competition and was comparable to the situation in Germany. In order to raise the necessary funds to transform the old academies into research-orientated universities the recruitment of foreign students was almost inevitable, but the opening up of the universities to women, a move which was impossible elsewhere at the time, was a further original solution to the problem. Before 1914 the number of women students at Swiss universities, comprising a fifth of the total population, represented twice the proportion reached by their counterparts in France. The share of foreign students was equally high. In Geneva in 1880 it was 44 per cent, in 1910 it was 80 per cent and in the whole of Switzerland in 1900 it was 47 per cent and in 1910 57 per cent. As a result of the development of universities in Central and Eastern Europe the numbers of foreigners in the inter-war period fell to 25 per cent, in Geneva in 1940 it was 25 per cent.93 All of these features allowed the small Swiss universities to remain innovative despite adopting the German model. In Geneva, for example, there ´ was founded in 1912 the Ecole des sciences de l’éducation, which then merged with the university in 1929; in 1915 an economics and social studies faculty was opened, and in 1927 the Institut universitaire des hautes e´ tudes internationales was founded, which was linked to the university. In ´ 1941 as part of the university the Ecole de traduction et d’interprétation came into being. In the same period the teaching body, which had mainly been recruited from the patrician families of the university towns, started to employ foreigners, some of whom had been driven out by authoritarian governments elsewhere.94 Paul Armand Challemel-Lacour (1827–96), a victim of Napoleon III’s (1808–73) coup in 1851, and, after the failed revolutions of 1848, the Neapolitan Francesco de Sanctis (1817–83) and the German Theodor Mommsen were among those who found refuge, at least temporarily, in the higher education institutions of Zurich. In Geneva Karl Vogt (1817–95), the son of a Bernese professor, member of the Frankfurt National Assembly and a professor in Giessen, was awarded a chair in geology, where, with the help of a number of other colleagues educated in Germany, he brought about a reorganization of the Genevan Academy into a university along German lines.95 Over the period 1834 to 1855, 40 per cent of the professors in Bern came from Germany, as many as from the canton Bern itself.96 All the Swiss universities had lecturers by the beginning of the twentieth century. To these were added, in the medical and scientific faculties, assistants and demonstrators, appointed, as in 93 94 95 96

Marcacci, Université de Genève (note 13), 164–5. Beginning in 1822 with the German theologians: see chapter 10, 429. Marcacci, Université de Genève (note 13), 145. Im Hof, et al., Dozenten der bernischen Hochschule (note 13), 226.

69

Christophe Charle Germany, by the professors to ensure that there was no lack of qualified staff to succeed them. But an academic career was by no means secure and geographic mobility remained the best way to gain promotion. In all the cantons the power to appoint professors was in the hands of the government, though this was often done in consultation with the faculties. The spread of the sciences and the construction of modern university buildings underlined the importance which research had assumed. In Geneva ´ in 1878 an Ecole de chimie97 on German lines was built, and Lausanne was able to house the university in the Palais de Rumine, built in 1888 as a result of a donation.98 t h e d i f f i c u lt p ro c e s s o f r e n e wa l f o r t h e southern european universities In ITALY the restructuring of the university system was one of the main tasks of the new national state. It was all the more difficult, as the medieval and modern legacy of the universities was strong and the particular role of the Church in Italian society made every attempt at modernization appear to be an attack on ecclesiastical privileges. The Legge Casati of 1859 tried to centralize the higher education system on French lines. The Church was excluded from university teaching, but it proved impossible to abolish the small but ancient civic universities.99 At the end of the nineteenth century Italy, with seventeen state and four ‘free’ universities and a smaller population and surface area, was over-supplied with universities in comparison with France (fifteen universities) and Germany (twenty universities). What is more, they were very unequally distributed. Eight universities were in the Emilia-Romagna (Bologna, Camerino, Ferrara, Macerata, Modena, Padua, Parma, Urbino), three each were in Tuscany/Umbria (Pisa, Siena, Perugia) and Sicily (Catania, Messina, Palermo), two in Sardinia (Cagliari, Sassari), and one each in Liguria (Genoa), Lombardy (Pavia), Piedmont (Turin), and only one in the whole of southern Italy (Naples). In 1892 ten universities had less than 500 students, of which three had fewer than 100. Naples on the other hand had 4,592.100 Despite numerous projects to simplify the university map, the education ministers and parliamentarians, many of whom were university professors,101 were unable to overcome the resistance of local interest groups. The only notable change was the abolition of the faculties of theology in 1873. 97 98 99 100 101

Marcacci, Université de Genève (note 13), 149–53. Delessert, L’Université au défi (note 13), 207. Porciani, L’Universita` tra Otto e Novecento (note 9). Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt, 2 (1892–3) (Strasburg, 1893), 736. Ten university professors out of seventeen ministers of public education 1859– 1876; 159 professors members of parliament 1848–74: Polenghi, Politica universitaria (note 9), Table 4, 509–16.

70

Patterns Despite the influence of German scholarship, which increased after 1870, the defects of the old system survived: the dominance of the study of law; the smaller universities’ lack of autonomy; and the obsolete methods of teaching and curricula. It was the last two factors in particular which explained the huge surplus of academics and the orientation towards public service at the expense of modern disciplines directed towards business and commerce.102 That these nevertheless underwent a considerable expansion was due in particular to private initiatives. Public schools of commerce were created in Genoa (1874), Bari (1886) and Rome (1906). In 1902 a private business university was founded in Milan, the Universita` commerciale, ‘Luigi Bocconi’.103 Engineering schools came into being in Turin (1859), Milan (1862) and Naples (1863) in order to educate the workforce for the industries of the newly emerging Italy. The small city universities, such as those in Siena, Ferrara, and Perugia, survived owing to the financial support of the local banks. The university lecturers were so badly paid that they had to secure second jobs, and often used the legal faculty as a springboard for a career in politics. The French model continued to be influential, together with the German one. Professorships were awarded by a concours system and the university system was under the control of the Ministry of Public Education, which allowed the universities only a limited degree of autonomy.104 Before the First World War Italy was thus a country in which elements of the various European university models could be found existing together: that is, the predominance of the professional faculties of law and medicine as in Central Europe, centralized control as in France, an orientation towards research as in Germany, and corporate organization at a local level as in England. It was only in the inter-war period, and in particular under Fascism, that some essential reforms were made. The crisis of the immediate postwar period led to an untenable situation. Because of inflation, professors were so dependent on secondary earnings that teaching began to suffer. Many of the students, whose numbers had almost doubled, were forced to take a job in order to survive and stayed away from lectures. In 1920 the Education Minister, the philosopher Benedetto Croce (1866–1952), introduced academic exercises similar to the German seminar as a prerequisite for the doctorate. It was his philosopher colleague Giovanni Gentile (1875–1944), Education Minister from 1922 to 1925, who in his 102 103 104

M. Barbagli, Disoccupazione intellettuale e sistemo scolastico in Italia (Bologna, 1974). Musiedlak, Université (note 10); L. Lenti, Gli ottant’anni della Bocconi (Crassina/ Firenze, 1984). A. Santoni Rugiu, Chiarissimi e Magnifici. Il professore nell’universita` italiana (dal 1700 al 2000) (Scandicci and Florence, 1991); Tomasi and Bellatella, L’Universita` italiana (note 9).

71

Christophe Charle university reforms of 1923 had recourse especially to the Humboldt university ideal. However, he did this in such an authoritarian way that his initial liberal idealism paved the way for the increasingly Fascist control of the universities. The reforms divided the universities into three categories according to their importance, size and number of faculties, which in turn controlled the level of state funding. A tightening of the conditions for the professorial concours reduced the number of applicants. The number of students dropped from 50,000 to 40,000 between 1919 and 1929 and the students were firmly incorporated into the corresponding Fascist organizations. Professors opposed to these developments had either to remain silent or emigrate.105 In SPAIN the university system, in common with those of the other Mediterranean countries in the second half of the nineteenth century, was a long way behind its counterparts in northern Europe. It was only the shock of defeat by the United States in 1898 which led to reforms. Until then the Spanish universities had suffered from the legacy of the Napoleonic model: an excessive centralization, which also found expression in the Central University of Madrid mentioned earlier. In addition the numbers of students had declined, the administration was exceedingly bureaucratic, and the professors with their civil-servant mentality lacked dynamism. Most of the students were registered in the law faculties. Technical schools only existed in Barcelona and Madrid; schools for ´ ´ Madrid, Santiago de Compostela veterinary surgeons in Cordoba, Leon, and Zaragoza; business schools in Barcelona, Madrid, and Palma; and an agricultural school in Madrid.106 In 1900, out of 17,000 registered students 8,000 attended lectures, 2,000 concluded their studies with the licentiate and 166 with the doctorate. Of 466 professors, 99 were teaching in Madrid, that is somewhat more than a fifth. In comparison with the professional faculties, the arts and science faculties with their modern disciplines led a Cinderella existence. Two-thirds of the professors received inadequate salaries of 5,000 pesetas or less and were forced to take second jobs or tried to obtain a post in Madrid. The movement for reform began with a small group of younger university teachers in Oviedo, the smallest of the universities. Their proposals were taken up by the new Education Minister and put into practice from 1900 onwards. New subjects were introduced in the arts and sciences, social studies was incorporated into the law faculty and a scholarship fund created. A chronic lack of funds did, however, limit the reforms. A solution was first introduced in Zaragoza and then taken 105

106

On Croce: Santoni Rugiu, Chiarissimi (note 104), 160–2; on Gentile, ibid., 162–97, and Tomasi and Bellatella, L’Universita` italiana (note 9), 116–28. On Fascist university policy: M. Ostenc, L’éducation en Italie pendant le fascisme (Paris, 1980), 65ff. Minerva (note 100), 23 (1913–14), lxi–lxii.

72

Patterns over by other universities: the courses were given by a combination of university professors and outside lecturers, and some were even held outside the university cities.107 After 1917,108 the Spanish universities experienced a sharp growth in student numbers and a division of students and professors into conservatives and reformers, which was closely linked to the political struggles of this period. Under the dictatorship (1923–30) of Primo de Rivera (1870–1930) the universities received autonomous rights as independent legal entities and corporations according to the prevailing corporatist ideology. But the preferential treatment accorded to the Church’s educational institutions provoked fierce student agitation, which the regime countered by closing the University of Madrid. In 1931 the Second Republic gave the universities genuine autonomy especially in the regions. For a few years, in Catalonia lectures could be given in Catalan. After the seizure of power by General Franco (1892–1975), however, the teaching body experienced a harsh purge in which those professors who had supported the defeated Republic were exiled. In 1943 a law brought a compromise between the Phalangists and the supporters of the traditional Catholic university. The new university was supposed to hold in high esteem Catholic teaching on morality and dogma together with Hispanism, authority and hierarchical order. This cementing of traditional values buried all the earlier reforms and only began to break apart in the 1960s. concluding remarks If one compares the university map at the beginning and end of the period covered in this volume, it is noticeable that over the period 1790 to the 1930s the number of universities, if one includes the European section of the Soviet Union, has more than doubled from 143 to 308. Without the Soviet Union, whose university structure was completely changed by the huge increase in numbers of specialized universities, the number of universities at 156 has hardly grown. But this number does not take account of the approximately 240 academic colleges, part or private universities also under the influence of the Prussian model, which had spread everywhere in addition to the universities. Altogether the number of academic university-like bodies had grown threefold. 107 108

˜ ‘L’université espagnole’ (note 12), 113–31. Guerena, ˜ P. Sosa Alonso, ‘Reforma y cambio social de la universidad espanola de principios de siglo’, in Higher Education and Society: Historical Perspectives (Salamanca, 1985), ´ ´ vol. II, 642–51; R. Lopez Martin, ‘Analisis Legislativo de la pol´ıtica universitaria primoriverista’, ibid., 416–26; S. Marquès i Sureda, ‘La universidad en Catalunya de la II ´ ´ Republica al actual estado de las autonom´ıa’, ibid., 444–53; J. M. Fernandez Soria and ˜ de la post-guerra A. Mayordomo Pérez, ‘En torno a la idea de universidad en la Espana (1939–1943)’, ibid., 249–61.

73

Christophe Charle By 1939 the university had become a widely distributed educational institution in Europe, whilst at the beginning of the nineteenth century, as a relic of a medieval and early modern tradition, it had been restricted to just one part of the Continent, mainly in the west and the south. The vitality of the university was also proved in the many and diverse political, economic, cultural and social crises of the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth centuries. As symbols of the new nations, almost all the new universities, especially those of Central Europe, adopted the German model with four or five faculties, and the division of the teaching body into three ranks: full professorships, readers and lecturers. The Napoleonic model with specialist institutes, which was dominant around 1800, gradually lost ground in the course of the nineteenth century. Yet it prevailed in those areas of modern research and teaching which were neglected by the universities, even in the heartland of the German model, where research was beginning to be separated from teaching. This double movement is reflected in the huge increase in student numbers from 80,000 around 1800 to more than 800,000 – or without the Soviet Union 600,000 – in the 1930s, as well as in the expansion of the tasks which were being entrusted to the universities. Whilst in the nineteenth century the classical university had been adaptable enough to meet the new demands, in the inter-war period it began to crack under the burden of its major tasks. Organization moved more and more into the lower units according to the function, financing, prestige, location or extent of the particular university activity. The state had become responsible for university finances and it was increasingly successful in harmonizing university structures with those of other bodies. All of this favoured the setting up of institutes and a tendency to turn universities into giant schools. The authoritarian regimes in Italy, Germany, Spain and Russia took this to extremes. But the same development continued later in the period of the mass university. Yet despite these tendencies one should not ignore a third aspect of the history of universities in the period dealt with by this volume, that is, the emergence of an ‘invisible university’ which transcended national frontiers. It rested on the mobility of professors and students, which began to overcome the political and institutional obstacles inherent in the university policies of the individual nation states.109 In the case of the professors there was a scholarly interchange by means of conferences and international academic organizations.110 Research into the bridging function played by such institutions in Europe has only just begun and as a first step has drawn up an inventory of the ‘invisible 109 110

Karady, Relations interuniversitaires (note 11). Charle, République des universitaires.

74

Patterns university’.111 Even more than the ‘real’ universities it conformed to the Humboldian idea in that it was based on ‘open’ co-operation of all people interested in scholarly knowledge and, transcending as it did all geographical and institutional barriers, it presupposed a freedom to teach which is not limited by any curriculum. The decision of the students regarding where to study was determined by free competition and thus the degree of innovative or successful work in the various disciplines. The mobility of professors on the other hand was an indication both of the intensity of scholarly links between various linguistic areas and cultures, and also of the attractions of particular scholarly specialities in one or other country. Thus this period of university history, which ended with the most horrendous perversions of nationalism, can be seen to open up possible paths to a restoration of that Europe of Universities universities which was the basis of their medieval origins. s e l e c t b i b l i o g r a p h y f o r c h a p t e r s 1–4 Bibliographies ‘Bibliographie d’histoire de l’éducation française’, published yearly since 1979 in the review Histoire de l’Education. ¨ Coing, H. (ed.) Handbuch der Quellen und Literatur der neueren europaischen Privatrechtsgeschichte, vol. III, 1–5, Munich, 1982–88. Craigie, J. A Bibliography of Scottish Education Before 1872, London, 1970. De Ridder-Symoens, H. (and J. Paquet, until 1996), ‘Bibliografisch Overzicht Universiteitsgeschiedenis der Nederlanden/Bibliographie de l’histoire des Universités aux Pays Bas et en Belgique’, Batavia Academica, 2(1984)–12 (1994), continued since 1995 in Nieuwsbrief Universiteitsgeschiedenis/Lettre d’infomation sur l’histoire des universités. ¨ Erman, W. and Horn, E. Bibliographie der deutschen Universitaten. Systematisch ¨ ¨ geordnetes Verzeichnis der bis Ende 1899 gedruckten Bucher und Aufsatze ¨ ¨ uber das deutsche Universitatswesen, 3 vols., Leipzig and Berlin, 1904–5; rpt. 1965. Fletcher, J. M. and Deahl, J. The History of European Universities: Work in Progress and Publications, 5 vols., Birmingham, 1977–81. Fletcher, J. M. and Upton, C. A. ‘Publications on University History Since 1977: A Continuing Bibliography’, History of Universities, 7 (1988)–13 (1994). ˜ Garc´ıa y Garcia, A. ‘Bibliograf´ıa de historia de las universidades espanolas’, Reper´ ˜ 7 (1979), 599–627. torio de historia de las ciencias eclesiasticas en Espana, ¨ Hammerstein, N. ‘Jubilaumsschrift und Alltagsarbeit. Tendenzen bildungsgeschichtlicher Literatur’, Historische Zeitschrift, 236 (1983), 601–33. ¨ historische ¨ ‘Neue Wege der Universitatsgeschichtsschreibung’, Zeitschrift fur Forschung, 5 (1978), 449–63. 111

Karady, Relations interuniversitaires (note 11).

75

Christophe Charle ¨ ¨ ‘Nochmals Universitatsgeschichtsschreibung’, Zeitschrift fur historische Forschung, 7 (1980), 321–36. Lubenow, W. C. ‘University History and the History of Universities in the Nineteenth Century’, Journal of British Studies, 39 (2000), 247–62. Parker, L. (ed.) Institutions of Higher Education: An International Bibliography, New York and Westport, 1990. ¨ Pester, T. Geschichte der Universitaten und Hochschulen im deutschsprachigen ¨ Raum von den Anfangen bis 1945. Auswahlbibliographie der Literatur der Jahre 1945–1968, Jena, 1990. Petry, L. ‘Deutsche Forschungen nach dem zweiten Weltkrieg zur Geschichte der ¨ Sozial und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 46 ¨ Universitaten’, Vierteljahrsschrift fur (1969), 145–203. Porciani, I. (ed.) L’Universita` italiana. Repertorio di atti e provvedimenti ufficiali 1859–1914, Biblioteca di bibliografia italiana, CLXVI, Florence, 2001. Porciani, I. and Moretti, M. (eds.) L’Universita` italiana. Bibliografia 1848–1914, Biblioteca di bibliografia italiana, CLXXII, Florence, 2002. ¨ Stark, E. Bibliographie zur Universitatsgeschichte, Verzeichnis der im Gebiet der ¨ Bundesrepublik Deutschland 1945–1971 veroffentlichten Literatur, ed. E. Hassinger, Freiburg and Munich, 1974. Steiger, G. and Straube, M. ‘Forschungen und Publikationen seit 1945 zur ¨ Geschichte der deutschen Universitaten und Hochschulen auf dem Terri¨ Geschichtswissenschaft, 7 (special issue) torium der DDR’, Zeitschrift fur (1960), 563–99. ¨ ¨ Straube, M. and Flaschendr ager, W. ‘Forschungen zur Geschichte der ¨ Universitaten, Hochschulen und Akademien der DDR’, in Historische Forschungen in der DDR 1960–1970. Analysen und Berichte. Zum XIII. Internat. Historikerkongreβ in Moskau 1970, Berlin, 1970, 187–209 (= ZfG, Sonderbd. 18. Jg.). ¨ ¨ ¨ Straube, M., Flaschendr ager, W., Grau, C., Klaus, W., Kohler, R., and Kraus, A. Forschungen zur Geschichte des Hochschulwesens, der Akademien der DDR ¨ Hochschulbildung sowie der Wissenschaften in den 70er Jahren, Institut fur Berlin, 1981. ˜ Vico Monteoliva, M. ‘Bibliograf´ıa sobre la historia de las universidades espanolas’, ´ 3 (1984), 281–90. Historia de la Educacion, Zanella, G. ‘Bibliografia per la storia dell’universita` di Bologna dalle origini al 1945, aggiornata al 1985’, Studi e memorie per la storia dell’ Universita` di Bologna, new series, 5 (1985).

General works ¨ ¨ Boehm, L. and Muller, R. A. (eds.) Universitaten und Hochschulen in Deutschland, ¨ ¨ Osterreich und der Schweiz. Eine Universitatsgeschichte in Einzeldarstellun¨ gen, Dusseldorf, 1983. Charle, C. and Verger, J. Histoire des universités, Paris, 1994. ¨ Conze, W. and Kocka, J. (eds.), Bildungsburgertum im 19. Jahrhundert. Bildungssystem und Professionalisierung in internationalen Vergleichen, Stuttgart, 1985.

76

Patterns d’Irsay, S. Histoire des universités françaises et e´ trangères des origines a` nos jours, 2 vols., Paris, 1933–35. Frijhoff, W. ‘Universities: 1500–1900’, in B. R. Clark and G. R. Neave (eds.), The Encyclopaedia of Higher Education, vol. II, Oxford, New York, Seoul and Tokyo, 1992, 1251–59. Higher Education and Society: Historical Perspectives. 7th International Standing Conference for the History of Education, 2 vols., Salamanca, 1985. Karady, V. ‘La migration internationale d’étudiants en Europe, 1890–1940’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 145 (December 2002), 47–60. J´ılek, L. (ed.) Historical Compendium of European Universities/Répertoire historique des universités européennes, Geneva, 1984. ¨ Minerva, Handbuch der gelehrten Welt I, Die Universitaten und Hochschulen usw., ihre Geschichte und Organisation, Strasburg, 1911. Minerva. Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt, 1 (Strasburg, 1891/2)–33 (Berlin, 1938), ¨ Abt. Universitaten und Fachhochschulen, I. Band: Europe. ¨ Muller, D. K., Ringer, F. and Simon, B. (eds.) The Rise of the Modern Educational System: Structural Change and Social Reproduction, 1879–1920, Cambridge and Paris, 1987; 3rd edn, 1989. Ringer, F. K. Education and Society in Modern Europe, Bloomington and London, 1979. Romano, A. (ed.) Universita` in Europa. Le istituzioni universitarie dal Medio Evo ai nostri giorni. Strutture, organizzazione, funzionamento, Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi, Milazzo 28 Settembre–2 Ottobre 1993, Messina, 1995. Romano, A. and Verger, J. (eds.) I poteri politici e il mondo universitario (XIII– XX secolo), Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Madrid 28–30 Agosto 1990, Messina, 1994. Rothblatt, S. and Wittrock, B. (eds.) The European and American University Since 1800: Historical and Sociological Essays, Cambridge, 1993. Schriewer, J., Keiner, E. and Charle, C. (eds.) Sozialer Raum und akademische ¨ Kulturen. Studien zur europaischen Hochschul- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert / A la recherche de l’espace universitaire européen. ´ Etude sur l’enseignement supérieur aux XIXe et XXe siècles, Frankfurt-amMain, 1993. ¨ Schubring, G. (ed.) ‘Einsamkeit und Freiheit’ neu besichtigt. Universitatsreformen ¨ Wissenschaftspolitik im und Disziplinenbildung in Preussen als Modell fur Europa des 19. Jahrhunderts. Proceedings of the Symposium of the XVIIIth International Congress of History of Science at Hamburg-Munich, 1–9 August 1989, Stuttgart, 1991.

Individual countries BELGIUM Demoulin, R. ‘L’université en Belgique’, in M. Gresset and F. Lassus (eds.), Institutions et vie universitaire dans l’Europe d’hier et d’aujourd’hui. Actes du Colloque de l’Association interuniversitaire de l’Est, Besançon, 27–28 septembre 1991, Besançon and Paris, 1992, 243–61.

77

Christophe Charle Woitrin, M. ‘Belgium’, in B. R. Clark and G. R. Neave (eds.), The Encyclopedia of Higher Education, vol. i, Oxford, New York, Seoul and Tokyo, 1992, 61–70.

FRANCE Charle, C. La république des universitaires (1870–1940), Paris, 1994. Condette, J.-F. La Faculté des lettres de Lille de 1887 a` 1945. Une Faculté dans l’histoire, Lille, 1999. Gerbod, P. La Condition universitaire en France au XIXe siècle, Paris, 1965. Neveu, B. Les facultés de théologie catholique de l’Université de France (1808– 1885), Paris, 1998. Verger, J. (ed.) Histoire des universités en France, Toulouse, 1986. Weisz, G. The Emergence of Modern Universities in France (1863–1914), Princeton, 1983.

GERMANY Espagne, M. Le creuset allemand, histoire interculturelle de la Saxe XVIIIe–XIXe siècles, Paris, 2000. Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. III: 1800–1870. Von der ¨ Neuordnung Deutschlands bis zur Grundung des Deutschen Reiches, ed. K. E. Jeismann and P. Lundgreen, Munich, 1982; vol. IV: 1870–1918. Von ¨ der Reichgrundung bis zum Ende des Ersten Weltkriegs, ed. C. Berg, Munich, 1991; vol. V: 1918–1945. Die Weimarer Republik und die nationalsozialistische Diktatur, ed. D. Langewiesche and H. E. Tenorth, Munich, 1987. Jarausch, K. H. Students, Society and Politics in Imperial Germany: The Rise of Academic Illiberalism, Princeton, 1982. McClelland, C. E. State, Society and University in Germany, 1700–1914, Cambridge and New York, 1980. ¨ Von der mittelalterlichen Universitat ¨ zur ¨ Muller, R. A. Geschichte der Universitat. deutschen Hochschule, Munich, 1990. Paulsen, F. Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und ¨ Universitaten: vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart mit beson¨ derer Rucksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, 2 vols., 3rd edn, Leipzig and Berlin, 1919–21; rpt. 1985. Ringer, F. K. The Decline of the German Mandarins: The German Academic Community, 1890–1933, Cambridge, Mass., 1969. Titze, H. ‘Die Evaluierung des Bildungswesens in historischer Sicht’, Zeitschrift ¨ Erziehungswissenschaft, 5 (2002), 552–69. fur ¨ Titze, H., with Herrlitz, H.-G., Muller-Benedict, V. and North, A. Hochschul¨ studium in Preussen und Deutschland, 1820–1944, Gottingen, 1982.

ITALY Fioravanti, G., Moretti, M. and Porciani, I. (eds.) L’Istruzione universitaria (1859–1915) (Pubblicazioni degli Archivi di Stato, Fonti XXXVIII; Archivio Centrale dello Stato, Fonti per la storia della scuola V), Rome, 2000.

78

Patterns Gasnault, F. La cattedra, l’altare, la nazione. Carriere universitarie nell’Ateneo di Bologna 1803–1859, Bologna, 2001. Malatesta, M. (ed.) Society and the Professions in Italy, 1860–1914, Cambridge, 1995. Palma, B. L’Universita` fra accentramento ed autonomia, Urbino, 1983. Polenghi, S. La politica universitaria italiana nell’eta` della Destra storica (1848– 1876) (Brescia, 1993) Porciani, I. (ed.) L’Universita` tra Otto e Novecento: i modelli europei e il caso italiano, Naples, 1994. Universita` e scienza nazionale, Naples, 2001. Tomasi, T. and Bellatalla, L. L’universita` italiana nell’eta` liberale (1861–1923), Naples, 1988.

THE NETHERLANDS Frijhoff, W. ‘The Netherlands’, in B. R. Clark and G. R. Neave (eds.), The Encyclopaedia of Higher Education, vol. I, Oxford, New York, Seoul and Tokyo, 1992, 491–504. Groen, M. University Education in the Netherlands, 1815–1980, Eindhoven, 1988.

SPAIN ´ de Rapariegos y Sainz ´ ˜ Ajo Gonzales de Zu´ niga, C. M. Historia de las universidades ´ ´ a nuestras dias, 11 vols., hispanicas. Origenes y desarollo desde su aparicion Madrid, 1957–77. Aulas y Saberes. VI Congreso Internacional de Historia de las Universidades ´ Hispanicas (Valencia, December 1999), 2 vols. Valencia, 2003. Claustros y estudiantes. Congreso internacional de historia de las universidades ˜ americanas y espanolas en la edad moderna, Valencia, noviembre de 1987, 2 vols. Valencia, 1989. ˜ J.-L., Fell, E.-M. and Aymes, J.-R. L’université en Espagne et en Guerena, Amérique latine du Moyen Age a` nos jours, vol. I: Structure et acteurs, Tours, 1991; vol. II: Enjeu, conditions, images, Tours, 1998. ˜ (siglos XVIII y XIX). Despotismo Peset, M. and J. L. La universidad espanola ´ liberal, Madrid, 1974. ilustrado y revolucion ´ Rodr´ıguez-San Pedro Bezares, L. E. (ed.) Las Universidades Hispanicas de la monarqu´ıa de los Austrias al centralismo liberal. V Congreso Internacional ´ sobre Historia de las Universidades Hispanicas, Salamanca, 1998, 2 vols., vol. II: Siglos XVIII y XIX, Salamanca, 2000. Torres, P. R. (ed.) Doctores y Escolares. II Congreso Internacional de Historia de ´ las Universidades Hispanicas, Valencia, 1995, 2 vols., Valencia, 1998.

UNITED KINGDOM Anderson, R. D. Education and Opportunity in Victorian Scotland, Oxford, 1983. Armytage, W. H. G. Civic Universities: Aspects of a British Tradition, London, 1990.

79

Christophe Charle Brock, M. G. and Curthoys, M. C. (eds.) The History of the University of Oxford, vol. VI: Nineteenth-Century Oxford, part 1, Oxford, 1997; NineteenthCentury Oxford, part 2, Oxford, 2000. Brooke, C. N. L. A History of the University of Cambridge, vol. IV: 1870–1990, Cambridge, 1995. Dahrendorf, R., LSE: A History of the London School of Economics and Political Sciences, 1895–1995, Oxford, 1995. Searby, P. A History of the University of Cambridge, vol. III: 1750–1870, Cambridge, 1997.

80

PA RT I I

STRUCTURES

CHAPTER 3

R E L AT I O N S W I T H A U T H O R I T Y

PA U L G E R B O D

Since the creation of higher education establishments, relations between them and their supervisory authorities, be these religious, political or constituted by economic interests, have always posed complex questions, some of them circumstantial and others structural. They raise the important, age-old debate on the educational, scientific and administrative independence of university teachers and students. Suffice it to recall, in this respect, the numerous, sometimes tragic, conflicts which broke out in the thirteenth century in the European universities faced with the hegemonic ambitions of episcopal or royal authority.1 Before 1800, though even more so in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, these frequently conflictive relations posed a very different problem than they had done in previous centuries, for European political systems were secularized and tended to become independent of the established churches (Catholic, Protestant or Orthodox). Governments often endeavoured to play the role of a ‘teacher-state’, imposing on teaching establishments a uniform educational system in line with their political or ‘philosophical’ aims. France after 1806 saw the establishment of university monopoly, exclusive to the establishment of the Imperial University.2 The universities had to adapt to new pedagogical and scientific 1

2

See vol. I, pp. 12–13, 48–52, 83–4, 101–5. The study of relations between the universities and their supervisory authorities in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries has not been the subject of special research and publication. We have, then, to turn to the general works mentioned in the ‘Select bibliography’ at the end of chapter 2 as well as to the numerous monographs of individual universities and to the articles on higher education, published in journals like the Revue Britannique (since 1826) and the Revue des Deux-Mondes (since 1839) in France, the Quarterly Review (since 1809) in England, and the Preussische ¨ Jahrbucher (since 1858) in Germany. See chapter 2, 44–6; A. Aulard, Napoléon Ier, et le Monopole universitaire (Paris, 1911); J. Godehot, Les institutions de la Révolution et de l’Empire (Paris, 1951).

83

Paul Gerbod tasks, provide courses unknown until then and admit an increasing number of teachers and students. The old independence–subordination dilemma reappeared throughout Europe from the Atlantic to the Urals in a partly new and markedly unstable context, varying geographically and chronologically according to political, economic, social and cultural change. Any definition of the nature of relations between the universities and their supervisory authority must, first of all, include an analysis of the various forms of dependence to which university establishments were subject after 1800, then a description of the types of pressure applied by the external authorities and, finally, the kind of resistance employed by the university bodies against this threat from ‘the outside’. financial dependence First of the possible forms of dependence involving the European universities after 1800 was financial. In less than a century and a half, from the end of the French Revolution to the beginning of the Second World War in 1939, almost all university establishments, some earlier and some more radically than others, reached the stage where they lost their financial independence. On their foundation, the medieval universities had been endowed with assets (land, farm rents, buildings and various benefices) intended to ensure that in the future they would enjoy as complete a material independence as possible. Clear examples of this are the colleges of the universities of Oxford and Cambridge. The University of Uppsala founded in 1477, was endowed by King Gustavus Adolphus II (1594–1632) with generous income from smallholdings, from ecclesiastical prebends and various properties which were to ensure its total independence.3 On the eve of the Second World War, however, the state had to meet the greatest part of the university’s expenditures. This was also the case with the University of Lund, which on its foundation in 1668 was granted most of the property and revenues of the Catholic chapter and clergy of the town (including 30 prebends and 900 plots of land). In Denmark, the University of Copenhagen, founded in 1479, had been given the possessions of the Catholic clergy (tithes and real estate) in 1539. In Hungary, the revenue at the disposal of the University of Budapest since 1773 ensured its financial independence up to 1869.4 These were not exceptions, and up to the end of the eighteenth century the universities with their endowments and private and municipal donations remained, on the whole, at least partly 3 4

See vol. II, 187. Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt, 1–23 (Strasburg, 1891/2–1914), 24–32 (Berlin and Leipzig, 1920–36), 33/1: Europa (Berlin, 1938).

84

Relations with authority self-sufficient; the result was that some of them were the ghosts of their former selves, reduced to a few teachers and very unpretentious premises, particularly in the Kingdom of France. This tradition was still prevalent several centuries later in Napoleonic France, rather paradoxically it would seem, when the Emperor founded the Imperial University and granted it the monopoly of teaching. He endowed it with the property of the pre-1789 universities (or at least what was left of it after the sale of the national assets decided by the Constituent National Assembly) and with the ‘university fees’ paid by secondary school pupils, by students in the faculties and by private secular educational establishments. All of this revenue was managed by the university bursar without any state control. So the faculties of law, medicine, theology, sciences and arts, which in France took the place of universities up to 1896, or even up to the Edgar Faure Law of 1968,5 were from the outset materially autonomous.6 This ‘Golden Age’ was for most universities a more or less mythical memory. It was followed by an ‘Iron Age’ which saw the supervisory authorities, and more particularly governments, rule the establishments’ finances with a rod of iron. But these constraints varied in degree and timing from the British Isles to the Empire of Russia, from Scandinavia to the Mediterranean states. The universities of Oxford and Cambridge, for example, managed to retain their financial independence. Most of the Oxford colleges in particular had large revenues, which ensured substantial salaries for their principals and their teachers. Moreover, up to the mid-nineteenth century, Parliament was morally and legally unable to exercise the slightest control over the management of these university revenues or even to be informed as to their precise nature and origins. Even in cases as extreme as these, state control tightened in the 1930s, and British universities on the whole only survived through subsidies from the University Grants Committee, which in 1934–35 totalled some 34 per cent of university income.7 Before the 1930s, British universities founded in the nineteenth century (the ‘redbrick’ universities) such as Birmingham or Manchester had largely benefited from the financial support of the municipal authorities. In Ireland, the Belfast Presbyterian College and the Royal Catholic College of Maynooth benefited from public subsidies from the beginning of the nineteenth century. In the case of the Scottish universities, too, the state started to meet expenditure even before 1900. 5 6

7

See chapter 4, 120. C. Jourdain, Le Budget de l’Instruction Publique de 1802 a` 1856 (Paris, 1857); P. Gerbod, ‘Le financement de l’enseignement supérieur et de la recherche en France au XIXe siècle’, Revue administrative, 35 (1983). See chapter 2, 55, 62.

85

Paul Gerbod In France, where at their foundation in 1806–08 the faculties had enjoyed material independence, state financial control was gradually introduced. From the 1820s, under the Restoration, the Revenue Court was given the task of casting light on the management of the university’s finances, which up until then had been managed exclusively by the university bursar. In 1834, the university budget became a part of the Ministry of Public Education budget and hence part of the general state budget subject each year to debate and vote in the Parliamentary Assemblies.8 It is true that at this date the increasing insufficiency of their own income (especially the part that came from registration and matriculation fees) obliged the faculties to accept the financial support of the state. From then onwards, the material tutelage of the state became heavier from year to year. Its extent can be seen from the successive finance laws which, up to July 1939, gave details of the annual running and investment funds allocated to university establishments.9 At the same time, the teacher-state ensured the total financing of a certain number of grandes e´ coles, such as the Ecole Polytechnique (through the Ministry of War), the Ecole navale, the Ecole centrale des arts et manufactures, which originally in 1829 was a private school, and the teacher-training Ecoles normales supérieures (in the rue d’Ulm, Sèvres, Saint-Cloud and Fontenay-aux-Roses). It should also be noted that the major literary and scientific establishments (the Musée d’histoire naturelle, the Collège de France and the Conservatoire des arts et métiers) have been financed exclusively by the state since the Revolution. The German case is also exemplary. Founded by the generosity of the local sovereigns of municipalities or the established churches, the universities more often than not had sufficient funds to ensure their financial independence. In the nineteenth century, this was already a thing of the past; the state governments of the former Holy Roman Empire, which in 1815 had become the German Confederation, intervened to balance the budget of their universities. In 1894–95 state grants reached in Berlin 84 per cent, in Heidelberg 86 per cent. Even in the universities with the largest revenues from endowments, financial intervention from the state increased considerably from 1853 to 1894–1905, in Greifswald from 2 to 50 per cent, in Leipzig from 39 to 78 per cent.10 In the Austrian Empire 8

9

10

The Parliamentary Archives collection and the records of the Assembly debates, also published in the Journal Officiel, record the annual discussions on the state (and since 1835, the higher education) budget. See chapter 4; the breakdown of the total amounts of grants to and expenditures of the faculties is to be found in the records of the definitive expenditures of the Ministry of Public Education and in the text of the finance acts voted by the assemblies. ¨ R. S. Turner, ‘Universitaten’, in K.-E. Jeismann and P. Lundgreen (eds.), Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, III: 1800–1879. Von der Neuordnung Deutschlands bis ¨ zur Grundung des Deutschen Reiches (Munich, 1987), 234.

86

Relations with authority the financial weight of the state was apparently lighter: in 1895, the state contributed some 49 per cent towards the expenditure of the University of Vienna, 53 per cent to that of the University of Prague and 60 per cent to that of the University of Budapest.11 The practice was then firmly entrenched; after the First World War, whether in the Weimar Republic (then in the National Socialist state) or in the Republic of Austria, the universities’ financial dependency on the ruling political regimes became irreversible and ever greater. In the Russian Empire, the central power, which at the beginning, to greater or lesser extent, had ensured the material independence of its universities, also had to meet their material needs. In 1900, the share of university income provided by the state (some 6,500,000 roubles) was 56 per cent. But for certain establishments the percentage was much higher: it was over 70 per cent for the universities of St Petersburg and Charkov. After the 1917 Revolution and the setting-up of the Communist regime, the historical structures of Russian higher education were radically reorganized by the new political power, which was wholly responsible for financing. This age-old process, which ended in the financial and material dependence of universities on political systems, was the rule throughout Europe, unlike the situation in the United States, and the only exception (increasingly partial, moreover) was still that of the universities of Cambridge and Oxford. In 1935, the two Swedish universities of Uppsala and Lund depended on the government for almost 92 per cent of their funding. In the Kingdom of Italy, the state paid almost all the expenditure of the universities save for those which had retained their religious or private status. The same applies to Spain and Portugal where the kings founded and financed the universities from the Middle Ages on, and also for Greece and its first university, founded in 1837 in Athens. The financial and material independence granted to the universities on the initiative of the ecclesiastical, princely, municipal or private authorities which had founded and protected these establishments was meant to ensure them the full pedagogical and scientific independence necessary for the freedom of thought of both teachers and students. This, at least, is what most often appears in the original statutes of the European universities. In fact, from the nineteenth to the twentieth centuries, the freedom of higher education was the victim of various restrictions entailing the establishments’ increased dependence on the external authorities, whether secular or religious. This involved dependence in four specific

11

If not mentioned otherwise, statistical information on university budgets is taken from Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt (note 4).

87

Paul Gerbod areas via the creation of a state-controlled administration governing education, teacher recruitment, study regulations and control over research. creation of ministries of public education A first sign was the creation in most countries of Ministries of Public Education which, among their administrative tasks, were given responsibility for higher education affairs. Wilhelm von Humboldt was director of the section for public worship and education in the Prussian Ministry for Home Affairs when he succeeded in founding the University of Berlin in spite of the difficulties and the distrust encountered by his patriotic and scientific initiative.12 But he resigned in 1810 after sixteen months of successful work, because he did not succeed in elevating his section into a Ministry. Such a Ministry for Worship, Public Education and Medical Affairs was established in Prussia in 1817.13 In France, the foundation of the Imperial University in 1806 was accompanied two years later by the organization of a central administration directed by the Grand Master of the University in the person of Louis de Fontanes (1757–1821), poet and politician. The administration of the state faculties was thus entrusted to an external authority dependent on the political authorities. Subsequently, this administrative structure was maintained by later political regimes under other names: Commission of Public Education, Secretary of State for Worship and Public Instruction, Ministry of Public Instruction and Worship, Ministry of National Education (from 1932).14 In other states, such as Denmark, Italy, Spain and Russia, similar structures were found, sometimes even earlier. If up to the advent of the National Socialist Third Reich the administration of public education had remained a privilege of ¨ the German states, then of the Lander, 1 May 1934 saw the creation of a Ministry of Public Education of the Reich.15 In the USSR, the university establishment depended on the administrations of the federated republics, 12 13

14

15

See chapter 2, 1, 22; chapter 2, 47–9. ¨ W. Vogel, ‘Karl Sigmund Franz von Altenstein’, in W. Treue and K. Grunder (eds.), Berlinische Lebensbilder, Wissenschaftspolitik in Berlin, Minister, Beamte, Ratgeber, ¨ Einzelveroffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission zu Berlin 60 (Berlin, 1987), 98. M. vom Broche, ‘Kultusministerien und Wissenschaftsverwaltungen in Deutschland ¨ und Osterreich’, in Wissenschaften und Wissenschaftspolitik, ed. R. vom Bruch and B. Kaderas (Stuttgart, 2002), 192–214. Gerbod, ‘Le financement’ (note 6); P. Bousquet et al., Histoire de l’Administration de l’enseignement en France (1789–1981), Publications de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes, IVe Section: Histoire et philologie V. Hautes Etudes Médiévales et Modernes 49 (Geneva, 1983), 19–56. ¨ Wissenschaften, Erziehung The decree of 1 May 1934 created the Reichsministerium fur und Volksbildung (Reich Ministry of Sciences, Education and Public Instruction) in which the division called Amt Wissenschaft (Office of Sciences) was responsible for higher education; see H. Huber, Der Aufbau des deutschen Hochschulwesens (Berlin, 1939), 16–22.

88

Relations with authority but for the USSR as a whole there was a Minister of Public Instruction, who as a member of the USSR Council of Ministers had control over higher education. This administrative hierarchy was further strengthened by the decree of 19 September 1932. In the case of the religious, municipal or private universities which were founded in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries,16 we can note the setting-up of external supervisory bodies. The British universities represented a marked exception to the quasi-general rule. It was through these central administrations that the external authorities could influence education and research. The recruitment of teachers, for example, tended to elude the universities themselves. Their deliberative bodies (academic senate, faculty council) or the national qualifications boards as in Spain or in France (Higher Education Consultative Committee) could undoubtedly make appointment proposals, but in the end the final choice was a royal privilege. This was fully exercised in autocratic or totalitarian states. Nor was its use totally absent from democratic states. In England, for example, a few teaching chairs could be filled by the sovereign; in Germany in the nineteenth century, the appointment of tenured professors depended on the princely or royal authorities. In Spain, alongside recruitment by national competition entrusted to boards of five ´ procedure), there was another members, themselves professors (oposicion procedure, called concurso, which allowed the minister to appoint a candidate of his choice.17 If in France, from the outset, the faculty councils retained the right to put forward candidates for a vacant chair, the Minister of Public Education could always reverse the preferential order or even favour an outsider. Throughout the last century we come across ministerial choices which showed little respect for faculty wishes. This dependence lasted beyond the nineteenth century; it apparently tended to become attenuated in democracies such as France. In 1924, the Minister of Public Instruction, against the proposals presented by the council of the faculty of law of Paris, appointed Georges Scelle (1878–1961), then principal private secretary of the Ministry of Labour in the government of Edouard Herriot (1872–1957) after the election victory of the Cartel des Gauches. This appointment, considered to be a political favour and contrary to university tradition, elicited a violent reaction of the Action Française students and created a climate of riots in the Latin Quarter.18 The state intervention intensified in Hitler’s Germany, in Mussolini’s Italy and Soviet Russia. It should be noted that, in the case of religious or private universities, the supervisory authorities’ right to inspect was far

16 18

17 See chapter 5, 134–40. See chapter 2, 37, 39, 40, 57. J. F. Sirinelli, Génération intellectuelle (Paris, 1994).

89

Paul Gerbod from negligible. In Europe as a whole, this was a real form of academic dependence, which intensified rather than diminished over the years. educational dependence Educational dependence stricto sensu in terms of study regulations was also very great in that governments sought to establish national standards, particularly for pre-professional training in medicine19 and law,20 but also for the future arts or science teachers.21 Moreover, the modernization of higher education establishments required the teaching of new subjects and the disappearance of obsolete disciplines. In the various teaching sectors, state intervention from the nineteenth to the twentieth centuries became invasive and even imperative. In Spain, after 1845, the state took the place of the former university corporations, which until then had been pedagogically independent but ossified by age-old opposition to change. It then imposed new study curricula and laid down examination regulations.22 This was also the case in Hungary after the creation of the Austro-Hungarian state, through the 1867 compromise. It was the Minister of Public Education who was to define henceforth the number of teaching chairs, the content of the courses and the order of examinations, and to approve the appointment of lecturers. This interventionism was found in most states in Germany and in the Kingdom of Belgium after 1830. In France, after the creation of state faculties in 1808, study and examination regulations were no longer within the jurisdiction of the establishments, but became the object of laws, decrees, orders, edicts and circulars issued by the central administration, which laid down the framework for teaching in all faculties and for each discipline. This enabled the central administration of successive governments to amend the regulations. Between 1852 and 1856, Minister Hippolyte Fortoul (1811–56) even demanded that the teaching body should cover the entire speciality in three years and each year communicate to the Minister the content of their courses.23 After the First World War, the educational relations between states and universities hardly seemed to change. Only a few old universities such as Oxford and Cambridge retained full pedagogical independence. The same was true in certain respects for the redbrick universities which were better 19

20 21 22

See chapter 14, 553–63. In Switzerland, where the universities depend on the Cantons, the Federal authorities regulate curricula and examinations in medicine and veterinary medicine. In Germany since 1877. In Prussia by W. von Humboldt (decree 12 July 1810), see W. Lexis (ed.), Die Reform des hoheren Schulwesen in Preussen (Halle, 1902), 373. 23 Gerbod, Condition universitaire. ˜ Peset, Universidad Espanola.

90

Relations with authority adapted to the needs of the nation. On the Continent, however, we can speak of an increase in state intervention. This could be seen in the fate of the Russian universities subjected to the ideological direction of the Communist Party. The Soviet state imposed the content of the courses, the order of studies, examination regulations, the conditions of access to higher education (with a sociological numerus clausus excluding the children of the bourgeoisie to the advantage of students from the working class).24 In Hitler’s Germany, the state wielded real academic dictatorship over the universities. It should also be noted that in the 1930s, in the Poland of the colonels, in states like Hungary or Antonio de Oliveira Salazar’s (1889– 1970) Portugal, autocratic governments found the temptation to establish a more rigorous control over higher education irresistible. In the course of the nineteenth century, state intervention also left a more insidious, indirect pedagogical mark by the creation of nonuniversity higher education establishments over which state control could be exclusive. After 1800, we see a multiplication of special schools offering advanced technical training for the most varied of professional careers – military, commercial and industrial. These schools may have depended on different ministries but they all had in common the fact that they were state-run.25 The educational dependence was also typical of the religious or private higher education establishments. The Catholic universities in Rome, Belgium, Spain or Poland all depended directly or indirectly (through the local episcopal authority) on the Roman Holy See. This was particularly true in France of the Catholic theology faculties and, from 1875, of the Catholic Institutes in Paris, Lille, Angers, Lyon and Toulouse; the same applied to Strasburg, which had the only Catholic theology faculty dependent on the state since the return of Alsace Lorraine in 1919.26 In a totally different field, scientific research does not seem to have been spared external dependence. In university establishments, the teaching staff’s obligation to contribute to the advancement of knowledge was an ancient tradition in Europe. Alongside an undeniable, positive, scientific amateurism in all the disciplines that they taught, the universities played a major role in advancing the human and natural sciences as well as theology and medicine.27 In the nineteenth century this tradition persisted, but it fell victim to a certain number of restrictions. These were primarily material handicaps: in France and elsewhere, universities 24

25 26

On several occasions in the nineteenth century, the Russian Government introduced clauses restricting the registration of students in the universities (see chapter 2). After 1917, workers’ faculties (rabfak) were favoured and they increased in number from 177 in 1928 to 694 in 1932. At that date they had almost 300,000 students. In the same period, the percentage of students of ‘proletarian’ origin rose from 30 to 55 per cent. See ‘European Universities and Similar Institutions in Existence Between 1812 and the End of 1944’, 692–702. 27 See vol. II, chapters 11–14. See chapter 10, 397.

91

Paul Gerbod complained increasingly about the scarcity of the financial and material resources placed at the disposal of their researchers. There were complaints about the insufficiency of the funds allocated to the creation and the modernization of laboratories and to the enrichment of libraries. In France, Louis Pasteur (1822–95), who had become famous because of his scientific discoveries, was indignant at the miserliness and thoughtlessness of the state; at the beginning of the twentieth century, Ferdinand Lot (1866–1952) in the Cahiers de la Quinzaine protested against the paltry funding granted to the state faculties (in comparison to the generosity bestowed on the German universities). But perhaps this was not the really important factor. State intervention was also felt in the nature and orientation of research. This had to fit into an ideological framework in conformity with the official philosophy of the prevailing government or dominant religion. All deviance was reprehensible and reprehended. Under the ancien régime in France, the Sorbonne, qua faculty of theology, was the judge of the orthodoxy of theological research and publicly punished many breaches of it. After the Revolution, the state, depending on the political swings which marked the history of France, in its turn punished ‘errors’ in historical (cf. the difficulties of the ‘liberal’ historians under the Restoration) or philosophical research. In theological research, the Churches were always very punctilious, as can be seen from the trials of several exegetes during the modernism crisis at the beginning of the twentieth century.28 In Soviet Russia, Marxism-Leninism was established as the official philosophy and the entire teaching staff and student body had to respect its dogmas, particularly in so far as research was concerned, whether in philosophy, history or even the natural sciences, where Trofim Lysenko’s (1898–1976) theories of inheritance of acquired characteristics were promoted to state orthodoxy under Stalin. So pedagogical and scientific dependence was both potentially and historically a source of tension between the universities and their supervisory authorities. The tensions, in the event intermittent and minor in the democracies, proved much more serious and restrictive in the absolute monarchies and the totalitarian states which replaced them in the twentieth century. This form of dependence, no matter how insidious and widespread, was only one of the implications of a third form of dependence, which was political and ideological. Since the Middle Ages, the established Churches had exemplified ideological discrimination. This discrimination still prevailed in the nineteenth century in the Catholic universities and faculties.29 In Great Britain, membership of the Anglican Church was a sine qua non for study at the universities of Oxford and Cambridge until 1871.30 28 29

See chapter 10, 401–5 (The Papacy’s Pyrrhic Victory over Modernism). 30 University of Cambridge, IV, 99–102. See chapter 10, 395–400.

92

Relations with authority In 1833 Oxford saw the outbreak of the Movement ‘scandal’, involving several scholars such as John Henry Newman (1801–90). The religious authorities reacted vigorously and the leaders of the Oxford Movement had to submit to or break with the established Church.31 A punctilious defence of the dominant or exclusive religious ideology was to be found also outside the strictly denominational universities. In France, in the course of the fierce struggles for the abolition of university monopoly between 1831 and 1857, the arts faculties were virulently criticized by a part of the episcopate because of what they considered to be the irreligious teaching of the professors of philosophy.32 A few years later, the philologist Ernest Renan (1823–92), author of a Life of Jesus, was the victim of an opinion campaign against his teaching and had to abandon his chair at the Collège de France.33 Strictly political dependence, for its part, never ceased to restrict (when it did not abolish) the freedom of higher education, because very soon, and in the nineteenth century in particular, universities appeared to be capable even of overthrowing the ruling governments. In France, from the foundation of the Imperial University, the Grand Master of the University himself had to take an oath of loyalty to the Emperor, and the members of the university – teachers, students and pupils alike – were invited imperatively to denounce to their hierarchical heads all subversive measures endangering the Napoleonic regime. This obligation laid down in the Imperial Decree of 17 March 1808, the constituent charter of the University of France, was apparently not abolished after 1815 by later regimes. The outcome was that governments were able to use the disciplinary code of the university, made more specific in 1811, to take legal action against any political deviance. Hence the legality of the successive purges of the teaching bodies of the faculties following the political fluctuations of 1815, 1830, 1848, 1851 and 1871.34 Sanctions were also taken against student ‘agitation’ in 1820–22 and 1832 and between the two wars when the Camelots du Roi (the young people belonging to Action Française) dominated the Latin Quarter and organized violent demonstrations against the government of the Republic. In the Russian Empire there was already under the Tsars a strict system of control over the universities.35 In other European countries constraints were doubtlessly less visible or rather less blatant, but they still existed. 31 32 34

35

P. B. Nockles ‘“Lost Causes and . . . Impossible Loyalties”: The Oxford Movement and the University’, in History of Oxford, VI, Part 1, 191–267. 33 See chapter 10, 400. Gerbod, Condition universitaire, 141–85. P. Gerbod, ‘Les Epurations administratives (XIXe et XXe siècles)’, Actes du Colloque, Publications de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes, IVe Section: Histoire et Philologie V: Hautes Etudes Médiévales et Modernes 29 (Geneva, 1977), 81–98. See chapter 2, 52; chapter 8, 303–8.

93

Paul Gerbod When in 1819–20 revolutionary agitation developed among the students in the German states, the Congress of Carlsbad meeting within the framework of the Holy Alliance of 1815 invited the governments concerned to take repressive measures. In 1837, when the King of Hanover revoked ¨ the liberal constitution seven professors of the University of Gottingen protested publicly against this coup d’état and had to abandon their chairs.36 In Austrian Italy, up to the middle of the nineteenth century, the Vienna Government exercised a painstaking supervision over the universities in the peninsula. Subsequently in the Fascist Italy of the 1920s, as in Hitler’s Germany of the 1930s, the political supervision of professors and students became one of the major concerns of the new political regimes and was marked by previously unknown purges and sanctions. When all is said and done, these three main forms of dependence were closely linked and intended to prevent higher education establishments from contributing to political and ideological destabilization or even the overthrow of the ruling political regimes. Their denominational or ideological ‘orthodoxy’ had to be maintained at the price of certain restrictions on the freedom of thought, even though this had always been one of the privileges of higher education. Yet governments still needed the legal means to impose this denominational or ideological ‘orthodoxy’. legal guaranty and actual repression of academic freedom To legitimize prevention and repression, the supervisory authorities, especially governments, first increased legislation, frequently contravening the content of the universities’ founding charters and the traditions of higher education since the Middle Ages. Many a national constitution proclaimed loud and clear the intangible and sacrosanct respect to be granted to freedom of thought and, in particular, to the liberties that higher education should enjoy. This was the case with the 1924 Soviet Constitution, and that of the Weimar Republic in Article 142 (‘art, science and their teaching are free – the State affords them protection and encouragement . . .’);37 the same was stated in the 1933 law which governed relations between the Polish state and the universities (law of 15 March 1933, amended in March and July 1937). This statement on the freedom of teaching was also found in the Hungarian constitution of 1848. In Romania the Jorga Law of 1931 granted total independence to 36 37

See chapter 5, 152. ¨ R. A. Muller, ‘Vom Ideal der “libertas philosophandi” zum Dogma der “Freiheit der ¨ Wissenschaft” (1848–1918/19)’, in C. Friedrich, Die Friedrich-Alexander-Universitat ¨ Erlangen-Nurnberg 1743–1993. Geschichte einer deutschen Hochschule (Erlangen and ¨ Nurnberg, 1993), 65–95, quotation p. 71.

94

Relations with authority higher education; in 1937 its liberal scope was restricted by the Angelesco law. In 1933 with the advent of the republic in Spain a liberal university bill was drafted but never voted. In France, the 1806 law which founded the Imperial University granted the state a de facto monopoly of education called the ‘university monopoly’. The recognition of the freedom of higher education only dated from 1875, after the voting by the National Assembly, dominated by the monarchist, liberal right wing, of the 12 July 1875 law, which put an end to the battle waged since 1830 by the Catholic Church for the freedom of education already won in 1850 thanks to the Falloux (1811–86) Law on primary and secondary education. With the arrival in 1877 of a ‘Republican’ majority in the Chamber of Deputies, the law of 1875 was amended; mixed juries (public higher education and private higher education) for the granting of university degrees were abolished and from 1880 private higher education establishments could no longer call themselves universities. Moreover, governments, by the decision of the prince or by the vote of parliamentary assemblies, had always been in a position to restrict and even at times to abolish any liberties that the universities might have enjoyed. Europe therefore stockpiled an ‘exuberant wealth’ of complex legal and legislative weapons: laws, decrees, orders, edicts and circulars. Examples of legislation and regulations were numerous, not to say innumerable.38 In Spain, the privileges of medieval origin which the universities enjoyed were abolished by the laws of 1845 and 1857.39 In Great Britain, where the privileges of old universities such as Oxford and Cambridge had appeared to be untouchable in 1850, the ‘Royal Commission for the purpose of holding an inquiry into the state of discipline, studies and revenues of the university and colleges of Oxford’ was set up. Two years later an identical commission was set up for Cambridge. Following the work of the two commissions, two acts of parliament were voted, the first in 1854, the more important in 1877, and an executive commission was entrusted with the task of ensuring the application of this parliamentary legislation. The Scottish universities were for their part not spared state intervention. The British Parliament in 1858 removed de facto the Edinburgh town council from the management of ‘its’ university. In Russia, on its own initiative, the Tsarist power defined the successive constitutions for the universities between 1755 (for the newly founded University of Moscow) and 1912, before the Communist power imposed its ideological and administrative monopoly by new legislation after 1917. 38

39

As examples: A. de Beauchamps, Recueil des lois et règlements sur l’enseignement supérieur de 1798 a` 1880 (Paris, 1886); E. R. Huber, Dokumente zur deutschen Verfassungsgeschichte, 4 vols. (3rd edn, Stuttgart, 1978–91); I. Porciani (ed.), L’Universita` Italiana. Repertorio di atti e proffedimenti ufficiali 1859–1914 (Florence, 2001). ˜ Peset, Universidad Espanola, 430ff., 461ff.

95

Paul Gerbod In the Kingdom of Romania, the laws of 1864, 1898, 1907 and 1912 wrapped the university in a legislation straitjacket.40 In Germany, after the coming to power of the National Socialist party, the decree of 1 April 1935 strengthened state control over education.41 In the Kingdom of Italy, the Casati Law of 13 November 1859 imposed a uniform system and increased the universities’ dependence on the state. This law, amended on a certain number of points of detail, became partly outdated by the implementation of two decrees, one promulgated in 1923 (Decreto Gentile) and the other in 1935 (Decreto-Lesse De Vecchi), within the framework of the new Fascist state.42 In the case of the Catholic universities, authority was in the hands of the Holy See, exercised by the local episcopate or by those responsible for the teaching orders. The extent to which this legislation, which had become complex and luxuriant over the years, was ever really applied within the establishments themselves was another matter. Governments had at their disposal civil servants or intermediaries inside or outside the universities to ensure the application of all this legislation. At the peak of the inquisitorial hierarchy sat the Ministers of Public Education, members of the government in office playing the role of middlemen between the political power (the sovereign or the legislative assemblies) and the teaching establishment. In a state like France, since the foundation of the university (in fact since the Floréal Law of the year X (15 May 1802), they had senior civil servants called inspectors general whose mission was to make annual visits to the various establishments (their ‘round’) and inform the ministry about how they were run. Under the Second Empire a general inspectorate of higher education was set up alongside the general inspections of primary and secondary education: this special inspectorate was to survive until 1887.43 Furthermore, within the academic districts (grouping several departments; seventeen in number after 1856 including Algeria, then sixteen after the annexation of Alsace Lorraine in 1871 by Germany), posts of rectors responsible for the supervision of all the scholastic establishments (including the state faculties) in their geographical area were created. Outside of France it seems difficult to find an equivalent for this institution, though to a certain extent the members of the University Grants 40

41 42

43

J. Sadlak, Higher Education in Romania: Between Academic Mission, Economic Demands, and Political Control, Special Studies in Comparative Education 27 (Buffalo, NY, 1990). Huber, Aufbau des deutschen Hochschulwesens (note 15), 17 T. Tomasi and L. Bellatella, L’Universita` italiana nell’eta` liberale (1861–1923) (Naples, 1988), 94–128. A. Santoni Rugiu, Chiarissimi e Magnifici. Il professore nell’universita` italiana (dal 1700 al 2000) (Scandicci and Florence, 1991), 201ff. P. Gerbod, ‘Inspection générale et inspecteurs généraux de l’instruction publique de 1802 a` 1880’, Revue historique, 217 (1966), 79–105.

96

Relations with authority Committee in Great Britain since 1919 constituted a permanent body controlling the activities of universities which applied for grants. The role of administrative middlemen between the universities and the political authorities was entrusted to persons whose title differed according to the country concerned. It could be a purely honorary post such as that of the sovereign’s ‘visitor’ in Great Britain, or chancellor for Oxford and Cambridge and the Scottish universities (usually a member of the higher nobility, allied or not to the royal family), when it was not the local bishop (for the University of Durham or that of Uppsala). In some Germanic countries and beyond in Russia, the most current title was that of ‘curator’. He could have extensive internal police and financial powers; appointed by the political authority, he was the obligatory intermediary between the latter and the university establishment. In the absence of these intermediaries, who would sometimes play the role of intercessors and defend the interests of the institutions for which they were responsible, the authorities could impose teachers in whom they had full confidence as managers of the establishment and as rectors. At the Catholic University of Louvain, the rector magnificus was designated by the Belgian episcopate. Faced with opposition from within the universities, the supervisory authorities could take various repressive measures against opponents or alleged opponents (teachers and students). So the teaching body was not immune to disciplinary sanctions. In France, since the foundation of the Imperial University and particularly since the 1811 decree, the university code, which was a compilation of the laws, decrees, edicts and circulars governing the university, provided details of the penalties which could be applied to the members of the university: blame, automatic transfer, striking-off, forced retirement and removal from office.44 Through these legal provisions it was possible, when necessary, to ‘purge’ the teaching corps of opponents to the government in office. A decision on sanctions could be the subject of a prior enquiry by the academic and the university council according to a legal-type procedure, but the political power could always override it in case of crisis or change of regime. So it was that in nineteenth-century France purges were frequent in 1814– 15 against Bonapartist teachers, in 1819–22 against liberal teachers, suspending François Guizot’s (1787–1874) and Victor Cousin’s (1792–1867) classes at the Sorbonne, in 1830 against Carlist university teachers and again in 1848–51. Subsequently during political crises such as the Commune in 1871, Boulangism in 1889, the Dreyfus Affair at the end of the century or in the conflict which opposed Republic and Catholic Church between 1880 and 1909, new, mainly individual, sanctions were imposed. 44

A. Rendu, Code universitaire (Paris 1811, 1827, 1836, 1846, successive editions published); see de Beauchamp, Recueil des lois (note 38), passim, and Bulletin administratif du Ministère de l’Instruction Publique (1850–1932), 20.

97

Paul Gerbod France is not a unique case. Purges also took place throughout Europe. In Russia in 1820–22, the government took radical measures against the universities and placed them under strict supervision. It removed the rectors from the universities of St Petersburg and Kazan and replaced them with directly appointed directors, deciding, moreover, to expel all foreign teachers. Throughout the century, the persecution of liberal teachers, and in the years from 1890 to 1905, of those who were (more or less) active in political opposition, continued unabated. Virtually everywhere, more or less visibly, governments protected themselves against the ‘bad teachers’ who propagated ‘unhealthy’ and ‘revolutionary’ ideas. This witch hunt became systematic in the totalitarian regimes set up after the First World War. In Italy, the Mussolini government struck at reputedly anti-Fascist professors and removed them from their chairs; in Germany, after 1933, the persecutions extended to teachers hostile to the Hitler dictatorship and to those of Jewish origin. In the Soviet Union, from the 1920s, the Bolshevik regime proceeded to as complete a purge as possible of the university teaching body. This kind of purge was to be extended to other states such as Portugal, to the Spain under Franco’s control before 1939, to Hungary and to Romania, and eventually to France where the Vichy Government joined in and purged Jewish, Freemason and Communist teachers between 1940 and 1944.45 At the same time, persecution extended to students who in various ways had shown their hostility to the established regime.46 The political (and the religious, in the case of Catholic establishment) authorities were not unarmed in imposing their point of view on the universities. They had laws which, generally speaking, they were in a position to adapt to the situation. There were various intermediaries responsible for ensuring the application of these laws and a broad range of sanctions against students and teachers. Moreover, the political authorities could always call on the police and the army, should public order be disturbed. Were their opponents (students and teachers) capable of resisting these various forms of coercion? university resistance The universities seemed to have limited means at their disposal to combat the threats and pressure from the supervisory authorities, but they were not negligible. Among them figured the legal means represented by the councils which, under names varying from country to country, were responsible for the academic administration of university institutions.47 The British universities, in principle, had three councils which organized 45 46

C. Singer, Vichy, l’université et les juifs. Les silences et la mémoire (Paris, 1992). 47 See chapter 4, 117–21. See chapter 8.

98

Relations with authority studies, granted academic degrees, could receive legacies, acquire and manage real estate, or present people for ecclesiastical benefices. So, buttressed by privileges of medieval origin, the old universities of England and Scotland were able to resist Parliament’s pressure and attempts at interference for a long time. On the Continent, too, the universities were usually run by councils with different names. Their statutes authorised them to organize their programmes, to define curricula, to grant academic degrees, and to maintain internal order and discipline. But this independence, which in some cases extended to the material and financial sphere, was limited. For important problems (appointments, course curricula, creation or suppression of chairs, finances and equipment) the councils could only make suggestions. Even the right of proposal developed slowly in the nineteenth century. It was the political power represented by the minister responsible for higher education which decided on these matters. It usually followed the opinion of the councils, but in case of conflict the authorities triumphed over the resistance of the councils. In authoritarian regimes, this resistance was purely formal. If university resistance wanted to manifest itself and make itself heard by the political authorities, it had to take ‘illegal’ or rather ‘extra-legal’ paths and arouse more or less violent reactions from the governments in office. The least ‘illegal’ form of opposition was an appeal to public opinion. Thus in Germany, the dismissal of De Wette (1780–1849) from his theological chair in Berlin 1819 for political reasons,48 as well as the dis¨ missal in 1837 of the seven professors from the University of Gottingen, aroused a widespread public protest-movement. In England, in the 1830s, the Dissenters campaigned for the admission of non-Anglicans to the universities of Oxford and Cambridge and exhorted public opinion to take their side by way of petitions, but they obtained satisfaction only in 1854. Episodically and, usually, fruitlessly, the opponents looked for outside support in the press and in political assemblies in opposition circles. This was particularly the case in France in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. University resistance could also take the form of a teacher’s resignation or even exile. In 1852, following the 2 December 1851 coup d’état, Jules Simon (1814–96), replacing Victor Cousin as philosophy professor at the Sorbonne, preferred to give up his professorship rather than swear an oath of allegiance to the new regime resulting from the coup d’état. Jules Michelet (1799–1874) and Edgar Quinet (1803–75), professors at the Collège de France, preferred to go into exile rather than continue their classes after 1852. These are but a few examples among others. 48

See chapter 10, 404.

99

Paul Gerbod In the twentieth century, resignation and exile were the indirect forms of resistance for many an opponent of the totalitarian regimes installed throughout Europe. So the advent of the Communist regime in Russia after 1917 was accompanied by the exodus of many Russian university teachers to Western Europe or the United States. This was also true of Mussolini’s Italy after 1925 and – although only in a few cases (e.g. the classical scholar Kurt von Fritz (1900–80) who refused the oath on Hitler) on a strictly voluntary basis – in Germany after 1933. Student resistance could no more seek to evade the pressure of the political power by transferring the whole university to another town as it happened in the Middle Ages. In Germany, some students followed their discharged or resigning teachers to other universities where they had found asylum. More frequently, student resistance was demonstrated in much more active, often illegal ways.45 Between the two wars, the agitation of the Maurras Right (that of the Camelots du Roi, in the Latin Quarter) became permanent, deteriorating into veritable riots during the Scelle Affair in 1925, mentioned above, and in 1936 against the professor of law Gaston Jèze (1869–1953) who in his capacity as French legal advisor to the Société des Nations had sustained the economic sanctions against Italy after its conquest of Ethiopia. Thus, for almost a century and a half, relations between the universities and their supervisory authorities were conflictive more often than not. Far from being simply confined to technical and professional matters (curricula, budgets, examinations and teaching appointments), they were often politically and ideologically exacerbated. They continually raised the sempiternal problem of freedom of thought in teaching and scientific research. No political system, no matter how democratic, could really accept the total autonomy of the universities. Though they did retain a certain independence because of traditions often going back to the Middle Ages – that is to an age when universities were organically linked to the Western Christian Church – the universities were compelled to accept under duress more or less severe restrictions on their material and intellectual independence. Furthermore, any compromises that had been negotiated with the political power were always liable to be called into question according to political, ideological and social fluctuations from one state to another throughout the Europe of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

100

CHAPTER 4

RESOURCES AND MANAGEMENT

PA U L G E R B O D

introduction From 1800 to 1939, institutions of higher education and universities in particular had to face the unprecedented, often extremely difficult, problems posed by new and increasingly diverse pedagogical and scientific objectives, by the development of science and technology, and by evergrowing numbers of students (both male and, increasingly, female). In 1789 there were about 12,500 students enrolled in France, twice the number of the 6,000 four hundred years earlier.1 In 1937 the University of Paris alone had 32,144 students, the University of Rome 14,203, more than all the Italian universities together in 1800.2 Rising numbers of students brought new and more acute material and financial problems. Old infrastructures were generally insufficient and inadequate; at the end of the nineteenth century the restoration of old and the construction of new university premises was widespread throughout Europe. Increased student populations accompanied larger teaching staffs which had to be paid, housed and administered, while the diversification of disciplines (above all the unprecedented importance of the exact sciences) required new accommodations better adapted to teaching and research (laboratories, science materials and equipment, libraries). Only the specialized schools of higher education (the grandes e´ coles in France, the Technische Hochschulen in Germany, institutes of agriculture and fine arts academies), to the extent that they maintained their administrative autonomy, generally escaped the problems facing the overgrown universities. Many establishments used competitive admission tests 1 2

C. Charle and J. Verger, Histoire des Universités (Paris, 1994), 46. ¨ Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt, 1 (Strasburg, 1891/2), 33, Abt. Universitaten und Fachhochschulen I: Europa (Berlin, 1938), on Paris 33, 754, Rome 870.

101

Paul Gerbod to limit intake, but their student bodies represented only a fraction of the total European student population. The subject of this chapter, which deals successively with property structures, financing, student grants, and financial, pedagogical and administrative management is the extent to which universities succeeded in solving these problems in a Europe unsettled by a series of wars and revolutions. facilities reconsidered At the beginning of the nineteenth century most universities still occupied buildings dating from well before 1800. Still in their medieval setting, the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge had housed successive generations of fellows, students, bursars or paying lodgers. The University of Coimbra and that of Salamanca continued to use their ornate premises. In France, the faculties of letters and sciences and theology lodged their teachers and students in the gloomy, uncomfortable rooms of the ‘Old Sorbonne’ around the chapel built on the initiative of Cardinal Richelieu (1585– 1642) in the mid-seventeenth century.3 Elsewhere, though (and throughout the nineteenth century) cities also used buildings originally built for other purposes, such as convents, private houses and mansions, to house their universities. The law faculty of Aix-en-Provence was located in a fifteenth-century hospice; the Besançon faculty of letters lurked in an old Benedictine convent. The University of Moscow did not move out of the Repnin princes’ palace until after the 1812 fire. In 1884, the University of Vienna still occupied the buildings built in the early sixteenth century, ‘a vast construction with a portico preceded by a flight of stairs and adorned with sculptures’.4 In a number of university towns in Italy, medieval or modern palaces were used for university teaching; they were dilapidated and inadequate, though their surroundings were impressive. Most historic buildings and edifices drew complaint and indignation from their users. In 1938, the colleges of Oxford were more or less alone in arousing the admiration of the visitor, ‘genuine palaces, both austere and splendid, magnificently designed and constructed’.5 Their interior decoration, some of which had hardly changed over the centuries, was also grandiose and stirring. But in most places the situation was quite different; the buildings, too often inherited from the past, acquired without great discernment, were not suitable for teaching and research. In France, this 3 4

5

¨ und Kollegium. Baugeschichte und Bautyp (Darmstadt, 1977), ¨ K. Ruckbrod, Universitat 121–3. A. Wurtz, Les hautes e´ tudes pratiques dans les universités allemandes et d’AutricheHongrie (Paris, 1879), gives accurate descriptions of laboratories, institutes and libraries. Travel guides often mention university buildings in their description of university towns. P. Gerbod, Voyageurs français a` la découverte des Iles britanniques (Paris, 1996).

102

Resources and management criticism was increasingly virulent in the reports of the general inspectors prior to 1865. In 1868, the first ministerial statistics presented a negative and alarming picture of the material conditions of most faculties.6 In the second half of the nineteenth century, the need for new university premises became apparent and urgent throughout Europe. If, in France, the construction of the ‘New Sorbonne’ begun in 1855 was only completed in 1901, elsewhere the restoration and construction of premises took place at a much more rapid pace. It was a question of building new ‘cathedrals of knowledge’ in the centre of towns or in their immediate outskirts. In Sweden, the universities of Uppsala and Lund were rebuilt in the 1880s.7 In Great Britain, the old universities acquired many new buildings and wholly new universities were built in industrial towns such as Leeds, Birmingham, Manchester or Liverpool. In the German Empire, after 1870, states and municipalities made a major financial effort to endow universities with ‘grandiose buildings’ such as those at Halle, ¨ Heidelberg, Gottingen, Leipzig, Munich and Karlsruhe. The results of this construction were admired in France,8 but very few ‘university palaces’ were built outside Paris. Lyon was an exception. At the beginning of the twentieth century too many faculties of letters, law and sciences were still housed in excessively cramped, insalubrious and uncomfortable premises, as was the case in Grenoble, Caen and Rennes. After the First World War, while the number of students and universities increased, university building started up again, particularly in the new states created by the 1919 treaties. In Hungary, three out of its four universities were built after 1920 with the financial support of the state. This was also the case in Czechoslovakia (the new University of Bratislava), in the Baltic states and in Yugoslavia. Also, there was further construction in Great Britain, France, the Netherlands and Italy. In Spain, only during the period 1920–39 did new construction begin at Madrid’s University City, including new laboratories, libraries and student residences. The Soviet Union’s policy after 1920 was to multiply centres of higher education, particularly in the central Asian and eastern Siberian republics. Between 1800 and 1939, higher education institutions other than universities also benefited from the building boom. If the Ecole Normale 6

7 8

The first ministerial statistics on higher education were drawn up in 1865, when Victor Duruy was minister, and published in 1868; the statistical enquiries in 1878, 1889 and 1900 described the material conditions (buildings, collections, laboratories) obtaining in the state faculties. For the period prior to 1865, see the files in the Archives de France, ˆ rapports d’inspection générale des facultés, F17/ 13068 ff.; batiments F17/ 13255ff. C. Hippeau, L’Instruction Publique en Scandinavie (Paris, 1879); P. Ponnelle, Les universités scandinaves (Paris, 1882). R. Blanchard, A propos des universités allemandes (Paris, 1884); F. Minssen, A propos de l’enseignement supérieur en Allemagne (Paris, 1866); Wurtz, Hautes e´ tudes (note 4). See also P. Gerbod, ‘L’enseignement a` l’étranger vu par les pédagogues français (1800–1914). Approche bibliographique’, Histoire de l’éducation, 5 (1979), 19–29.

103

Paul Gerbod Supérieure de Jeunes Filles (founded in 1882) occupied the old seventeenth-century buildings of the former Sèvres factory, most of them were installed in purpose-built buildings. The Ecole Normale Supérieure de Jeunes Gens, for example, which had remained in its makeshift premises in the Rue de Postes until 1845, was then transferred to newly completed buildings in the Rue d’Ulm. One could find many examples of this kind throughout Europe, especially as technical and commercial schools developed into university-like institutions. Many nineteenth-century university buildings were given a neo-classical or new-renaissance style,9 for example, in France the ‘New Sorbonne’; in Finland the University of Helsinki with its main building, library, observatory, clinics;10 in Austria and in the German states Greco-Roman temple pediments and colonnades were adorned with innumerable sculptures. In Marburg and Freiburg though, a neo-Gothic style was adopted, as in Great Britain where architects found it difficult to free themselves from neo-Gothic styles. In the ‘redbrick universities’, however, use was occasionally made of new materials such as iron and glass. Leading architects became interested in the construction of what were called ‘Cathedrals of Science’: Gottfried Semper (1803–79) in Zurich, Heinrich Freiherr von Ferstel (1828–82) in Vienna, Alfred Waterhouse (1830–1905) and Sir Thomas Graham Jackson (1835–1924) in Oxford, Henri-Paul Nénot (1845–1934) in Paris. On the whole, the neo-classical or neo-Gothic styles retained ecclesiastical affinities with halls and cloistered quadrangles. In the twentieth century, however, between the First and the Second World Wars, we can see a glimmering, at the new University of Madrid, for instance, of the idea of the university campus composed of dispersed buildings. Similarly, after 1920, Paris University’s halls of residence opened on the southern borders of the capital were composed of buildings more or less distant from each other within an area sown with lawns, planted with trees and crossed by picturesque pedestrian walkways. There also were redbrick residence halls in the suburbs of British cities. As time passed, university construction emphasized the acquisition of scientific apparatus and collections. The increasing importance of the exact sciences among university disciplines demanded in particular the creation of laboratories for teaching and for research. In the first half of the nineteenth century, physics and chemistry laboratories, and mineralogical or zoological collections were of only marginal importance and often 9

10

¨ und Kollegium (note 3), 155; H.-D. Nagele, ¨ ¨ Cf. Ruckbrod, Universitat Hochschulbau im Kaiserreich. Historische Architektur im Prozess burgerlicher Konsensbildung (Kiel, 2000). R. Knapas, ‘Universitetets Byggnader’, in M. Klinge (ed.), Keyserliga Alexanders Univer¨ Helsinki, 291–2, 304ff. sitetet 1808–1917 (Helsinki, 1989), 216–76; Klinge, Universitat

104

Resources and management relegated to the cellars or attics of university buildings. All this changed in the second half of the century.11 But the results of scientific equipment investment policies were very unequal from one state to another. Once again, Germany set the example. On a mission to the universities across the Rhine, the French professor Adolphe Wurtz (1817–84), in his reports (in 1871 and in 1878), stressed the extent of the work which had made it possible to build ‘grandiose’ modern and well-equipped chemistry, physics, physiology and anatomy institutes such as those at the universities of Berlin and Leipzig. The German model was also found in AustroHungary in Vienna and in Graz, where the buildings were located on vast grounds outside the ramparts, ‘where air and light flooded in’.12 In France there were major delays. At the beginning of the 1880s, a ministerial enquiry revealed the often lamentable state of many science faculty laboratories: aged and uncomfortable premises, obsolete and unusable scientific equipment, extremely primitive and precarious hygiene and safety conditions.13 Yet, thanks to state funds, the devotion of the teaching staff and the help of the municipalities, these shortcomings were partly overcome by 1914. During the inter-war period, the prestige of science was well established and laboratories were installed in university establishments even if, in the 1930s, they were still often cramped and inadequately equipped. Experimentation and research were carried out in the face of difficulties even in major centres of science, like the Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge. For centuries, the very nature of higher education had also demanded that scholarly works – rightly considered as indispensable tools – be made available to students and teachers. Since their foundation, most universities had continued to enrich their library collections.14 From the nineteenth century, these collections were an essential element of university life. At first often housed in some odd corner of the main buildings, libraries came increasingly to occupy more appropriate premises often separate from the teaching buildings. Some occupied historical buildings, former princely palaces, convents, private mansions. But, after 1850, they were placed mainly in new buildings. In Paris, the Sainte Geneviève library was built during the Second Empire, while the university library was transferred to the New Sorbonne in 1901. Beside the university libraries stricto sensu the great public libraries of the European capitals founded and supported by kings, governments or municipalities also contributed to the development of university activity. 11 12 13 14

P. Gerbod, ‘Le financement de l’enseignement supérieur et de la recherche en France au XIXe siècle’, Revue administrative, 35 (1983). Wurtz, Hautes e´ tudes (note 4). Enquêtes et documents sur l’enseignement supérieur, 9 (1883). See subject index: ‘Library’ in vols. I and II.

105

Paul Gerbod Table 4.1 Books available in some university and public librariesa Foundation Athens Belgrade Berlin kgl./pr. Staatsb. Brussels B. royale Budapest Coimbra Copenhagen Royal Library Cracow Ghent ¨ Gottingen Helsinki Leiden London f British Museum Lund Madrid Nacional Moscow Oslo Oxford Paris Sorbonne Sainte-Geneviève du Roi/Nationale Rome Nazionale Vaticana St Petersburg Academy Imp./Statet L. Vienna Hof/National

1837 1926 1831 1659 1887 1837 1635 1591 1482 1665 1517 1797 1735 1640, 1827 1587 1838 1753 1671 1822 1711 1756 1811 1602 1765 1624 1518 1661 1815 1450 (c.)

c. 1830b

300

400 112 430

1890c

1910d

1938e

160 30 140 875

314 63 558 1,480 80 600 480 160 350 750 403 350 600 230 520 85 200 289 1,650 414 450 800 902 400 3,500 240 818 445

400 200 987 2,698 100 900 700 500 430 920 620 600 960 800 1,200 310 4,450 500 295 1,400 990 872 1,500 1,000 520 4,000 516 1,129 650

500 1,807 856 1,000

4,520 6,520 1,226 1,313

375 190 95 300 500 205 300 450 170 310 1,600 150 52 450 180 307 550 142 120 2,016 90 491 220 160 1,000 417 500

1728 1814 1775 1526

a b

Often including brochures and dissertations, but not incunabula. Figures in 000s. J.-L.-A. Bailly, ‘Aperçu statistique sur les bibliothèques anciennes et modernes’, Journal des Travaux de la société française de statistique (1831); J. Laude, Les bibliothèques universitaires allemandes et leur organisation (Paris, 1900). c Minerva (note 2), 2 (1892–93). d Ibid., 23 (1913–14). e Ibid., 32 (1937), Abt. Forschungsinstitute. Observatorien, Bibliotheken usw. f Without college libraries.

The investments rendered necessary by the development of higher education institutions included those for the construction of university halls of residence. Their origins date back to the Middle Ages when sovereigns, princes, bishops or wealthy individuals would take the initiative of financing the construction of colleges to board and feed poor students, like 106

Resources and management the college founded by Robert de Sorbon (1201–74) in the Latin Quarter in 1253.15 After 1800 the only ones still existing were the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, which housed fellows, paying lodgers and scholarship students. However, in many higher education institutions, ´ the boarding tradition remained as, for example, in France, in the Ecoles ´ Normales Supérieures or the Ecole polytechnique. Generally speaking, students lodged off the university premises. The idea of ‘student houses’ reappeared at the end of the nineteenth century, apparently within the framework of student associations.16 But it was not until the end of the First World War that the idea of university-sponsored residence halls began to take shape. In the 1920s the Paris Cité universitaire was established to the south of the capital with the 350-room Deutsch de la Meurthe Hall. In 1935, nineteen other halls of residence built by foreign states or financed by French communities provided accommodation for 2,500 male and female students. Following this Parisian model, halls of residence were built in the 1930s in a certain number of provincial towns. It was also in the 1930s that we have the broad outlines of the Madrid ciudad universitaria built on the outskirts of the capital and comprising teaching and research buildings as well as student accommodation for Spaniards and Latin Americans. Student residences multiplied between the two wars in other countries like Romania and Czechoslovakia, often managed by Catholic or Protestant bodies. Discussions also started on a projected students’ residence under the auspices of the University of Rome. Finally, among the annexes to the university there were new or enlarged botanical gardens, zoological parks, astronomical observatories as well as natural history and archaeological collections essential for the teaching of natural sciences and history. There were also sports grounds, particularly in Britain. University sport became more important in other countries, too, during the inter-war period. i n c r e as i n g ly h e av y a n d d i v e rs e expenditure outlays The building of premises and the acquisition of scientific works and materials implied long-term strategies to increase financial resources. The ‘extraordinary’ budget of the universities became heavier year after year. There was an annual burden of maintenance also, including heating and lighting, calling for the recruitment of a wide range of staff. The administration of ‘ordinary’ expenditure, some of it very specialized, became an increasing burden on institutions. 15

See vol. I, pp. 213–22.

16

See chapter 8.

107

Paul Gerbod Keeping the accounts for these various types of expenditure also became ever more complex. The various categories and statuses of teaching and research staff grew in number. At the beginning of the century, the service employees were simply a few porters, secretaries and bursars, perhaps also one or two librarians.17 The extension of the scientific disciplines, the introduction of laboratory work for the students, the increase in administrative tasks, required a larger and more diversified service staff, all with different statuses; laboratory assistants, assistant librarians, prosectors, accounting clerks in the secretariats.18 Teaching staffs, too, with the growing specialization of university disciplines and the increase in the number of students in higher education, became more numerous and differentiated. In the 1830s, the French faculties comprised altogether some 200 teachers; the corresponding numbers in 1860 and 1940 were 360 and 1,500. In the Netherlands, the University of Utrecht had nineteen teachers in 1840 and 150 in 1937. Over the same period of time, the University of Edinburgh saw its teaching staff quintuple if assistants and assistant professors are included. In Spain, the ´ number of full professors (catedraticos) rose from 276 in 1847 to 540 in 1935 to cope with increasing student numbers.19 In general, in the space of a century and a half, teaching staff had at least tripled in most institutions and in some cases increased tenfold.20 Salaries differed greatly from country to country and establishment to establishment, especially in Great Britain and Germany. In states influenced by the Napoleon model the central political authorities intervened very early on to define the salary scales according to qualifications, function and seniority. In France this was the case after 1809, in Spain and Italy, in the second half of the nineteenth century. Regulating salaries was much more precise and restrictive in all European countries after World War I. But wide variations still remained between one state and another.21 In several countries ordinary salaries paid from the university budgets or by the state were supplemented by fees for lectures and examinations, by allowances for holding an office, etc., all of which made up a sort of variable ‘bonus’.22 In Oxford and Cambridge, the self-governing colleges paid for the teaching of their own fellows. A second heading of expenditure, assistance to students, comprised essentially the provision of scholarships. The establishment of this form 17 18

19 21 22

See vol. II, Subject index: ‘university officials’. The draft budgets of the Ministry of Public Instruction since 1835 contain the detailed list of the teaching and service staff posts for each establishment with an indication of the respective salaries. 20 See also, for the salaries, chapter 5, 140–7. Minerva (note 2). Annuaire international d’éducation (1934–36). See chapter 2, 46–7, and chapter 5, 140–7.

108

Resources and management of assistance dates back to the Middle Ages when, from the thirteenth century in most European universities, colleges were founded to lodge and board poor, deserving students. Though in France the colleges, and with them the scholarships, were abolished during the Revolution, elsewhere scholarships were usually maintained. There were 463 in the four Scottish universities up to 1858, and 458 in the second half of the century.23 At Oxford and Cambridge the fellows had in fact taken the place of the original scholars, but each college continued to provide funds at entrance or later for some needy students.24 In France, study grants reappeared in the 1880s for candidates of the agrégation. In the German, Austrian and Belgian universities financial assistance for students seemed relatively generous (50,000 francs in Liège and Ghent in 1868 and 100,000 francs ¨ in Gottingen). In 1876, the University of Kazan in Russia offered 195 scholarships and that of Kharkov, 170. In the twentieth century, especially in the inter-war period, scholarships multiplied even though the sums spent on them were still relatively small. France, in 1937, granted only 2,911 scholarships. Spain spent a million pesetas on them. This did not amount to much in terms of support. In Great Britain, Germany and Soviet Russia, however, financial assistance was much greater. To the scholarships, stricto sensu, were added other forms of assistance which came from the budgets of the Ministries of Education or Public Instruction. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, some students were exempt from university fees and, in France, over 7,000 students received prêts d’honneur (honour loans) between 1925 and 1934. In certain higher education establishments the students could be the material responsibility of the establishments themselves. In France, this was the ´ ´ case with the Ecole polytechnique and the Ecoles Normales Supérieures, and similar examples could be found in many other European nations. Among the expenditure on student assistance figured, very early in the nineteenth century, subsidies for student residences, travel grants and, subsequently, subsidised university cafeterias. Student associations, which increased in number at the end of the nineteenth century,25 were also given financial support. Thirdly, establishments had to worry even more about material expenditure. This was not just a matter of the maintenance of university buildings, heating and lighting bills, or of administrative expenses (office supplies, mailing costs, the printing of posters for courses and lectures), but also of the acquisition of scientific equipment or library books (for 23 24

25

Minerva (note 2). Statutes of the University of Cambridge (Cambridge, 1985), Index, s.v. ‘Exhibitions, Funds, Studentships, Prizes,’ etc.; Statutes and Regulations of the University of Oxford (Oxford, 1969), Index, s.v. ‘Scholarships and Studentships’. See chapter 8, 315–24.

109

Paul Gerbod instance, the renewal of physics and chemistry apparatus for experiments and laboratory work, and also for its constant up-dating). Expenditure varied from one year to the next but it almost always increased. There remained the so-called ‘extraordinary’ expenses. These mainly concerned university buildings. As we mentioned before, it proved necessary during the second half of last century to start replacing dilapidated, impractical and inadequate premises. It was also necessary to think about building annexes for laboratories and libraries. So national university building policies became more important and a heavier burden on the higher education budgets managed by the institutions. The German states devoted, especially after 1871, large funds to new teaching premises and above all to modern, well-equipped laboratories which French observers noted with envy.26 For the University of Rome in the 1930s, the sums involved totalled 70 million lire. The contribution of municipalities in the form of building land grants were essential for the construction of the new ‘university palaces’ in Germany, Italy, France, for example, in Lyon, Bordeaux and Toulouse. The City of Paris contributed to the costs of the New Sorbonne, which in 1881 totalled 25 million francs.27 Private patronage also contributed to the new buildings and their running costs. Such was the case in many British universities, and in Spain with the Amo foundation for the Ciudad universitaria in Madrid; in France the Deutsch-de-la Meurthe student house and the Ecole libre des Sciences politiques (1872) were privately financed. The same was ¨ ¨ true for the Stockholms (1977) and the Goteborg Hogskola (1891), the ¨ Sozial- und Handelswissenschaften in Frankfurt-am-Main Akademie fur (1901) which was enlarged to a university in 1914, and the private universities of Turku in Finland (1917) and Aarhus in Denmark (1928). The diversification and the global increase in forms of institutional expenditure often increased university budgets tenfold in constant currency between the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries. In France, higher education expenditure, estimated at almost three million francs in the 1830s and 1840s, rose to over 45 million francs on the eve of World War II. In Italy, between 1870 and 1937, the growth in expenditure was in the region of one to five (from five and a half million lire in 1860 to 146 million lire in 1937). In half a century (from 1850 to 1900), the expenditure of the University of Berlin tripled.28 26 27 28

F. Lot, ‘De la situation faite a` l’enseignement supérieur en France’, in Les Cahiers de la Quinzaine (11 Febrary and 14 June 1906); Wurtz, Hautes e´ tudes (note 4). O. Gréard, Education et Instruction, Vol. IV: Enseignement supérieur (Paris, 1885). The amount in francs is calculated on the basis of 1914 gold francs, passim. Information on establishments’ budgets is sparse for the period before 1890. After this date, Minerva (note 2) and the Index Generalis mention in general the annual total

110

Resources and management sources of finance From the nineteenth century onwards, the financial needs of the universities tended to be covered more and more exclusively by the state. In France, after 1800 the Imperial (Royal, after 1815) University had an endowment of 400,000 francs and the right to collect various university fees. It managed its income and its expenditure without interference from the state until 1834, at which time the budgets of school and university establishments were included in the general budget of the state. Thanks to the fees paid by their students, the faculties succeeded in covering their current expenses with the occasional help of the University Fund. The incomes of the faculties of law and medicine even exceeded expenditure. From 1809 to 1819, the accumulated profit of the law faculties rose to 630,454 francs. But during the July Monarchy (1830–48) the balance was upset and the state had to intervene.29 In 1840 the faculties had to accept a subsidy of 516,000 francs from the Ministry of Public Education to balance their respective budgets. At first modest, this state subsidy gradually increased over the years; in 1860 it was 807,000 francs, 1880 4,100,000 francs, in 1898 10,200,000 francs. This annual funding, which figured in the general state budget, represented an ever-higher percentage of the faculties’ income throughout the century. In 1898, it stood at 74 per cent for all of the seventeen French universities. If the University of Paris, which received the university fees paid by its students, obtained a grant of only 57 per cent of its income from the state. the provincial universities received much more. The University of Besançon was granted 93.5 per cent of its income, Dijon, 86 per cent and Aix-en-Provence, 85.5 per cent. Similarly, in Germany, the universities’ own income gradually decreased proportionately against the general increase in current and extraordinary expenditure. By the 1860s, student fees at the University of Berlin represented barely 4 per cent of income. During the same period, the resources of the seven Prussian universities (university fees, gifts and endowment income) constituted only 23 per cent of total receipts. After 1880, the German states took over responsibility for all expenditure on higher education.30 In Hungary, the University of Budapest covered all of its expenses with its own resources up to 1869, when the state intervened, and similarly in Italy, Spain, Russia and the Scandinavian states insufficient incomes to meet growing university expenses had to be supplemented by public means.

29 30

expenditure (scholarships, libraries, in particular) and income (role of the state, own resources, university fees). C. Jourdain, Le Budget de l’Instruction Publique de 1802 a` 1854 (Paris, 1857). Blanchard, Universités allemandes (note 8).

111

Paul Gerbod The two exceptions were the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, at least in the nineteenth century. Some of the colleges in these two establishments had been richly endowed and their income was considerable. It was estimated in 1860 that the resources of the Oxford colleges were around 200,000 pounds sterling (some six million 1914 gold francs). In 1900 they totalled some 341,360 pounds, enough to pay the heads, more than 400 fellows and 770 scholarships, but at the beginning of the 1930s, Oxford’s income totalled only eight million francs, including state assistance provided through the University Grants Committee, as was the case in other universities. The situation of Cambridge was similar. In the 1860s, the income of its colleges totalled six million francs and the wealthiest of its colleges had almost a million francs. In 1933, Cambridge’s income was around eleven and a half million francs. Taking Europe as a whole, only those universities which were very well endowed and which had lived through the centuries without any major upheaval retained real financial autonomy. In fact, since university fees generally remained relatively low from the nineteenth to the twentieth centuries, the gap between resources and real expenditure continued to widen. Moreover, after 1800, gifts and legacies became increasingly rare and smaller, with only a few exceptions. The state and occasionally local communities, together with the Catholic or Protestant Churches, therefore intervened. Financial intervention by the state before 1800 had consisted of royal or princely endowments. In the nineteenth century, the role of the state became increasingly important and methodical. Not only the universities, but also specialized military or scientific, literary and pedagogical teaching institutions were founded or reorganized at the expense of the state.31 The local or regional communities’ share in financing the universities is much more difficult to specify. They were closely involved, even obliged to be so by the state, when it was a question of property transactions such as the acquisition or restoration of buildings. The generosity of these communities also extended to financing new or special courses, the granting of scholarships and the purchase of library materials. This form of patronage tended to slacken off virtually everywhere in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. But there were substitutes. These could be public or private bodies such as chambers of commerce and industry, employers’ associations and even trades-union organizations. In Great Britain during the 1890s, and in Germany after the First World War, the trades unions took part in the setting-up of university extension courses and the foundation

31

For reasons of comparison the figures are given in gold francs.

112

Resources and management of workers’ colleges.32 Closer relations also began to develop between the university and industry. Especially in Germany, companies encouraged research in university laboratories through grants of money or by donating scientific material. Even in France, the science faculties incorporated applied science institutes in close relation with local industry (for example, industrial and hydraulic electricity and electro-chemistry in the case of the Grenoble faculty of sciences). Nor should the financial role of the European churches be neglected. To the extent that a large number of universities founded in the Middle Ages lived on the income from ecclesiastical benefices, the churches retained a right to oversee the financial aspects of their administration. With the emergence of non-denominational states in the nineteenth century, the links became weaker or ceased to exist.33 Even the faculties of theology escaped the financial control of the ecclesiastical authorities. Under these conditions, the financial input of the churches was marginal. Nevertheless, the reconquest of higher education by the churches (above all the Catholic Church) produced partial though not negligible results. The Church developed a network of great seminaries depending on the papal authority, which contributed in France to the neutralizing of the Catholic faculties of theology. In Rome pontifical institutes were founded or reopened, the most prestigious being the Gregorian University given back to the Jesuits in 1824; Catholic universities were founded in Dublin, Fribourg (Switzerland), Paris, Angers, Lyon, and reopened in Louvain, Camerino and Urbino.34 In the end, the generalization of financial recourse to the state allowed institutions to manage gradual increases in their annual current and extraordinary expenditure. By 1938, state participation in European university finance, depending on the university, ranged from 25 to 100 per cent. To the extent that these contributions came within the Public Instruction budgets and the general budgets of the state, they were subject to the vicissitudes of the political (and economic) situation and to the will of governments and their legislative assemblies. So began a process of budgetary ups-and-downs linked to political and economic variations. The universities’ financial stability was consequently called into question, and the control of the state, justified by arguments of financial rationality, was often extended to both teaching and research such as the abolition or 32

33 34

In Frankfurt-am-Main, the Akademie der Arbeit, affiliated to the university, was founded ¨ in 1921 in order to train functionaries for the trades unions: Hammerstein, Universitat Frankfurt am Main, 50–6. See chapter 10, 315–17. See chapter 2 and ‘European Universities and Similar Institutions in Existence Between 1812 and the End of 1944’, see names of the universities concerned.

113

Paul Gerbod Table 4.2 Number of inhabitants per student Great Britain Italy

Europe Germany France Russia 1800 1815 1840 3,375a 1850 1870 1900 1,410 1913 1934 1938 950 a

The Greece Spain Netherlands

8,200 6,000 1,578 818

3,958 1,384

17,500 8,242 4,200

604

480

1,340

1,470 887

1,270 1,438 808 760

1,022 1,074 655 522

80,000 students per 270 million inhabitants.

creation of courses, fixing staff salaries, controlling expenditure, incurring extraordinary expenditure. Nevertheless, from the end of the nineteenth century until World War II, a relatively large overall increase in the financial participation of the states in the development of higher education can be noted, even if the criticism, the claims and the indignation were voiced as strongly and continuously as ever. The comparison that can be established between the amount of state funding in 1900 and that in 1936–37 in a certain number of states and universities (basing our analysis on funds in constant 1914 gold francs) leads to the conclusion that political regimes became more generous. More globally, a comparison between the costs of higher education at the beginning of the twentieth century and those at the end of the 1930s (reduced, as usual, to 1914 gold francs) reveals the increasing and undeniable interest of political regimes, local and regional communities, national associations, the churches and individuals, especially bearing in mind national demographic trends (Tables 4.2 and 4.3). These examples show large variations from one country to another, although not such extreme ones as between the average cost in 1900 of some 3,000 francs for a student at Oxford and less than 200 francs for a Spanish student. From an overall European viewpoint, however, the growth in annual income available to the university was indisputable. It speeded up between 1900 and 1937, corresponding to a better image of higher education in national public opinion. The extension and specialization of higher education were closely linked to the raising of its average level throughout Europe and, externally, to the unemployment of its graduates during the economic crisis of the early 1930s.35 35

ˆ A. Rosier, Du Chomage intellectuel: De l’encombrement des professions intellectuelles (Paris, 1934); P. Allard, Que faire de nos fils et de nos filles (Paris, 1934).

114

Resources and management Table 4.3 Annual cost, (t) total in million francs, (s) of a student, (i) per inhabitant Europe (t) 1840/50 1900 1934/35 1937 a b

(s)

France

Germany

Great Britain

(i)

(t)

(s)

(i)

(t)

(i)

(t)

(s)

(i)

833

0.40

41

0.70

43 33

2,150

1.10 0.70

65 270

810a 900

0.25 0.60

3 17

1,000

1,700b

2.50

47

Average of German, French, Italian, British universities. Average of 32 universities.

i n c r e as i n g ly d i v e rs e a n d c o m p l e x administrative tasks Until the beginning of the nineteenth century, the administrative management of universities did not cope with problems, for student and teacher numbers were small. In France, during much of the nineteenth century, the administration was often reduced to a faculty secretary, assisted by an accounts secretary, porters and service employees.36 Material cares were reduced to the heating and possibly the lighting of teaching premises. The odd cellar or attic served as a laboratory and the book collections did not require the employment of a large staff. Much of that changed in the course of the century, as the administration was faced with more onerous, delicate and numerous tasks. In the first place, it had to ensure the day-to-day management of the teaching and service staffs, whose numbers increased in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Some universities employed several hundred persons, and some, several thousands prior to the Second World War. These were employees of very different status: teachers, part-time lecturers, assistants, laboratory assistants, office workers, etc. Their recruitment had to be assured by collegial co-option, public competitive examination or a simple verbal agreement. The procedures for the proposal, selection and promotion of teachers suffered from an excessively legalistic approach. The teaching function, moreover, corresponded to a career, the various stages of which had to be managed by the administration. There was also considerable variation in salaries, which varied from one person to the next, and a wide range of ‘extras’ (participation in examinations, student fees), at least in the nineteenth century in most European universities. The vigilance of the administrative bodies extended to pedagogy. Teachers were obliged to give a certain number of classes and to supervise 36

See Almanach de l’Université (1810–40), passim.

115

Paul Gerbod laboratory work or seminars. Regulations varied in time and space. The increasing use of substitute teachers associated with many professorial chairs, particularly in France and Germany, infringed the regulations which, however, remained in force. Teachers had to indicate the subject of their courses at the beginning of the year, and this figured on the notices put up by the administration. In some places – nineteenth-century France and Russia are examples – the political authorities, through the Minister of Education, demanded to know the content of the courses as well.37 The liberties enjoyed by the teaching staff, particularly from the scientific and ideological point of view, implied neither disorder nor licence. As civil servants, they were answerable to university discipline should they commit an offence in the exercise of their functions (or even in their private lives). This was particularly true of France, where the rules of disciplinary procedure for all the members of the university and the jurisdictions and procedures of the various legal bodies (faculty councils, academic councils, the University council, then the higher council of Public Instruction) were established under the First Empire.38 These restraints became very meaningful and extremely important in periods of political tension in Russia and in France. After World War I totalitarian regimes used disciplinary procedures to quash opposition in the university. The management of student bodies was the second task of the administration. This gradually extended to a whole range of areas. Taking responsibility for the students might be preceded by a competitive entrance examination. In most countries, a secondary education diploma was a sine qua non for admission to university education. In France, the baccalaureate was considered to be the first university degree and placed under the responsibility of the arts or science faculties. In the scientific, literary or technical higher schools the number of places was, in general, restricted, and the establishments organized an entrance examination that could be on a very high level, as in France for admission to the Ecole Polytechnique or the Ecoles Normales Supérieures. In Great Britain, the Oxford and Cambridge colleges subjected their potential students to entrance examinations. A totalitarian state could also take into account criteria such as ethnic origin, social class or ideological affiliation. Every admitted student had to matriculate and register for examinations. This implied the payment of fees for which the administration was accountable (stamp duty, diploma, and examination fees, for example). These procedures were renewable, in part, each year of studies. From the pedagogical point of view, the administration’s supervision could extend to the control of attendance at lectures and in laboratories, the holding

37

See chapter 3, 97–8.

38

A. Rendu, Code Universitaire (Paris, 1846).

116

Resources and management of examinations, and the opening of libraries and lecture rooms. Other service staff, such as porters or librarians, were also involved. Problems of everyday student life – for example offences committed within the university, duels, board and lodging, study grants, loans, national and international student bodies – only partially increased the responsibilities of the university administrations. Besides their patronage of associations, they set up local and national structures to facilitate the reception of foreign students and encourage student and teacher exchanges. This was the role of the national university offices created between the two World Wars. In the 1930s, when the economic crisis worsened in Europe and unemployment rose among university graduates, the problem of jobs for students became acute. In some states, the university authorities tried to help by setting up organizations which, though they could not accept responsibility for the situation, at least tried to find a solution for it. In France, there was the Bureau Universitaire de Statistique (BUS), created in Paris in 1932, and whose role in the preparation of relief measures for individuals was not negligible even before 1939. As administrative tasks concerning persons (teachers, service staff and students) increased, so did those dealing with property, laboratory equipment and libraries. In the second half of the nineteenth century these material problems became more numerous and more difficult to solve. It was not just a question of managing property that had deteriorated over the years, or of parsimoniously enriching the book collections which, in some cases, were centuries old. New premises had to be built, effective laboratories created, libraries extended and modernized. Administrations faced day-to-day emergencies (repairing premises, renewing scientific equipment) and the definition of policies for holding property, which implied negotiations with the state, local communities, and the users themselves. The financial management was made additionally burdensome by the requirements of clear, accurate and objective annual accounts, as occurred in France after 1835. Only autonomous universities like Oxford and Cambridge could content themselves with a certain ‘approximation’ in their accounts, at least up to the end of the nineteenth century.39 Finally, among the proliferation of administrative tasks, the maintenance of an ever-increasing correspondence should be stressed. u n i v e rs i t y g ov e r n a n c e Strong in their medieval traditions, defined at a time when the universities were communities of masters and pupils self-governing under the 39

See chapter 2, 54–64.

117

Paul Gerbod often theoretical tutelage of the local bishop or the sovereign pontiff,40 the European universities succeeded in retaining their essential forms of management beyond the eighteenth century. This was especially the case in Great Britain. The British Parliament, through the Privy Council, limited itself to granting universities a charter and perhaps partially to amending its terms, and to ordering enquiries into the system of studies or the financial management of the establishments. In addition to the fees paid by their students, the Scottish universities were financed from 1705 on by the Crown, from 1858 and 1889 on by the government, and the English city universities of the nineteenth century by local government and private sponsors. It was only in 1919 that central government subsidies became general. But they were distributed and their application controlled by a body composed of representatives of the universities, the University Grants Committee. Therefore neither the grant nor the supervision was resented as infringing the autonomy of the universities.41 The same applied in the Netherlands and in Scandinavia, in the German states up to the advent of Nazism, and in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, even if the universities were largely financially dependent on national governments. Up to the middle of the nineteenth century, the Spanish and Italian universities remained autonomous bodies, narrow in their routine, unaware of cultural and social change, and resistant to any attempts at reform. Through the reforms introduced in Spain by the Minister Antonio ´ Gil de Zarata (1793–1861) in 1845 and realized between 1857 and 1868 by Claudio Moyano Samaniego (1809–90) and the corresponding decrees,42 and those carried out in Italy by several ministers of education, by Casati in 1857, Matteucci in 1861, and Giovanni Gentile (1875–1944) in 1923, the state partially succeeded in imposing its administrative supervision, but traditions of self-management remained strong.43 This was even the case in France and Russia, where the control of university government by the state was very tight, as is shown in chapters 2 and 3. Nevertheless the Russian universities (as well as the single, national French one which up to 1887 was dissolved into Facultés and Ecoles) kept to some corporate selfgovernment, unlike other institutions of higher education that multiplied during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and which were totally administered by the state. It might appear that the autonomy of university administration in many states was seriously restricted by a series of external constraints of which the state was but one. However, universities everywhere continued to 40 41 42 43

See chapter 4 in vols. I and II. F. Hutchinson, ‘The Origins of the University Grants Committee’, Minerva, A Review of Science, Learning and Policy, 13,4 (1975), 583–620. ˜ Peset, Universidad Espanola, 406–7, 461–91. See chapter 2, 70–3, with the corresponding bibliography.

118

Resources and management incarnate to some degree their historical tradition of self-government. This autonomy was founded on the corporate principle. Its mode of application varied according to the state and the university. We can, nevertheless, define a series of characteristics common to European universities. At the base were councils in which the members of the corporation elected the officials and decided on all academic matters. Oxford and Cambridge maintained the medieval tradition of a corporation self governed by their Masters of Arts. The supreme body, called Convocation in Oxford, Senate in Cambridge, was composed of all registered graduates who in the Middle Ages were allowed and even obliged to teach.44 Its membership in Oxford, ‘during the 1920s averaged at 7,691 but few of its members ever turned up, its powers had long been waning, and it met rarely’.45 Its most important task was the election (for life) of the chancellor. The legislative body of the university which also conferred degrees and decided on important executive matters – the Congregation in Oxford, the House of Residents, later on Regent House in Cambridge – consisted of all resident, mostly teaching members of the Convocation/Senate. It counted still several hundred members and had, besides the submission of statutes and the election of the vice-chancellor and other officials, the function of a referendum body which decided on resolutions, published in the Oxford University Gazette or the Cambridge University Reporter and opposed by a non placet of a small quorum of its members. Both supreme bodies, the main executive body for the day-to-day business – called the Hebdomadal Council in Oxford, the Council of the Senate in Cambridge – as well as the faculty councils and the special boards – for example, for student grants, the University Library, the University Press – were dominated by the colleges, whose particular interests only reluctantly accommodated the general interest of the university.46 Elsewhere, university governance by councils usually excluded in the nineteenth century all categories of teachers other than chair holders. In the twentieth century some countries allowed associate professors and lecturers to send representatives to the councils as members.47 Until the 1970s students and service staff were always excluded. The legislative body of the university, which consisted of all full professors – called Konzil, Konsistorium, Senat in universities following the German model, Assemblea Generale dei professori (1875), Collegio Generale dei professori (1923), Corpo accademico (1944) in Italy48 – dealt with matters 44 46

47 48

45 History of Oxford, VIII, 678. See vol. I, 147. Ibid., 39–43, 683–719; University of Cambridge, IV, 341–69. Statutes, Decrees and Regulation of the University of Oxford. Statutes and Ordinances of the Universitiy of Cambridge. Cf. J. Rose and J. Ziman, Camford Observed (London, 1964), 195–216. See chapter 5, 138. B. Palma, L’Universita` fra accentramento ed autonomia (Urbino, 1983), 90, 141, 168.

119

Paul Gerbod of general interest for the whole university, especially statutes, and at some places also nominated professors and elected the rector, if he was not chosen by the state, which was the case in the Napoleonic university model. The executive body, Senatsausschuss, Kleiner Senat, Conseil de l’Université, Consiglio accademico (1875), consisted of the representatives of the faculties. The faculty councils elected their deans (where they were not imposed by the state), as well as their representatives for other bodies, dealt with all matters concerning curricula and examinations, and prepared the proposals for the nomination of professors. In Italy from 1875 all teachers took part in the faculty councils with the exception of the nomination procedures. Although their dilatoriness and lethargy, in short, their routine and conservatism, were often criticized, the councils played an essential role in defending the idea of autonomy and self-government. Through them the teaching staff participated in management and accepted a share of responsibility, which helped to promote after the Second World War and the end of the authoritarian political systems in Europe a renaissance of real autonomy in university governance. Other higher educational institutions also asked for more autonomy. Usually their presidents, rectors, directors as well as their governing boards were imposed by ministries, municipal governments or private donors. In Germany the Technische Hochschulen, after a century of opposing during the corporate rights of the universities, eventually won the right to elect deans and rectors, and to confer the Habilitation, the advanced doctoral degree (1899). In France it was only in 1968 that legal, administrative, financial and educational autonomy was granted to the universities by the Loi d’orientation of Edgar Faure;49 only in 1984 were the other institutions of higher education, controlled by the Ministry of Education, granted the right to confer academic degrees by the Loi Savary. The administrative officials, chosen from among the professorial body, was in principle only the executive agents of the different councils. In fact, in all universities, from the Atlantic to the Urals, their function were anything but a sinecure. They were the persons who represented the university or its members before outside political agencies, municipal councils, and religious, civilian or military dignitaries. They also embodied authority inside the establishments for the teachers, the students and the service staff. They prepared the deliberations of the councils and directed and ensured the application of the latter’s decisions. They were in charge of the offices responsible for implementing the measures decreed by the councils. In general, their functions were temporary; they might last one or two, seldom several years. Permanence was exceptional, 49

C. Fourrier, Les institutions universitaires (Paris, 1971), 42–56.

120

Resources and management except for the heads of the Catholic universities in Belgium, Italy and France.50 This also applied to the chancellors of the British universities who, belonging in general to high society and being relieved by their vice-chancellors of all day-to-day business, were able to represent and defend the interests of the university to outside political agencies. Generally speaking, the management of the universities was for much of this time the business of the full professors who, in principle, could be called upon in their turn to exercise the functions of authority. Here the medieval tradition of corporate self-management remained healthy. With respect to their administrative structures, the European universities displayed an almost filial attachment to their centuries-old inheritance. They were proud of their long history, rooted in tradition, and sometimes opposed reforms with an obstinate, even a blind, resistance. But the rising tide of students submerged their ideas of autonomy and self-governance. It was necessary to build ‘university palaces’ or ‘cathedrals of knowledge’, which often proved too small after a few decades. The financial management of the individual institutions became more burdensome and complex, and financial exigency drove them to seek ever more money from the state. State interference in the functioning of the universities and schools thus intensified. As a result, university autonomy diminished during the nineteenth century. But an important vestige remained, reaffirmed after World War II, in the traditional principle of self-governance by councils. 50

For Belgium, see the example of Louvain University’s rector de Ram, cf. chapter 10, 401; for Italy, those of the Free University of Urbino, cf. F. Marra and L. Scirollo (eds.), Relazioni dei rettori. Discorsi inaugurali dei docenti nella Libera universita` degli studi di Urbino, 1864–1946, 3 vols. (Urbino, 1997). Carlo Bo (1911–2001) was its rector for 54 years from 1947 up to his death.

121

CHAPTER 5

TEACHERS

M AT T I K L I N G E

general situation At the beginning of the nineteenth century, university teachers, especially professors, despite enlightenment and general secularization,1 were regarded as members of long-established orders, mostly ecclesiastical, but including the legal and medical orders; the use of the traditional gown in many European countries distinguished them from the nobility and the bourgeoisie. The universities as such were mostly part of the ecclesiastical world. At the end of our period, approaching the mid-twentieth century, only the teachers at the faculties of theology remained members of the clergy. They were also priests, ordinati, whereas in the early nineteenth century, the membership of professors of arts and science faculties in the clergy did not automatically mean that they were also ordained as priests. ¨ In the mid-eighteenth century, new foundations such as Gottingen were already modern in the sense that they were no longer linked to the eccle¨ siastical orders, and Gottingen itself was neither an old nor an important Episcopal See.2 Nor was the University of Moscow part of the Church from 1755; the university system was of Western origin, and was never part of an ecclesiastical order in Russia. In the new and modern University of Dorpat (Tartu) in Livonia, which was founded by Alexander I Emperor of all Russias, in 1802 (a Swedish university had existed in the same city in the seventeenth century), there certainly was a faculty of Lutheran theology, but the university was not placed under the control of the local bishop, but rather a special Kurator, or chancellor, a high state 1 2

See vol. II, Epilogue. ¨ ¨ im Zeitalter der Aufklarung’, ¨ N. Hammerstein, ‘Gottingen. Eine deutsche Universitat in ¨ A. Patschovsky and H. Rabe (eds.), Die Universitaten Alteuropas (Constance, 1994); A. ¨ Schindling, Bildung und Wissenschaft in der fruhen Neuzeit 1650–1800 (Munich, 1994).

123

Matti Klinge official. The university marked its ‘modern’ approach by establishing its library in the magnificent ruins of the old Gothic cathedral: science and knowledge had assumed the mantle of the Truth.3 In France, where the ancien régime university system had close contacts with the ecclesiastical system, the Revolution abolished the universities, and the new, Napoleonic Imperial University was secular.4 In Germany, the Napoleonic period produced the same effect in another way. Many of the old small universities with more or less intimate contacts with the ecclesiastical world were obliged to cease their activities during the war, and were maintained no longer; instead, new universities were founded. These, especially that of Berlin, founded in 1810, had no more ecclesiastical contact, with the exception of professional contacts through the faculties of theology.5 Belonging to an ecclesiastical order meant that the universities preserved their corporate and autonomous character in relation to the state. This relation had certainly changed in many parts of Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but the university was generally still regarded as a corporation, mainly of professors, with their students. The relation to the Church was generally close. The clergy and the army were the main instruments of public service, and the universities and their teachers clearly belonged to the first. The case of the legal and medical faculties was more complex because the teachers in those faculties belonged to their professional orders also. The general tendencies of the early nineteenth century were towards universities in capitals and larger cities, abandoning the ties to the Church and sometimes the Episcopal cities, going over from old foundation-type land and privilege revenues to the state budget, and moving generally from the Church and training of church officials to the state and training of government officials. All these trends were reflected in the position, selfawareness and status of the professors and other teachers all over Europe, but the process was of course rather different in various parts of the Continent. There was much similarity throughout the pre-revolutionary Europe of the late eighteenth century,6 and perhaps also in post-Second World War Europe. Between these periods the differences were greater owing to the 3

4 5

6

For university foundations in Russia, see vol. II, subject index, s.v. ‘Russia’, ‘Moscow’, ¨ en ‘St Petersburg’; for Dorpat, see G. von Pistohlkors et al. (eds.), Die Universitat Dorpat/Tartu, Riga und Wilna/Vilnius 1579–1979 (Cologne and Vienna, 1987). See chapter 1, 6–7; V. Karady, ‘De Napoléon a` Duruy: origines et naissance de l’université contemporaine’, in Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 261ff. ¨ See chapter 10, 395–400; R. S. Turner, ‘Universitaten’, in K.-F. Jeismann and P. Lundgreen (eds.), Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. III: 1800–1879. Von der ¨ Neuordnung Deutschlands bis zur Grundung des Deutschen Reiches (Munich, 1987), 221ff. ¨ ¨ ¨ N. Hammerstein (ed.), Universitaten und Aufklarung (Gottingen, 1996).

124

Teachers different political, economic and cultural development in various parts of the Continent. A good example of the changes typical for the beginning of the nineteenth century was the university in Finland. When the eastern parts of the old Kingdom of Sweden were transformed in 1809 into an autonomous Grand Duchy of the Russian Empire, the university’s revenues were almost doubled in 1811 to produce a good administrative staff for the new state. The economic system was successively moved from land income to budgetary income, the university was transferred in 1828 from the old ˚ bishops’ city of Abo/Turku to the new administrative capital of Helsinki, and the university received or had imposed on it from 1817 onwards an exclusive privilege to confirm aptitude for state service in all sectors, from administration and jurisprudence to a church career; no civil servant or priest could be appointed without having studied in the country’s only university. The ecclesiastical pro-chancellor’s post was withdrawn in 1817 and a state official, usually a general, was appointed instead as vice-chancellor. This development was largely favoured by the Russian minister Count Speransky (1772–1839), who wished to steer Russia itself into the same system of making the bureaucracy efficient. Finland was indeed the model for modernization, realized under the strong influence of a lively German discussion on the subject of the ideal university.7 In the period 1800–1940, considerable differences can be seen in different countries and different universities. The more old-fashioned, corporate type of university survived in many areas, normally situated in a smaller city with an old Episcopal See in the Catholic and Lutheran spheres. The professors’ and the students’ lives in these cities began to acquire a semi-romantic Arcadian aura outside the hard life of the capitals. Alt-Heidelberg became a concept; the famous duet cycle by Gunnar Wennerberg (1817–1901), Gluntarne, idealizing student life in Uppsala in the 1840s, became well known all over the Nordic countries, and chapters ¨ entitled ‘my years’ in, for instance, Oxford, Tartu or Tubingen, appeared in many memoirs. Towards the end of the nineteenth century and especially during the twentieth, many of those universities in the smaller cities such as Jena, Cambridge, Lund and so on became famous again, but now because of their scientific results. For the professors and other teachers and their families, the older university provided a special identity, combining devotion to research with a somewhat provincial outlook or behaviour. These universities probably also maintained more of the old corporate feelings, which manifested themselves in kinship patterns, academic parties and quarrels, rivalry and fraternity.

7

¨ Helsinki, 198–302. Klinge, Universitat

125

Matti Klinge The opposite pattern of the period was the university in the capital which had no further contact with the ecclesiastical world, but closer contact with the central state organs: public life with its institutions, parliaments, parties, clubs and newspapers. This created a new type of professor and academic teacher, more busy with his extra-mural contacts, perhaps neglecting his students and no longer having a corporate identification. In some cases, the transfer of the universities combined these patterns – Munich and Helsinki are examples of this – but in many countries a conflicting relationship emerged between the old and the new universities. Ideas of transferring the University of Oxford to London or from Uppsala to Stockholm were not successful, and so the University of London and its teachers and students assumed a different identity in the 1820s and 1830s. The University of Stockholm, founded in 1878, was as different as possible to the Uppsala–Lund state university tradition, since in the beginning there was no examination, the professors represented only the natural sciences with one exception, and the famous writer and liberal journalist Viktor Rydberg (1828–95) was given a chair in History of Culture (later History and Theory of Art). The institution did ¨ not like being called a university, but was named Stockholms Hogskola. ¨ From 1904, the Hogskola gained the right to set examinations and, with a new faculty of law and social sciences and semi-municipal status from 1907, became de facto a university, finally attaining the status of a state university in 1960, at which time its name changed to Stockholms Universitet. The number of professors of Jewish origin was remarkably higher in ¨ Stockholms Hogskola than in the state universities, and one of the world’s first female professors taught there. ¨ ¨ Another example from Sweden, the Goteborgs Hogskola, was from the beginning a highly municipal institution. Many industrial and commercial cities and their bourgeois elites from the 1890s onwards liked to have their own university, both for practical and for status reasons. The ˚ in Finland and Arhus ˚ Swedish example influenced Abo in Denmark, as relatively wealthy cities, to establish their own private universities around 1920. The teachers at these universities had to find a middle position between the busy and committed capital city teacher and the teaching and research-orientated learned professor of an older classical university. The same applied to teachers at the many universities that were founded, for practical and for status reasons, in industrial and commercial cities during the late nineteenth century (these are discussed in chapter 2). These universities were characterized by greater openness in their procedures for professorial appointments. One prime example was the city university of Frankfurt, established in 1914 by mainly private funds, which distanced itself from the traditions followed by ecclesiastical and state universities and established a faculty of economics and social sciences, rather than a 126

Teachers faculty of theology, and employed practitioners in these fields as teachers. Here, again, the spirit of the university was marked by a higher percentage of Jewish professors, and a general orientation towards commercial and free professions.8 Generally speaking, the role and function of the professors and other teachers during the period 1800–1945 must be examined partly from the standpoint of bureaucratization of society (in Max Weber’s sense) and partly from the standpoint of a new politicization of society. Bureaucratization means introducing or strengthening ‘functional’ competencies, competence hierarchies, professional training, professional discipline and legalistic identification in contrast to a feudal and hereditary organization in the public service. This tendency is seen in the role of the universities and professors in their relation to the state as a whole as well as in the internal organization of the universities. The second main point is partly in contrast to the first, because the period 1800–1945 is also, besides one of bureaucratic professionalization, the great period of civic participation, in which the universities, students and especially the professors, played a considerable role. The first aspect of civic participation by the professors was linked to the shaping of the modern bureaucratic system. The essence of that system was the rejection of birth and patronage as the way to public office and the introduction of new career possibilities, whereby different traditions were created. In England, the old system retained its position most notably. Education in the classical universities of Oxford and Cambridge maintained its tradition of general humanistic and civic education, where civic participation, argumentation, manners and contacts with one’s own generation were central; this tradition favoured students of higher social origin, even if the British boarding-school tradition in itself stressed equality and other Roman virtues of fairness and being a gentleman. Charactertraining, whether expressed in rhetoric and Latin or in sports and military values, was central.9 In England, the modern trends did not produce major changes in the classical system, but the new ideals revealed themselves in new foundations, especially in the University of London and in the universities which were grouped under the somewhat patronizing sobriquet of ‘redbrick universities’, which stigmatized the new universities as provincial and parvenu.10 In France and other revolution-inspired countries such as Italy, the concours method gained ground. The public offices were, in principle, open to everybody, but the way of examining the candidates naturally 8 9 10

¨ Frankfurt am Main. Hammerstein, Universitat G. McCulloch, Philosophers and Kings: Education for Leadership in Modern England (Cambridge, 1991). D. R. Jones, The Origin of Civic Universities (London, 1988).

127

Matti Klinge favoured academic studies. This was essentially a modern application of the old Church–university relation, whereby university training was almost obligatory for higher church offices but where the university had no part in the actual nominations.11 On the other hand, the tradition of the cadet schools, the important pedagogical invention of the eighteenth century, was also visible in the organization of the grandes e´ coles, for ´ ´ example, the Ecole polytechnique and Ecole Normale Supérieure. The most important change was the new type and new ideal of the civil servant produced in Prussia and Russia at the beginning of the nineteenth century. the development of new chairs The period 1800–1940 saw the largest expansion of the European university system, relatively speaking. Even the expansion of the 1960s and later exceeded it only in absolute numbers. New universities were founded, but the older ones were greatly enlarged with new buildings, laboratories and libraries, emerging masses of students and, what certainly is the most important aspect of this expansion, new chairs. At the beginning of the period, many universities consisted of some fifteen professors with a few other teachers. By 1939, a good university with four or more faculties had some 60 professors, those in capitals had up to 150, and the number of assistant teachers and other personnel had grown even more. Thus, the number of chairs at all the German universities rose from 886 in 1840 to 1,140 (1870), 1,650 (1892) and 1,850 (1938). The Privatdozenten with and without a professorial title increased in number from 324 (1840) to 643 (1892) and 2,117 (1938).12 Nevertheless, this increase in the number of teachers lagged behind the rise in student numbers. The author of chapter 4, Paul Gerbod, has estimated that, in 1840 (the date from which statistical information is available for all the European universities) there were around 5,000 university teachers for approximately 80,000 students, which averaged out at sixteen students per teacher. Compare this to 1937 when, in Europe as a whole, there were some 32,000 teachers and roughly 560,000 students, or one teacher for seventeen students. If we consider the German universities in the nineteenth century, which are generally 11 12

Verger, Universités en France; I. Porciani (ed.), L’universita` fra Otto e Novecento: i modelli europei e il caso italiano (Naples, 1994). ¨ For 1840, 1870, 1892: F. Paulsen, Die deutschen Universitaten und das Univer¨ sitatsstudium (Berlin, 1902), 229; the numbers for 1938 are based on the indications about individual universities in: Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt, 33 (1938), Abt. ¨ Universitaten und Fachhochschulen 1. Bd.: Europa (Berlin 1938), and on Empfehlungen des Wissenschaftsrates zum Ausbau der wissenschaftlichen Einrichtungen, vol. I: Wis¨ senschaftliche Hochschulen (Tubingen, 1960), Table 10, p. 487.

128

Teachers Table 5.1 Number of students per university teacher or professor in German facultiesa Theology

Law

Medicine

Philosophy

Faculty Teacher Professor Teacher Professor Teacher Professor Teacher Professor 1840 1870 1892

18 17 23

26 23 33

16 15 31

30 24 47

8 7 12

17 17 41

5 6 6

10 12 14

a

N. Hammerstein, ‘Bildungsdefizit und Bildungschancen der Katholiken im 19. Jahrhun¨ Kirchengeschichte, ¨ dert: Universitaten und Wissenschaften’, Rottenburger Jahrbuch fur ¨ 14 (1995), 131–152; idem, Antisemitismus und deutsche Universitaten 1870–1933 (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1995).

held up as the ideal at that time, we can see a similar trend, although the figures are slightly different (Table 5.1). However, these average figures for each faculty do not show that the increase in the number of teaching posts was also attributable to the establishment of new chairs and subjects, particularly in the fields of medicine, the humanities and natural sciences. In general terms, the new chairs meant a profound change in the fields of knowledge towards systematization and specialization of all kinds of science, and in most cases, a growing research-orientated concept of the role of the university teacher, particularly of the professor. This evolution did not weaken the role of the professor as Ordinarius, or chair-holder, but rather strengthened his position as the leading expert in his field and as a sovereign judge of the scientific orientation and study curriculum in his sector of knowledge. This was particularly so for the professors of the faculties of letters and sciences, whereas in the theological, legal and medical faculties the curriculum was determined more by the collegium of the professors as a faculty council with input from the extra-academic authorities in the field. The authority of the professor only grew if his chair emerged at the head of a special institute or laboratory. The period 1800–1945 must be regarded as the era of the real ‘professors’ universities’, with state or ecclesiastical control diminishing from the Napoleonic period onwards. The professors’ role profited from the emergence of the university as a whole, their competence in training civil servants, and in all kinds of research and specialization of knowledge; state control diminished, with beneficial consequences for the universities, as no significant demands were made by groups inside or outside the universities to participate in the governance of these institutions. This description best covers the German university type, also present in the north of Europe, but it is in its essential elements valid for the Continent as a whole. It must also be said that the German university 129

Matti Klinge type was the leading role-model in Europe,13 and that this also favoured the expansion of the German concept of the professor as an authority. The effects on the individual subjects are discussed in chapters 10–15, but as the level of specialization grew, the subjects no longer tended to be embodied by individual professors. Greater emphasis was placed on communication and co-operation between colleagues, as typified by meetings of the faculty councils, often held on a weekly basis, to discuss promotions, Habilitationen and recommendations for appointments. These contacts were also cultivated in informal gatherings, academic coffee circles, or in institutions closely associated with the university, such as academies and learned societies. In many countries, although not in France where the faculties were directly dependent on the state up to 1896, the highest university bodies, such as the senate or consistory, looked after the interests of all the professors. Nevertheless, towards the end of the nineteenth century, there was still very little cross-subject contact between colleagues belonging to different faculties at the major universities and in the large cities. A new phenomenon of the nineteenth century was the inter-university and international congress, mainly in the field of the natural sciences and, by the turn of the century, in the most central fields of knowledge. At the outset the congresses had, as in the German or Scandinavian cases, both scientific and political purposes, stressing the national or supranational unity of knowledge and its representatives. Before the unification of Germany and Italy these meetings had a clear political meaning, as they did later in the pan-Slavic, pan-Nordic and other congresses of various sciences or groupings of sciences. Quite paradoxically, the phenomenon of congresses emerged alongside the enormous progress made in scientific publication and mail. The rapid evolution of scientific publishing created a desire to establish personal contacts. But the academic community was nevertheless still rather small, and younger scientists from foreign countries could even present themselves to celebrities like Hegel and ask him impertinent questions such as ‘When did he aim to publish the part of his System dealing with nature?’ access to an academic career In England, access to the old universities, Oxford and Cambridge, was reserved for members of the official Anglican Church, as were state offices. This reflects a pattern common to all countries with a state church. As the monarch and Crown appointed individuals to public office, and there was an official religion, it was quite natural that only adherents to the state confession could serve as the Crown’s officials. In so far as the universities 13

¨ Paulsen, Deutschen universitaten, 230.

130

Teachers could be regarded as institutions for training officers for state and church affairs, there was no problem at this point. But as the universities increasingly came to be regarded as places of scientific education and research, the idea of confessional uniformity became controversial. Nonconformity in confession could also mean nonconformity in other aspects, such as ethnic or racial background or social origin. In the British Isles, Catholics and Jews were two such groups. In Prussia, and also in other Protestant states of Germany, Catholics were not formally excluded from an academic career, but they were in practice seldom appointed to academic office. Before 1918, university teachers of the Jewish faith could generally not be appointed as full professors.14 In the period 1919–20, some Communists and their sympathizers were purged from the universities in the countries where there had been a civil war or an attempt at revolution, as in Poland and Hungary; right-wingers and many others were expelled, forced to emigrate or, in Russia, murdered. During the National Socialist regime in Germany about one-third of all university teachers, 11,500 professors, lost their chairs: some died in concentration camps; most emigrated.15 The social origin of professors and other university teachers during the period 1800–1940 has not been systematically examined. The great expansion in the number of civil servants and the bureaucratization of society, obliged society in general and the universities in particular to follow the century’s slogan of the carrière ouverte aux talents! This resulted in a decline in hereditary privileges. But the abolition of formal barriers to office did not always, in reality, result in a great change.16 It is obvious that many careers, such as in the legal and medical professions, preserved much hereditary professional allegiance. Although sometimes nepotism did exist, the general trend was more that a professor’s sons (and later, daughters) were often from an early age both orientated towards and prepared for the academic profession and therefore successful in competition. Marriages between young talents and the professor’s daughters still took place during this period. It is also obvious that many newcomer families rapidly created kinship ties to the old academic families. If a nucleus of academic families is often to be seen in the university teaching corps, one could also examine which other circles furnished members: in Germany at the turn of the century, where the profession had 14

15 16

N. Hammerstein, ‘Bildungsdefizit und Bildungschancen der Katholiken im 19. Jahrhun¨ Kirchengeschichte 14 ¨ dert, Universitaten und Wissenschaften’, Rottenburger Jahrbuch fur ¨ (1995), 131–52; N. Hammersein, Antisemitismus und deutsche Universitaten 1870–1933 (Frankfurt am Main, 1995). ¨ H. Moller, ‘Wissenschaft in der Emigration-Quantitative und geographische Aspekte’, Berichte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte, 7 (1964), 1–9. Charle, République des universitaires.

131

Matti Klinge been open for a long time, the largest group, about 20 per cent, was made up of those belonging to the academic community. A university career was seen as fashionable by the aristocracy and the higher bourgeoisie, but only in certain faculties and certain universities. The law faculty had a good reputation; a law professorship often led to higher administrative or court offices, politics or, in some cases, banking. In Lutheran countries, a professorship in theology could often result in a promotion to bishop.17 Two patterns, already present in the eighteenth century, can be discerned. There was a corporate sense of belonging to the academic world in many families, and new professors in different fields emanated from those familiar networks. In the cases of legal and medical professional bodies, as well as the Protestant clergy, the affiliation could be corporate in a double sense. The academic position could serve as a step from a lower ¨ social position to a higher one: the peasant’s or Kleinburger’s son could ¨ become professor of theology, and his son a bishop; or a Kleinburger’s son could become a professor of law and his son a banker or diplomat. The son of the famous professor of medicine in Anton Pavlovich Chekhov’s (1860–1904) A Dreary Story is an officer who constantly needs money in his new social position, where the other young officers mostly come from noble and wealthy backgrounds.18 The faculty of philosophy, which outside German-speaking countries became divided into a faculty of letters and a faculty of sciences, was increasingly the nucleus of all universities.19 From having been the preparatory and youthful faculty it became the scientific, researchorientated and publishing faculty par excellence, first in Germany, and later elsewhere. This also was reflected in the status of the professors of those faculties, who were first merely teachers and in close contact with the high school teachers, wearing a gown not only in England but also in France, but who became, especially in the great cities, celebrated and elegant ‘princes of knowledge’, teaching in magnificent amphitheatres, living comfortably in houses with large libraries, fine paintings, fashionable dinners and servants. This influenced the aristocratic families and opened the academic career to their sons. The technical universities of the late 1800s created social bridges between industry, banking and applied sciences, especially chemistry and 17

18 19

M. Schmeiser, Akademischer Hasard. Das Berufsschicksal des Professors und das Schick¨ 1870–1920 (Stuttgart, 1994); H. Titze with H.-G. Herrlitz, sal der deutschen Universitat ¨ V. Muller-Benedikt and A. Nash, Wachstum und Differenzierung der deutschen Univer¨ sitaten 1830–1945, Datenhandbuch zur deutschen Bildungsgeschichte 1, Hochschulen ¨ 2 (Gottingen, 1995); P. Moraw, ‘Vom Lebensweg des deutschen Professors’, Beilage zu: Forschung, Mitteilungen der DFG, 4 (1988), 5. See p. 157. See chapter 10, and ‘European Universities and Similar Institutions in Existence Between 1812 and ‘the End of 1944’.

132

Teachers electrophysics. Between 1880 and 1914 both the professors of the natural sciences and technology grew together socially with the world of industry and colonialism. Professors of humanities merged with the political world – the journalists and writers and the great and glorified artists and composers – all of which assisted in making an academic career more attractive. A very large number of the future professors, however, still came from the lower classes of society. The learned career was, after all, the best way to upward social mobility for gifted young men without personal fortune or favourable family networks, but it demanded much work and dedication. As in other sections of society, access was facilitated if a relative or someone from one’s native village was in a position of authority in the university. Social networks played an important role in providing support during personal difficulties, but nevertheless many of these ambitious newcomers succumbed to disease, alcohol or mental disorders before attaining their goal. Women rarely became university professors during the period 1800– 1945. Their appointment was seldom explicitly prohibited, and indeed there had already been female professors in eighteenth-century Bologna.20 But the breakthrough of women as scientists and subsequently as professors was made at the turn of the century. The main subjects for women were mathematics, physics and medicine. Sonia Kowalewsky (1850–91) became professor of mathematics in the Stockholm Free University in 1884. Giuseppina Cattani (1859–1914), from a poor background, graduated in 1884 from the University of Bologna as the first female doctor in medicine and surgery, and in 1886 applied for the chair in general pathology at the University of Parma, was judged suitable for a full professorship but was not appointed; instead she received a lectureship in Turin in 1887, and in 1889 at Bologna. Marie Curie (1867–1934), the first female chair-holder at the Sorbonne, was appointed professor of physics in 1909. During the twentieth century, female professors became more common. They were often of a high social status, with many of them being daughters of professors or, later, women who had married an ambitious researcher in their youth, both spouses pursuing their academic careers and both then becoming academic teachers.21 20

21

See vol. II, 296–7. M. Cavazza, ‘“Dottrici” e lettrici dell’Universita` di Bologna nel Settecento’, Annali di storia delle universita` italiane, 1 (1997), 109–26. M. Zannetti, ‘Giuseppina Cattani e la ricerca batteriologica sul tetano’, in Alma Mater Studiorum. La presenza femminile dal XVII a XX secolo, Ricerche sul rapporto Donna/Cultura Universitaria nell’Ateneo Bolognese (Bologna, 1988), 175ff.; Cf. ‘Cattani, Giuseppina’, in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani, 22 (Rome, 1979), 503ff. ¨ I. Costas, ‘Der Kampf um das Frauenstudium im internationalen Vergleich’, in A. Schluter (ed.), Pionierinnen, Feministinnen, Karrierefrauen? (Pfaffenweiler, 1992), 115–44.

133

Matti Klinge In the 1920s, the famous historian of literature Antoine Thibaudet (1874–1936) depicted the University of Paris as representative of the rural element in the capital, where the entire nation’s most promising youth went in an egalitarian manner to be educated. He compared this to England, where the aristocracy sent its children to small cities in the countryside for the same purpose. This also characterized the teaching body for the most part. Although it was not easy to become a professor, it was still possible despite an individual’s modest origins, whereas reaching the highest ranks in the army or in diplomatic service was more difficult without the appropriate family background. Despite all these factors and others, like the increasing importance of national language and citizenship influencing the nominations of professors, the general tendency of the period 1800–1940 was to improve the scholarly standing of university teachers and proceed towards processes objectifying the selection of professors and other teachers. This resulted, in different ways in different countries, in a conflict between the traditional academic co-option principle and the interests of the central state administration. The general trend was away from a system where personal knowledge and recommendations played an important role. The early process, even if not always practised, derived from the clerical world: applicants had to give special lectures and take part in disputations pro loco. In the first half of the nineteenth century, this seemed an appropriate means of attaining a more objective and open appointment process. However, this failed to take into account the earlier accomplishments of a candidate and there was a growing demand to consider these more scholarly achievements. Pedagogical skill, ancienneté and general excellence in society declined in importance in comparison with ‘pure’ scholarly attainment. This evolution can be seen in linguistics: chairs in rhetoric and poetry increasingly became chairs of Latin and Greek philology, even if the older appellations were preserved,22 and thus prowess as a poet, translator, orator or literary critic became less important than scholarly merits: publications in scientific societies’ proceedings and references to the theoretical authors of the time. appointment procedures In most countries, the right to appoint professors remained in the hands of the monarch and his government. This provided an opportunity to create uniformity and to consider the merits of the applicants objectively. In countries where the ministers of education often changed, as in France 22

See chapter 10.

134

Teachers during the Third Republic, various pressures and party opinions influenced the process. The opposite was true for Prussia; as in other countries, the faculties had no right to put forward their own candidates for appointment. They could act on their own account only in assessing academic qualifications for promotions and, after the University of Berlin was established, for Habilitationen as well. The minister remained free to make his own decision on appointments and often undertook to make his own enquiries about possible candidates.23 Nevertheless, he generally invited the faculties’ opinions when he put forward his own candidates and asked them for proposals as chairs became vacant. This developed into an established practice, although it could be restricted by the state at any time. The Ministerialdirektor and later His Excellency Friedrich Althoff (1839–1908), a former professor of law in Strasburg, directed the nomination policy of all Prussian universities over a period of 25 years from 1882 to 1907. Althoff’s policy, still called System Althoff in Germany, evoked much admiration for its consistency and results, but also much criticism from both liberals and conservatives. Althoff was a strong character and he succeeded in imposing a policy under which the universities received more resources but had to maximize results. His impact was felt on the great new material resources and the general emergence of Prussian university life, including the foundation in 1911 of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society, the forerunner to the Max-Planck-Gesellschaft ¨ zur Forderung der wissenschaftlichen Forschung, and had great significance for the other states adopting the German university model: Austria, Switzerland, Russia and the Nordic countries.24 The success of the System Althoff must be seen in the context of the rise of Germany in general. Not for the first or last time, academic teaching and research, universities and professors, were seen as tools in the general economic and production process. This epoch recognized the demand for 23

24

See the nomination procedures of the newly founded University of Berlin described in ¨ ¨ zu Berlin, vol. I: M. Lenz, Geschichte der koniglichen Friedrich-Wilhelm-Universitat ¨ Grundung und Ausbau (Halle, 1910), 200–76, and concerning the enquiries made by min¨ istries see R. Fester (ed.), ‘Der “Universitatsbereiser” Friedrich Gedike und sein Bericht an ¨ Kulturgeschichte, Erganzungsheft ¨ Friedrich Wilhelm II’, Archiv fur 1 (Berlin 1905), partly reprinted in H. Bookmann (ed.), Mehr als irgend eine andere in Deutschland bekannt. ¨ ¨ im Bericht des ‘Universitatsbereisers’ ¨ Die Gottinger Universitat Friedrich Gedike aus dem ¨ Jahre 1789 (Gottingen, 1996). B. vom Brocke, ‘Hochschul- und Wissenschaftspolitik in Preussen und im Deutschen Kaiserreich 1882–1907: Das System Althoff’, in P. Baumgart (ed.), Preussen in der Geschichte, vol. I: Bildungspolitik in Preussen zur Zeit des Kaiserreich (Stuttgart, 1980), 9–118; B. vom Brocke (ed.), Wissenschaftsgeschichte und Wissenschaftspolitik im Industriezeitalter. Das ‘System Althoff’ in historischer Perspektive (Hildesheim 1991); B. vom Brocke, ‘Friedrich Althoff: A Great Figure in Higher Education Policy in Germany’, Minerva, 29 (1991), 269–93.

135

Matti Klinge specialization, contacts with industry, the student explosion and questions 25 ¨ of national prestige in the Konkurrenzkampf der Volker. Althoff discovered, promoted and nominated – if necessary against the advice of faculties – brilliant men, who in various ways gave stimuli and glory to German academic life. He had nothing against academic rites and traditions as a means of self-respect, but all this had little to do with academic freedom and institutional independence. By means of economic expansion the universities and their teachers were increasingly seen as parts of a national education system. Althoff created a national structure of universities and their teachers in Germany. In order to avoid the common mistrust of Prussian hegemony, he asked his colleague in the Saxon Ministry of Education, Karl Heinrich Waentig (1843–1917), to convene a ‘Conference of Representatives of German Governments in Charge of Higher Education’, which in the long term was intended to lead to a common system of higher education but, at the same time, allow regular consultations on appointments. Until 1933, it met often several times a year, all together 47 times; later, in 1937 and 1941, in Berlin and Strasburg.26 Opposition to the System Althoff and the ‘Cartel of German universityadministrations’ led in 1903 to the first ‘informal’ Conference of University-Rectors in Leipzig27 and in September 1907, the same month as Althoff resigned, to the first German Hochschullehrertag. The meeting was held in Salzburg, not in Prussia, and there was only one Prussian ¨ among the organizers, the Koniglich Preussische Professor der Staatsund Wirtschaftswissenschaften Wilhelm Sombart (1863–1941), who had long-standing notoriety as a left-winger.28 Famous non-Prussian professors, such as the economists Lujo Brentano (1844–1931) and Max Weber 25

26

27

28

¨ T. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte 1866–1918, vol. I: Arbeitswelt und Burgergeist ¨ als Vordenker? Universitat ¨ (Munich, 1990), 588ff. D. Langewiesche, ‘Die Universitat und Gesellschaft im 19.Jahrhundert’, Saeculum, 45 (1994), 316–31. ¨ ¨ B. vom Brocke and P. Kruger (eds.), Hochschulpolitik im Foderalismus. Die Protokolle der ¨ Hochschulkonferenzen der deutschen Bundesstaaten und Osterreichs 1898–1918 (Berlin, 1994). Includes Althoff’s (p. 395) and Waentig’s (p. 409) biographies. B. vom Brocke (ed.), ¨ Hochschulpolitik im Foderalismus und Diktatur. Die Protokolle der Hochschulkonferen¨ ¨ zen der deutschen Lander, Osterreichs und des Reiches, vol. II: 1919 bis 1941 (Berlin, 2004). ¨ Konferenz der Universitatsrektoren des Deutschen Reiches im Sitzungssaale des ¨ Leipzig, den 29 November 1903. Abschrift des akademischen Senats der Universitat Protokolls, 20 S. masch., in: A.B.R: Strasburg, A. L. 103 Paq 39 No 130, Rektorat, betr. Rektorenkonferenz. B. vom Brocke is editing the minutes of the 80 official and informal Prussian and German Conferences of University Rectors 1898–1944. Verhandlungen des ersten deutschen Hochschullehrer-Tages zu Salzburg im September ¨ 1907/08 (Strasburg, 1908). On Sombart: 1907. Hrsg. von dem engeren Ausschuss fur ¨ B. vom Brocke, ‘Werner Sombart 1863–1941. Eine Einfuhrung in Leben, Werk und Wirkung’, in B. vom Brocke (ed.), Sombarts ‘Moderner Kapitalismus’. Materialien zur Kritik und Rezeption (Munich, 1987), 11–65.

136

Teachers (1864–1920), accused the System Althoff of ‘making autocratic decisions in university matters’ and ‘treating the university administrations outside Prussia like vassals’.29 In general, many professors increasingly identified themselves as civil servants, with rather few brilliant Gelehrte as symbols for the academic tradition of independence and genius. The only response by the faculties against the incursion of state officials was to strengthen the role of scientific competence. This principle was based on an institution regarded by other countries as a peculiarity:30 the Privatdozent or private lecturer, i.e. an unsalaried member of the university staff. According to the university tradition the doctorate qualified an individual for university teaching, symbolized by the disputatio pro loco. From 1799, some governments set special rules for the admission of academic teachers. A master or doctor could become Privatdozent when his thesis had been recognized by the scientific community and when his lectures had proved his ability to teach.31 The University of Berlin introduced a second examination, the Habilitation. This took the form ‘of a public lecture on a subject chosen by the faculty or selected by the aspirant with the faculty’s agreement, after the faculty had satisfied itself as to the aspirant’s proficiency in the manner laid down in the regulations’.32 A scientific study, which was separate from the doctoral dissertation and often qualitatively less demanding, was prescribed by ¨ statute in Gottingen in 1831, Bonn in 1834, Berlin in 1838, Breslau in 1840, ¨ Bavaria in 1842, in Tubingen in 1883, and in Austria and the Germanspeaking part of Switzerland in 1888. By the end of the nineteenth century, it had been adopted by almost every faculty at German-speaking

29

30 31

32

L. Brentano, ‘Eine Professorengewerkschaft’, in Berliner Tageblatt, No. 283, 7 June 1907, Morgenausgabe; M. Weber, Verhandlungen des 4. Deutschen Hochschullehrertages 1911 (Leipzig, 1912), 71. See chapter 2, 49; chapter 6, 172–3. Verordnung der Hochschule zu Ingolstadt vom 25 November 1799; vgl. Heidelberg ¨ 1803; Halle 1804, Landshut 1804, in T. Nauck, Die Privatdozenten der Universitat Freiburg i. Br. 1818–1955 (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1956), 18–19. For the history and prehistory of the Habilitation procedure, including its effects in practice see E. Schubert, ¨ ‘Die Geschichte der Habilitation’, in H. Kossler (ed.), 250 Jahre Friedrich-Alexander¨ Erlangen-Nurnberg ¨ Universitat (Erlangen, 1993), 115–51; S. Paletschek, ‘Geschichte der ¨ Tubingen ¨ Habilitation an der Universitat im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert. Das Beispiel der Wirtschaftswissenschaftlichen (ehemals Staatswirtschaftlichen/ Staatswissenschaftlichen) ¨ ¨ in H. Strecker et al. (eds.), Tubinger Fakultat’, Professoren der Wirtschaftswissenschaften (1817–1991) – Leben und Werk (Stuttgart, 2002). M. Huttner, ‘Humboldt in Leipzig? ¨ im Die “Alma Mater Lipsiensis” und das Modell der preussischen Reformuniversitat ¨ ¨ (eds.), Figuren und fruhen 19. Jahrhundert’, in M. Hettling, U. Schirmer and S. Schotz ¨ Hartmut Zwahr zum 65. Geburtstag (Munich, 2002), Strukturen. Historische Essays fur 552–3 (‘Habilitationsdisputation’ in Leipzig, 18. Jh.). ¨ zu Berlin v. 31. October 1816, Abschnitt VIII. Von den VorStatuten der Universitat ¨ §4, 42. For the new spirit of the regulations, which was largely lesungen der Universitat inspired by Schleiermacher, see Schubert, ‘Geschichte der Habilitation’ (note 31), 125–9.

137

Matti Klinge universities.33 The increasing number of doctorate holders – many in medicine – and the general trend in certain professions towards the prestige of academic titles, had tightened up the rules for the Habilitation.34 The position of Privatdozent was the starting-point for a university career35 which then normally moved from an extraordinary professorship, where the teaching was limited to a particular field, to a full professorship or chair, with responsibility for the entire field of study. Professors were frequently appointed from other universities; this was regarded as a distinction and was rewarded with a higher salary. The professor gave the main lectures and marked the content of examinations, which greatly supplemented his income. On the whole, only professors could be appointed to the position of dean or rector and, until 1848, membership of the highest collegiate body at the university – the senate or council – was restricted to ordinary professors. Very slowly, and then only in limited numbers, were seats given to extraordinary professors, who were subsequently also given voting rights within the faculties. Private lecturers, on the other hand, took no part in the administration of the universities. They were entitled only to give lectures in the field of their venia legendi, the content of which was not prescribed, and the only remuneration they received was the attendance fee. Towards the end of the century in Prussia, they were brought under the umbrella of the state disciplinary authorities, which had some benefits for them since their work as dozents then counted towards their pensions.36 Overall, the system created considerable tensions between and within universities. These tensions developed into a movement to protect the interests of those who were not professors. The year 1909 saw the establishment of the Vereinigung ausserordentlicher Professoren Preussens (Prussian Union of Extraordinary Professors), followed in 1910 by the Verband Deutscher Privatdozenten (German Association of Private Lecturers). In 1912 these two associations merged with the organizations established

33

34 35 36

¨ P. Daude, Die Rechtsverhaltnisse der Privatdozenten. Zusammenstellung der an den Uni¨ ¨ ¨ versitaten Deutschlands und Osterreichs, sowie an den deutschsprachigen Universitaten ¨ der Schweiz uber die rechtliche Stellung der Privatdozenten erlassenen Bestimmungen ¨ (Berlin, 1896), 20ff.: Berlin; 36: Bonn; 75ff.: Gottingen. Thanks to the help of Martin Schmeiser (Berne), Heinz-Elmar Tenorth (Berlin), Harmut Boockmann and Ulrich Hunger ¨ ¨ (Gottingen), Walter Hoflechner (Graz), and G. A. Nogler (Zurich), the editor was able to corroborate and supplement Daude’s summary information with source materials. Cf. S. ¨ Paletschek, ‘Verbreitete sich ein “Humboldt’sche Modell” an den deutschen Universitaten im 18. Jahrhundert?’, in R. C. Schwinges (ed.), Humboldt International. Der Export des ¨ deutschen Universitatsmodells im 19. und 20.Jahrhundert (Basel, 2001), 914–2. ¨ A. Kluge, Die Universitats-Selbstverwaltung (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1958), 186ff. A. Busch, Die Geschichte der Privatdozenten. Eine soziologische Studie zur grossbe¨ trieblichen Entwicklung der deutschen Universitaten (Stuttgart, 1959). R. Fick, Auf Deutschlands hohen Schulen (Berlin and Leipzig, 1900; rpt. 1997), 146.

138

Teachers in other German states to form the Kartell deutscher Nichtordinarien (German Non-Professors’ Cartel).37 The situation at Oxford and Cambridge was quite different. Even though a number of new universities had been established since the 1830s, these remained the leading universities in England. Here, as well, the teaching staff had its own hierarchy. The colleges formed the core of all teaching and research, whereas the university’s main task was to run the examinations required for graduation. Consequently there were relatively few university professors. At the colleges, particularly gifted graduates (holding the Bachelor’s or Master’s degree) were permitted to teach and were appointed to hold tutorials and supervise the undergraduates for a period of apprenticeship. When they became fellows of colleges they were granted tenure and could then rise to become lecturers, senior lecturers, readers and professors in the universities (although this did not change their status as college fellows, where they all enjoyed equal rights). They were not civil servants and did not have to qualify for an academic career by carrying out research or taking examinations. It was not until the mid-nineteenth century that academic or technical qualifications were required for certain professions. At some universities, such as London and Manchester, this led to the development of regulations and arrangements for examinations for those intending to enter such professions. For the rising generation of university teachers, however, the traditional, undefined and flexible selection criteria continued to be applied, although application procedures and selection committees remained the norm for professorial appointments. Higher university degrees and publications started to play just as much of a role in selection as recommendations, relationships and semi-official government favour, although there were no fixed rules. This method of recruiting teaching staff, which was applied in a similar fashion at the four Scottish universities and at Trinity College, Dublin, did not exclude previous research, although the combination of research and teaching, as used in the theory of the German university model, was neither required nor even set down in words. France, as well, distanced itself from these ideals for a long time. The centralized education system that developed during the monarchy was totally dismantled by the Revolution and Napoleon.38 There were certain conditions that aspiring university teachers had to fulfil. After 1820, 37

38

F. Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und Hochschulen vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart, 3rd edn (Berlin and ¨ Leipzig, 1921), vol. II, 708–9. R. vom Bruch, ‘Universitatsreform als soziale Bewe¨ gung. Zur Nicht-Ordinarienfrage im spaten Deutschen Kaiserreich’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 10 (1984), 72–91. See chapter 2, 56–7.

139

Matti Klinge the doctorate – graduation after a period of research – was required in order to apply for a chair. The licence and agrégation (the latter being generally awarded only in Paris) were adequate qualifications for other teaching posts, particularly within the loosely structured higher education system, which was partly provided at the faculties. Despite, or perhaps even because of, centralization, the methods used at different universities were not comparable. The only common feature was the vocationally based academic training inherited from the Enlightenment which met with great success at the Grandes Ecoles, Musées and Facultés. It was not until the late nineteenth century that the idea of a universitas litterarum was established. With the defeat of 1871, which was partly attributed to the superiority of the German education system, the German model of the university became more influential.39 The faculties gained more rights to self-determination and were encouraged to promote research, which was given greater emphasis in the concours, although this examination was still organized centrally.40 Following the unification of Italy, the university teacher’s career was a hybrid formed from parts of the French and German systems. These included concorsi for new posts and professorships and the requirement to demonstrate independent, but nationally recognized scientific achievement. After the doctorate, a form of Habilitation and a period as a private lecturer were the precondition for participation in a concorso for a university chair.41 income and lifestyle The professors and assistant professors (in northern countries called adjuncti) received a salary, and, in most older universities during the nineteenth century, this changed from payment in natura – as grain, wood, wine, or other rental payments of a feudal type – to cash. In the new universities, a salary from the state budget was customary. At the beginning of the twentieth century, professors in Uppsala still received part of their income from the university’s land income, and the professors of theology were still prebendaries, i.e. nominal or real vicars of parishes close to the city, besides carrying out their purely academic duties. 39 40 41

See chapter 1, 7, chapter 2, 5–7, and chapter 15, 616; V. Karady, ‘Les universités de la Troisième République’, in Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 325–6; Weisz, Emergence. Charle, République des universitaires. B. Brunello, L’Universita` fra accentramento ed autonomia (Urbino, 1983), 43–4. F. De ` L’istruzione superiore in Italia Vivo and G. Genovesi (eds.), Cento anni di universita. dall’unita` ai nostri giorni (Naples, 1986), 42, 127, 250. S. Polenghi, La politica universitaria italiana nell’eta` della Destra storica (1848–1876) (Brescia, 1993), 59; summing up: M. Moretti and I. Porciani, ‘Il reclutamento accademico in Italia. Uno sguardo retrospettivo’, Annali di storia delle universita` italiane, 1 (1997), 11–39.

140

Teachers In earlier times, all teachers received some economic recompense from the students, especially by giving more personal tuition than public lectures. This could, for instance, consist of explaining the public lecture, given originally in Latin, in the vernacular, or interpreting difficult or central parts of the curriculum, parts of the Bible, some classical author, or experiments in chemistry. The general tendency towards efficiency meant more and better public lectures and less need for private collegia. But in the German universities, in particular, paying for lectures continued and was formalized into a Kolleggeld for all teaching – the estimated amount of the Kolleggeld played a role in the economic comparison of different teaching posts.42 In a great city university like Berlin, the Kolleggeld was ¨ much more important than in a small academic ‘arcadia’ like Tubingen. On his appointment, a German professor negotiated a salary, and in the German system, professors quite frequently moved from one university to another, always negotiating a higher salary. But the Kolleggeld and other forms of Sporteln (special fees) – such as the medical practitioner’s fee paid to the professors as hospital chiefs – seem often to have been higher than the salary. The great disadvantage of the Sporteln system was its unpredictability and the rivalry it created between the professor and his colleagues, the extraordinarii and the Privatdozenten. This system of payment, in which wage differentials could be further emphasized by extra payments made out of ministerial funds, encouraged competition both between individual teachers and between universities.43 The system became more unpredictable, and the power of the ministry and the monopolistic position of the professors compared to other university teachers became more pronounced. In 1899, the basic salary of an ordinary professor was 4,000–6,000 marks. In contrast, the salary scale for extraordinary professors started at 2,100 marks, although they could expect supplements for length of service from the system introduced for professors. In 1897 the Prussian Ministry of Education established a special fund for granting extra-high salaries as well as subsidizing unsalaried teachers, by keeping back half of high Kolleggeld sums.44 Non-ordinary professors were even disadvantaged in their pension provision. In 1919, the then Secretary of State and later head of the Prussian Education Ministry, Carl Heinrich Becker (1876–1933), who was professor of oriental studies in Bonn up to 1916, described this status as ‘totally unacceptable’. ‘For the government, an extraordinary professorship . . . is an excellent business. In return for a miserly salary (in Prussia it is 42 43

¨ See I. Jastrow, ‘Kollegiengelder und Gebuhren’, in Das Akademische Deutschland, vol. III (Berlin, 1930), 219ff.; reprinted in Wirtschaft und Wissenschaft, 5, 1 (1997), 2–9. 44 Fick, Deutschlands hohen Schulen (note 36), 147. See chapter 2, 49–50.

141

Matti Klinge just 2,600 marks, rising to 4,800 marks after twenty years), it receives a full academic teacher. These days you couldn’t get a schoolmaster for that sort of salary, or a railway guard, in fact you could barely get a day-labourer.’45 Despite considerable resistance from the universities, particularly in Berlin, Becker succeeded in converting the position of extraordinary professor into a personal ordinary professorship, even if he did not manage to have all professors with permanent civil service status placed on an equal footing.46 The French university system was based on free teaching, but the students had to pay rather large sums for examinations. A degree in jurisprudence consisted of twelve examinations, each one costing 40 gold francs at the turn of the century. The income and personal fortune of university teachers, and professors in particular, varied enormously. The salaries already differed, with older faculty members or deans and other functionaries earning more. Housing was provided for certain chairs, whether as special foundations in the old universities, or modern organizations. Professorial families could live in the observatory, because the professor was looking at stars at night; many new clinics were built so that the professorial families could live there, as professors of surgery and obstetrics were often asked to attend at unusual times of the day. The same model spread to new institutional buildings – of physics, physiology, chemistry, botany and so on – in the great era of institute-building spanning almost the whole of Europe between about 1890 and 1914. Professors of medicine had always received income from their practice, and this was often also the case for lawyers and even theologians. Extrapolating Bourdieu’s analysis of the Paris professors before 1968, it seems that professors of jurisprudence and medicine had already belonged to the wealthy bourgeois class for several decades before then, at least in the larger and capital cities. This was a result of their bourgeois background and their extra-salary earnings.47 The picture is more complicated for professors of humanities and the natural sciences. With the new world of printing from around 1830–50 – with new inventions, especially wood-based paper – and the impetus provided by the greater opportunities to purchase books and newspapers, the capacity and need to study and be informed created an expanding market 45 46

47

B. vom Brocke, ‘Hochschule und Wissenschaftspolitik’ (note 24), 63–4. ¨ Ibid., 69; W. W. Wittwer, ‘Carl Heinrich Becker’, in W. Treue and Kf. Grunder, Berlinische Lebensbilder. Wissenschaftspolitik in Berlin, Minister, Beamte, Ratgeber, ¨ Einzelveroffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission zu Berlin 60 (Berlin, 1987), 261. P. Bourdieu, Homo academicus (Paris, 1984); P. Bourdieu and J.-C. Passeron, La reproduction: e´ léments pour une théorie du système d’enseignement (Paris, 1972). On nineteenth-century French professors in international comparison, see Bil¨ dungsburgertum, 109–46, 458–94; C. Charle, Intellectuels et e´ lites en France (1880– 1900), Thèse d’état, Université Paris I (Paris, 1985).

142

Teachers for the knowledge possessed by the learned. Professional writers, essayists and journalists continued to be influential in the manner of les philosophes of the eighteenth century, but the university teachers with their more solid knowledge gained terrain from amateurs. This became especially clear in late nineteenth-century Germany and all German-orientated countries. The Brockhaus encyclopaedia, Justus Perthes’ (1747–1818) cartographic tradition, and the Almanach de Gotha’s genealogical and statistical exactitude, are all examples of works created to satisfy the aspirations of society. This provided professors with many economic opportunities, especially after the Bern convention began to guarantee the authors’ economic benefits from translations and new editions: the great Brockhaus encyclopaedia was translated (and completed) into Russian. Ernst Haeckel’s (1834–1919) ¨ Weltrathsel and Karl Lamprecht’s (1856–1915) Deutsche Geschichte were bestsellers, and the editorial world invented various forms of scientific popularization, including serialization. The success of this activity was closely bound to the generally rising standard of learning and schooling, and to the writers’ personal presence in the media of the changing times: as teachers and public orators; as lecturers to the general public, in the countryside, to the workers and so on; and, from the 1920s on, in broadcasting. For all people with a state salary, the period after the First World War was difficult – and even disastrous in countries such as Germany and Russia. The previous period having been a time of rising income and growing esteem for academic staff, the now-abrupt cuts in salary and other income-earning possibilities led to a quasi-proletarianization of university teachers and their families. Their position began to be restored slowly in the 1920s and more rapidly in the 1930s, but generally only reached threequarters of pre-war levels. During the long period in question the issues of pensions and subsidies for widows and orphans were also discussed and reforms undertaken. Here again, the tendency was towards general rationalization in the state bureaucracy, but in many parts of Europe the older forms of administration survived, where the universities had special foundations for such purposes; for example, they might own their own fields where academic families could practise farming for their own benefit, and there were mutual funds for the social demands of the academic community. Nevertheless, the premature death of a father in most cases resulted in economic disaster for the family. In many academic families, life was a difficult life-long economic struggle in which paying the often heavy loans of the early years took a long time and shortened the period for accumulating funds for the children’s education and the years of retirement. Academic teachers’ work bifurcated, roughly speaking, over the period of 1800–1945 into two main streams according to the main place of 143

Matti Klinge activity. The laboratorium concentrated the work to a special location – an institute. The first chemical laboratories, botanical gardens and observatories in the older universities date from the previous period,48 but the real expansion came in the nineteenth century. Being at first separate and often somewhat obscure and dirty annexes to the university itself, the laboratories and institutes of natural sciences became, in the latter half of the century, more respected and, in the new buildings of the turn-ofthe-century, achieved an almost sacral status. The same evolution, even if more modest and less disruptive to the traditions, took place in libraries and museums. University museums and libraries became public, sometimes national or central, institutions. They employed special personnel who were in more or less close administrative and institutional contact with the universities.49 The evolution of scientific institutes and laboratories, as well as libraries and museums, produced a great many new academic posts of lower rank than those of professors or assistant professors. In the former category were the demonstrator of botany, the dissector of anatomy, the laboratory assistant of chemistry, the astronomical observer. But a far larger category now included assistants and amanuenses, as well as the ‘technical’ personnel taking care of instruments and buildings. All this also required more input from the university’s central administration which, as a result, expanded accordingly. Most assistants and amanuenses were appointed only for a short period (for triennia), and they were supposed to work on their own dissertations or other scientific work. This resulted in a rise in the number of younger (and then older) doctors without tenure, seeking the relatively few professorial vacancies. The situation of the ‘hungry dozents’ became a problem for the first time at the beginning of the twentieth century. Some found careers outside the university, in industry and administration, secondary education and so on. Many stayed in the academic sphere awaiting opportunities for advancement. The rivalries could become rather bloody, as has sometimes been described in literature and even in detective stories. This, on the other hand, concentrated public interest on university conditions and gave even more kudos to the successful applicant in the professorial competitions. The increased status of professors contributed to a partial marginalization of those holding the lower academic positions, and especially those without tenure. Researchers outside the universities, the ‘private learned’, were even more marginalized. Real knowledge became the domain of 48 49

Chemical laboratory: 1654 Duisburg (see vol. II, 195); Botanical gardens: 1544 Padua, Pisa (see vol. II, 192); Observatory: Ingolstadt 1637 (see vol. II, 473). See chapter 4, 104–6.

144

Teachers the university teachers and their pupils aiming to devote their lives to an academic career. The pattern of clinics, laboratories and institutes influenced the humanities, law and theological faculties to a far lesser degree. Here the academic teacher – usually professor or dozent, since the assistant and amanuensis category virtually did not exist – worked at home and gave his lectures in an auditorium, normally in the main building of the university. He received his students and his colleagues mostly at home, where he had his own studio or library. This familiar atmosphere was a heritage from the classical vicar’s house of the bourgeois tradition, and the professor’s wife and daughters played a significant role in a student’s life. In the largest cities, the pattern began to change when academic teachers’ families began to settle in suburban areas far from the university, though reception at home seems to have continued during the whole of the period up to the 1940s, and even after that. In the faculty of medicine, another kind of familiar pattern was maintained as a result of the private practices of the academic teachers: having worked and taught in the clinic during the early part of the day, the professors received private patients in the afternoon or in the evening at home, and were often assisted by family members. As for the bourgeois business man, or expert in a field, working and living at home and in the family sphere was for a long time a pattern imitated by academic teachers, and, as we have seen, it was in some cases continued when the head of the institute was provided with a family apartment in the new building for medicine or natural sciences. The rector of the Academy of Paris still has a personal flat in the Sorbonne, as does the provost, warden or president of a college in Oxford or Cambridge. This general social evolution introduced bourgeois family ideology into the academic world. Differences between a small city in 1810 and a great capital in 1930 might often have been significant, but music at home was characteristic of both – the professor’s daughters playing the piano, the professor himself having his violon d’Ingres or personal hobby, and the sons of the family with their fellow students singing or playing chamber music. The famous professor Erik Gustaf Geijer (1783–1847) in Uppsala was a rather important composer and poet himself. Music was combined with the academic world in aspects such as choral traditions and in the fact that many of the big lecture halls of the new university buildings built both at the beginning of the ¨ nineteenth century (Copenhagen, Oslo (Christiania), Helsinki, Gottingen) and towards the end of the century (Vienna, Uppsala, Paris) also served as concert halls. If the family was integral to the academic teacher’s life, in the tradition of handicraft masters in the previous period, this diminished with time. With the growing standards of women’s education and with their 145

Matti Klinge diminishing role in the administration of large households, the professor’s wife – in this period nearly all professors were men – could often emerge as a valuable companion in scientific and literary work: reading proofs, translating and helping with correspondence. Study and research trips abroad became more common and by the first part of the twentieth century were often an important part of an academic teacher’s family history and identity. Before the nineteenth century, the grand tour was undertaken before marriage.50 The more intimate working pattern only slowly replaced the idea that the father’s work was not the business of the whole family. The children of the great Russian historian Nikolai Mikhailovich Karamzin (1766–1826) in 1836 discussed the sayings of a French admirer of their father, who always had Karamzin’s works with him: ‘Alors Nicholas s’écria: “Et vous voudriez vraiment qu’il emporte toujours 40 volumes dans sa voiture?” – “Oh, l’histoire de Papa n’a pas 40 volumes; voyons, combien?” – “Pourquoi le saurais-je? je ne l’ai pas ouverte et j’espère ne l’ouvrir jamais.” ’ Philanthropy was an important field of female civic activity, particularly in the nineteenth century, and even later. One case-study examines the role of the university world in philanthropy in Helsinki. The 1840s were significant for new kinds of civic participation by professors, students and women of the upper and middle classes. The Helsinki women’s associations for philanthropy (two rival associations dating from 1848) were partly inspired by a slightly earlier activity in another academic town, Uppsala, but acquired a different character because of Helsinki’s status as a small capital and owing to the influence St Petersburg. Professors’ spouses and daughters played a central role in these associations. A rising historian, journalist and student leader, soon to be Professor Zacharias Topelius (1818–98), was secretary of the principal association, and students participated in the activities, thereby gaining access to the families and the company of young unmarried women – philanthropy consisting mainly of organizing balls and concerts with lotteries. Around 1900, some leading professors’ wives planned an academic association or club for mutual knowledge and social life among the families of the university teachers, but general political tension in the country hindered the project. Around 1950, an association of professors’ wives was founded, combining, as it still does, social life with philanthropic causes in the university, such as poor or handicapped students. Professor Topelius was a kind of a modern philosophe: journalist, novelist, dramatic author and lyric poet, and especially well known in the Nordic countries as a second, academic Andersen or writer of fairy-tales. This did not prevent him being a professor, being elected rector, gaining 50

See vol. II, chapter 10, Mobility, pp. 431–6.

146

Teachers the title of Staatsrat, and being honoured during his lifetime and after his death by several public statues, postage stamps, etc. Female and children’s activity and general bourgeois and civic evolution could be combined, and this combination could be rather profitable to professors who joined civic activity with abilities in writing, whether in encyclopaedic works or morality in the form of fairy-tales. public image In his Traité de la vie e´ légante, Honoré de Balzac (1799–1850) summarized the ideas of Beau Brummel in saying, among other things: ‘Sont en dehors de la vie e´ légante . . . et les professeurs d’humanités’. Balzac dealt with professors in particular in his Entre savants. The general idea is that something in the life-style of the learned is ridiculous and distant from the real, practical or elegant life. Even more than Balzac, Honoré Daumier (1808–79) and Sulpice-Guillaume Chevalier, dit Gavarni (1804–66), created professorial types. This was true of the philosophical faculties, the faculties of letters and sciences, whereas the professors of jurisprudence and medicine belonged to their respective professional societies. Here, of course, old traditions of ridiculing the learned, deriving not least from Rabelais (1494–1553) and other Renaissance critics of the Sorbonne, coincided with the actual observations of the teaching corps in France. The learned no longer benefited from the authority of the Church, having been removed from the ecclesiastical world, and the Church itself, in any case, had lost much of its position in society. Particularly from the 1830s the rising bourgeois classes and their emerging self-esteem considered wealth more important than ever. Professors as comic types occur in literature and operettas, where the German Herr Professor is represented as a more or less ridiculous but positive figure, both inside and outside the German world. In the Anglo-Saxon world this happened in Gilbert (Sir William Schwenck (1836–1911)) and Sullivan (Sir Arthur Seymour (1841–1900)) operettas. Carl Zeller’s Der ¨ Vogelhandler has a fairly well-known duet between two professors, ‘Herr ¨ Kollege’, where the Kolleg- or Prufungsgeld is also mentioned. Films continued along this line, stressing the Besserwisser tradition of German professors, who used to write multi-volume works, with the title of ‘A Short Introduction.’ Professors and scientists, mostly of physics or medicine, are presented as heroes in science-fiction literature, where they imagine and create machines, aerovehicles and even monsters, as in the case of the Swiss scientist and Ingolstadt Professor ‘Frankenstein or the modern Prometheus’, created by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1797–1851). Professor Moriarty in the Sherlock Holmes stories was the world’s ‘most intelligent criminal’. Professor Mortimer in Jacob’s cartoons from the 1930s is 147

Matti Klinge represented as an effective and, in his own way, heroic agent in his social world. But, in general, the professor is portrayed as an absentminded person, mostly a professor of humanities, but of other disciplines also, such as the geographer Professeur Tournesol in the Tintin of Hergé (Georges Rémi, 1908–75) of the 1930s and 1940s. The notion of the absent-minded professor might be due to the juxtaposition of everyday-life and the ivory tower. In the eighteenth-century tradition, university teachers were e´ rudits, whereas the moral, political and discursive principles of society were held up by the philosophes, mainly free littérateurs, pamphleteers and writers. This distinction was clear in France and in England. The successive triumphs of vernacular languages over Latin, and especially the esprit provincial of more peripheral parts of Europe in the eighteenth century, allowed the roles of professor and philosophe to be combined. ¨ Major examples include Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) in Konigsberg, ¨ Adam Smith (1723–90) in Glasgow, August Ludwig von Schlozer (1735– ¨ 1809) in Gottingen, but others could be mentioned – from Bordeaux, Turku and elsewhere. In the nineteenth century, writers who taught at a university include Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805; history in Jena), the famous Swedish twin luminaries, both poets, writers and politicians, Esaias Tegnér (1782–1846; Greek at Lund (later he became bishop)), and Erik Gustaf Geijer (history at Uppsala), and the three founders of Finnish national identity, Johan Vilhelm Runeberg (1804–81; rhetoric) ¨ Elias Lonnrot (1802–84; Finnish language and literature), and Johan Vilhelm Snellman (philosophy, later Minister of Finance). It seems obvious that the academic teacher’s role as philosophe was more important in German, northern and eastern Europe than in western or southern Europe, where free-lance writers and journalists were more prevalent, though there are instances where the role of university teacher was also sometimes very dominant, as in Paris. In the northern countries, economic support for journalism and the liberal professions was less developed, and thus the academic profession supplied the public’s need for opinion-makers. This created divided loyalty among the professors and dozents, being, on the one hand, state officials, and, on the other, opinion-makers and potential critics of their times and of the establishment. For many professors, this did not create problems because they had a responsibility for state affairs, for example as members of parliament, or were able to approve of the political line taken by their governments; but sometimes they found themselves in silent or open opposition. This was often the case at the Sorbonne from the 1820s onwards: there had been many political student demonstrations in 1821 and 1822, and as a result of the unrest, some professors were dismissed, while others were suspended from holding their lectures. In 1824, one of the dismissed 148

Teachers professors, Paul-François Dubois (1793–1874), founded the philosophical journal Le Globe in collaboration with famous colleagues, such as the historian Pierre Guillaume Guizot (1787–1874). When, from 1827 and 1828, it was permitted to give public lectures again, the courses of Guizot in history, of Abel-François Villemain (1790–1870) in literature, and Victor Cousin (1792–1867) in philosophy became fashionable: they spoke to 2,000 listeners, their lectures were written up by stenographers, and newspapers devoted regular columns to their weekly courses. Attending these lectures and meeting others there was ‘a must’. The university had become a medium: a mixture of a newspaper and a literary salon. This tradition was maintained from the 1830s by scholars like the historian Jules Michelet (1798–1874) and the professor of literature Edgar Quinet (1803–75). All were engaged in politics: Guizot, Villemain and Cousin as ministers; Quinet as a member of parliament; while Michelet’s lectures were instrumental in the intellectual preparation for the February Revolution of 1848. The suspension from his chair and his subsequent reappointment were significant events in 1848, as was his dismissal, together with Quinet and Mickiewicz, from the Collège de France in 1852. In other countries, too, professors were dismissed and emigrated to countries like Switzerland.51 Public courses in natural sciences did not have the same impact as those in the humanities. Georges-Louis Leclerc, comte de Buffon (1707– 88), made his revolutionary discoveries as director of the Jardin des Plantes; he was never a university teacher. Neither was Alexander von Humboldt (1767–1859), whose famous lectures on the Cosmos were given in 1827/28 as a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences in Berlin. But the phenomenon of public lectures in itself was important. During the nineteenth century, it became more closely connected with the idea of the university. Giving lectures to a large public came to be expected of university professors. At the same time, academic buildings were increasingly constructed with this public function in mind. In most parts of Europe, the period 1800–1945 witnessed magnificent new university buildings – the new churches of a secular society. For Berlin, the university was also a symbol of a national renaissance after the Napoleonic defeats, while Athens and Helsinki provide examples from the 1830s incorporating the idea of new nationhood. Ghent was also a symbol of the United Netherlands and then of the new Belgium. Magnificent buildings were constructed from the 1870s to 1914 in a period glorifying secular science, celebrating medieval foundations and meeting the practical need for new types of laboratories. Many examples could be given, but suffice it to point to the New Sorbonne in Paris and the new 51

See chapter 2, 69.

149

Matti Klinge university complex at the Ring in Vienna.52 As ‘owners’ of these secular churches, and by giving public lectures in their magnificent amphitheatres, decorated with boiseries, portraits and sometimes with allegorical panneaux or frescoes, the professors’ public status was certainly enhanced. As the French examples showed, the academic teacher’s role often developed into a political one. Joachim Lelewel (1786–1861), professor of history at the University of Vilnius, played a central role in the intellectual preparation of the Polish rebellion in 1831; students accused the other teachers of only teaching them ‘church fathers, Roman verse and triangles’. Later, the opposition of moral engagement to pure science became a general phenomenon in the criticism directed against the universities and their teachers, as is shown by a poem in which Victor Hugo (1802–85) railed against famous scientists and mathematicians:53 Quoi! c’est zéro ce coeur qui bat dans ma poitrine. Quoi! la chimie est tout! Quand j’ai mon résidu, ˆ Un peu de cendre, un peu d’ombre, rien ne m’est du! La statique prouvant, non le droit, mais la force, Le droit n’est pas! John Brown, Spartacus, Wilberforce,54 Demeurent interdits si Biot ne les secourt!55 Quoi! Devant Gay-Lussac Mazzini reste court!56 Garibaldi ne sait que dire a` Lamettrie!57 Quoi! tout hormis l’algèbre et géométrie, Tout, excepté Poinsot, tout, excepté Bezout,58 Excepté deux et deux font quatre, se dissout!

From another point of view, the young August Strindberg (1849– 1912) criticized Uppsala and its professors, claiming they did not know Henry Thomas Buckle (1821–62), the leading English theorist of cultural development; Buckle himself had not been an academic teacher. Many intelligent young people asked the universities and the professors to be ‘modern’ and to explain current intellectual ideas to them. However, many 52 53 54

55 56 57 58

Weisz, Emergence. Victor Hugo, La Légende des Siècles (avec ‘La fin de Satan-Dieu’, dans l’Edition de la Pléiade) (Paris, 1950), 688. John Brown (1800–1859), champion of the American abolition of slavery; Spartacus, died 71 BC, leader in a Roman slave revolt; William Wilberforce (1759–1833), British champion of the emancipation of slaves. Jean-Baptist Biot (1774–1862), Professor of Physics at the Collège de France and of Astronomy at the Sorbonne. Joseph-Louis Gay-Lussac (1778–1850), Professor of Physics and Chemistry at the Sorbonne; Giuseppe Mazzini (1805–1872), Italian freedom-fighter. Giuseppe Garibaldi (1807–1882), champion of the Italian Unity; Julien Offay de La Mettrie (1709–1751), herald of a materialistic philosophy of nature. Louis Poinsot (1777–1859), mathematician; Etienne Bezout (1730–1783), mathematician.

150

Teachers other students, and their parents, expected the professors to concentrate on transmitting traditional knowledge and argued for conservative values. Thus, universities were criticized from opposing sides, preparing the ground for many programmes and proposals for reform, on the one hand, and for proposals and measures for cutting down their influence or dismissing their teachers, on the other. In France, great writers were always the most glorified intellectual figures, but after Victor Hugo’s activities the learned type of intellectual became predominant. Their admission to the Académie Française, as well as the public celebrations of their birthdays, consecrated them, while the ceremonial of their funerals presented the idealized figure of the researcher and teacher – the professor – as the new type of the Grand Homme. The physiologist Claude Bernard (1813–78), the biologist Louis Pasteur (1822–95), the chemist Marcellin Berthelot (1827–1907), the religious historian Ernest Renan (1823–92), and the literary critic Hippolyte Taine (1828–93) became symbols of the nation in the 1880s and 1890s. This idealization of the savant was clearly influenced by the reform of university organization on the German model.59 In centralized France with its Grands Hommes tradition, this exaltation of the pinnacles of learning became a tradition with long-lasting effects, not least when a large section of the academic teaching corps was engaged in political and moral opinion-making in the Dreyfus affair.60 The idea of academics as intellectuals in the political sense also became important in Italy, and a special form of it was embodied the Oxford academic intellectualism of the 1920s and 1930s. In Oxford (and Cambridge) left-wing, pacifist and pro-Soviet intellectualism played a significant role in that period. political role An important theme of the period 1800–1945 is the tension between two, sometimes opposing, principles. The first was the general bureaucratization of society. This made the universities important training grounds for civil servants, most particularly in the German world, but also generally in the rest of Europe. This meant a construction of the future from above, by planning and rational reforms. But the other main principle, the establishment of a secular society with free opinion, was another important force, and often meant more or less outspoken opposition to state authority. 59

60

See chapter 10, 400; C. Charle, ‘Paris/Berlin – Essai de comparaison des professeurs des deux universités centrales’, in C. Charle (ed.), Les universités germaniques XIX–XX siècles (Paris, 1994), 75–103. J. Reinach, Histoire de l’affaire Dreyfus, 7 vols. (Paris, 1901–11).

151

Matti Klinge Even here, the university, its teachers and students were crucial during the period under consideration. This opposition was a source of conflict even during the Restoration. Prince Klemens von Metternich (1773–1859), the creator and spokesman of European Restoration policy, viewed this as ‘the vanguard of a revolutionary movement’.61 His attempt, backed by the Russian emperor, to replace the universities with state-controlled institutions for the training of civil servants, failed at the Congress of Europe in Aachen in 1818. This was due to resistance from the Prussian representatives, including Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767–1835), who had successfully fought against this model of a university in Berlin and replaced it with one founded on the liberal ideas of Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768–1834).62 Nevertheless, after student attacks on representatives of the ruling order, Metternich persuaded the German princes at the Carlsbad conference of 1819 to ban the duelling societies, to subject both the press and the professors to strict censorship and control, and to place government representatives in charge of the universities.63 In 1825, just before a university was founded in London, he warned ‘You have my authority to tell His Majesty of my absolute conviction that the implementation of this plan would bring about England’s ruin’. The decisions taken in Carlsbad remained in force until 1848. Few universities in Europe were definitively closed; some experienced turbulent times for short periods, and the overwhelming majority of professors retained their posts, despite their often provocative behaviour. In 1822, four professors were removed from the University of St Petersburg, and ˚ two from the University of Abo/Helsinki; in 1823 several professors were ¨ removed from Vilnius University. In Gottingen, seven professors were dismissed in 1837 as a result of their protest against the new, more absolutist Constitution of the Kingdom. Their actions were criticized by some of their colleagues; nevertheless, their dismissal caused a great sensation, which made it easier for most of them to pursue their careers at other universities.64 During the same period, as mentioned before, some professors, who were regarded as too left-wing, were suspended in Paris. In France, it was much more usual for both the right, at the beginning of the 1820s, and the left, after 1830, to dismiss secondary school teachers than 61 62 63 64

¨ See chapter 8, 272–6; Nipperdey, Burgerwelt, 281ff. See chapter 1, 5–6, and chapter 2, 47–9. See chapter 1, 24 and chapter 8, 276. ¨ Nipperdey, Burgerwelt, 376; W. Sellert, ‘Die Aufhebung des Staatsgrundgesetzes und die ¨ ¨ Entlassung der Gottinger Sieben’, in E. Blanke, N. Kamp, A. Schone, W. Sellert, R. von ¨ ¨ Thadden and H. Wellenreuther, Die Gottinger Sieben. Ansprachen und Reden anlasslich ¨ ¨ ¨ der 150. Wiederkehr ihrer Protestaktion, Gottinger Universitatsreden 85 (Gottingen, ¨ ¨ 1988), 23–45. K. von See, Die Gottinger Sieben. Kritik einer Legende, Beitrage zur neueren Literaturgeschichte 155, 2nd edn (Heidelberg, 1997).

152

Teachers university lecturers. This is true also for the turbulent period 1848–52, which the Second Empire brought to a close by dismissing professors and burdening secondary school and university teachers with many new rules and regulations.65 In the unrest of 1830–31 and 1848–49, students of many universities, mainly those of the capitals, played an active and perhaps decisive part in riots and rebellions. The professors were divided between conservative and revolutionary groups, some arguing for the state and for order, others on behalf of radical youth. From the state authority’s point of view, though, the professors were responsible for the students’ opinions. After the crushing of the Hungarian rebellion, Prince Aleksander Sergeievich Menshikov (1787–1869), the closest adviser to Emperor Nicholas, wrote in a letter: ‘Voila` de quoi faire enrager les coquins de professeurs et les gueux d’étudiants de toutes les universités y compris grandement celle de Helsingfors!’66 German professors played another major (although temporary) political role during this period. The German National Assembly, which drafted a new constitution in 1848 at St Paul’s Church in Frankfurt, drew nearly three-quarters of its membership from university graduates, mainly in law. The 49 professors, just 6 per cent of the 830 members, dominated the discussions to such an extent that people subsequently called it the ‘Parliament of professors’. Although in 1849 it failed to create a unified, but constitutionally restricted German Empire in its draft constitution for ‘Freedom and order, democracy, will of the people and authority’, it did succeed in ending Metternich’s Restoration period and creating a national public consciousness.67 Subsequent parliaments were not so dominated by professors. Professors represented around 5 per cent of the Reichtstag membership, a figure which dropped to 0.7 per cent at the turn of the century. Their numbers rose again to almost 4 per cent in the Weimar Republic.68 There were also many professors in the parliaments of the various German states. In other countries as well, professors played a leading role in the 1848 movements. The second French Republic in 1848 had some academic teachers among its most renowned leaders, including the extreme leftwing professor of physics, Dominique François Arago (1786–1853), who became Minister of War and the Navy in the temporary government. In Sardinia-Piedmont, Vincenzo Gioberti (1801–52), professor of the 65 66 67 68

Karady, ‘Napoléon a` Duruy’ (note 4), 287. ¨ Helsinki, 386; M. Klinge, Kejserliga Alexanders Universitetet 1808– Klinge, Universitat 1917 (Helsinki 1989), 184. ¨ ¨ und Politik in der Deutschen Nipperdey, Burgerwelt, 594–670; H. Thielberg, Universitat Revolution 1848 (Bonn, 1983). B. vom Brocke, ‘Professoren als Parlamentarier’, in Schwabe, Deutsche Hochschullehrer, 55–92.

153

Matti Klinge University of Turin and a zealot of Italian unity, was Prime Minister in 1848–49. The case of Denmark is interesting: the Kingdom, including the duchies of Holstein and Schleswig, was ruled by an absolute monarch until 1848. The last Prime Minister from 1842 was a professor of law, Anders Ørsted, brother of the professor of physics, Hans Christian Ørsted (1777–1852), who became famous for his studies on electromagnetism. When in 1848 the new king decided to adopt constitutionalism, the change was prepared by a collegium of many professors, and the liberal wing was characterized as a ‘Professors’ party’. After the change, many professors became deputies and ministers, but Anders Ørsted continued as Prime Minister and, for a while, as Minister of the Interior and of Culture. Even though he was not popular among liberal circles, he also became president of the Academy of Letters and Sciences. Professors could be both conservative and liberal, and their co-operation depended on the particular situation in each country. The 1860s witnessed a liberal breakthrough in large parts of Europe, a period when press, parliament and industry gained social territory from the centralist and military parts of society; it was also a period of internationalization and the Exposition universelle. Many opposition figures ¨ period, now older and from the academic circles of the 1840s Vormarz wiser of course, were given various public offices. The general trend stressed free enterprise, and this went hand-in-hand with the great expansion of education. The importance of primary education including religion was generally accepted, and this favoured the higher stages of the education system, with academic teachers at the top. Professors became Ministers of Education not only in France, as mentioned before, but in even greater numbers in Italy.69 An interesting example of professorial co-operation in international political affairs was the great address Pro Finlandia in 1899, one important circumstance being that The Hague Peace Court was, to a great extent, created on the initiative of the Emperor Nicholas II (1868–1918), and now large parts of the learned world argued that the emperor’s new policy in Finland was contrary to The Hague principles. The idea was promoted by the Professor of Philosophy in Jena, Rudolf Eucken (1846–1926), who in 1908 received the Nobel Prize for Literature. Many professors and other prominent representatives of cultural life signed a petition which he had prepared, and a prominent deputation travelled to St Petersburg with it, but was not received by the emperor. Neither the anti-dreyfusard professors in France, nor the British with their own nationalist problems in India and South Africa, signed the petition. Here,

69

Polenghi, Politica universitaria (note 41), 516; cf. chapter 10, 455.

154

Teachers as in every political issue of the century, the academic world formed no political unity; it was more an arena for discussion than a party itself. Traditionally, universities in some parts of Europe had the right to occupy one or more seats in parliament. Oxford, Cambridge and Trinity College, Dublin, were represented in the House of Commons. In Sweden, professors were often members of parliament: in the quadri-cameral system (i.e. until 1866) as members of the clergy estate, and later, in the bi-cameral system (i.e. until 1974), professors often became parliamentary representatives and party leaders. This was true for most parties, including the Social Democratic party which was in power from 1932. In Finland, the reinstitution of the quadri-cameral parliament in 1863 resulted in professors and teachers not only in the House of Clergy (for which the university had to choose its representatives and where many professors were seated as representatives of teachers or clergy of more distant parts of the country), but also, by birth or elevation to the peerage, as members of the House of Nobility; sometimes they represented a minor city in the House of Burgesses or were advisers and delegates to the ¨ (1827–1908), a famous professor of House of Peasants. Lorenz Lindelof mathematics, at first represented the university in the Clergy; later he was elected as representative of the city of Helsinki to the House of Burgesses; then he was elevated to the peerage and continued in the next Landtagen in the Nobility. As the nomination of the Speaker was the prerogative of ¨ was appointed Deputy Speaker or Speaker in all the monarch, Lindelof three Houses. Leopold von Mechelin (1839–1914), a well-known professor of law and long-time head of the Helsinki City Council, was seated in the Burgesses and was also made a peer. He then became the first semiparliamentary-elected Prime Minister in 1905. When the four-chamber system was radically changed to universal suffrage and a uni-cameral system, the tenfold-increased electorate voted in 1907 and almost all the same professors continued in the new parliament. In the first national parliament (duma) of Russia (constituted in 1906), the representatives of one of the great parties, the ‘cadets’, were quite academic. The Russian liberal tradition had its strongest base in the academic world, with many famous names, such as the historian Pavel Nikolaievich Miljukov (1859–1943). The rector of the University of Moscow from 1900 to 1905, Prince Sergei Nikolaievich Trubetskoi (1802–1905), was one of the leading figures of the liberal opposition, and his funeral in 1905 became a great political symbol during a turbulent time. After 1910, increasing numbers of professors reached the highest levels of public office. In the United States a professor of law and economics and President of Princeton University, Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924), became (the 28th ) President; the first president of the Republic of Finland ˚ was the law professor Kaarlo Stahlberg (1862–1952); the first president 155

Matti Klinge of Czechoslovakia (1918, 1920, 1927 and 1934) was the former phi´ s Garrigue Masaryk (1850–1937); the Swedish losophy professor Tomaˇ history professor, Nils Edén (1871–1945), was Prime Minister from 1917 to 1920; the professor of mathematics Paul Painlevé (1863–1933) became French Prime Minister in 1917 and 1925; the professor of political econ´ omy at the University of Coimbra, Antonio de Oliveira Salazar (1889– 1970), established his position in Portugal, initially as Finance Minister in 1926, and, in 1932, as Prime Minister and Minister for War and Foreign Affairs. Professors apparently played an important role in politics during the period in question, especially in the changeover from absolutist to bureaucratic and then from bureaucratic to parliamentary systems. Later, their roles often proceeded from the bureaucratic level of civic participation – forming new cadres of administration, contributing to administrative affairs as specialists and so on – to the parliamentary level. social status In Britain, university teachers did not have a high social position, whereas the old universities as institutions had, and to have studied at Oxford or Cambridge conferred such status upon individuals. The rise in the scientific level of the British universities at the turn of the century and the relative demise of the aristocratic elite after the First World War strengthened the role of the academic world. In Britain, the ideal of the free, non-university scientist and author continued longer than in other parts of Europe. In Britain and the colonies, the academic ideal was sustained more by former students of the well-known universities than by the universities and the teachers themselves. For the sociology of the British academic world, the membership lists of the Royal Societies’ Club (founded in 1894) are of particular interest. Organization and mutual recognition within the learned world was primarily the domain of the learned societies. Membership was limited ‘to Fellows and Members of the principal Royal and Learned Societies, Academicians and Associates of the Royal Academies, Fellows and Graduates of the Universities, Presidents, Members of Council, Professors, Fellows and Members of Literary, Scientific and Art Institutions of the United Kingdom, India and the Colonies; Commissioned Officers in His Majesty’s Army and Navy, and Higher Officers of the Civil Service’. In 1914, the list included some 7,000 individuals, and the club could boast such names as that of Lord Horatio Herbert Kitchener of Khartoum and of Broome (1850–1915) from the British Imperial Annals as well as names of scientific renown, such as Lord William Thomson Kelvin of Largs (1824–1907); very few foreigners were members. 156

Teachers In France, the status of professors reached its peak during the July Revolution (1830–48) and then under the long Third Republic (1870– 1940), whereas the First Empire and the Restoration Monarchy (1814–30) and the Second Empire (1851–70) were dominated more by the military and wealthy aristocracy and bourgeoisie. As mentioned earlier, university teachers were closely involved in opinion-making, politics, the press and with book publication in general. The strong tradition from the Enlightenment stressed education and a broad-based knowledge. However, being a professor was certainly no goal for sons of the aristocracy. The mainstream from the aristocracy entered the bourgeois world in France, as in England, through administration of wealth. A military career and the foreign service continued to be attractive, and the esprit de corps of those services favoured individuals from an aristocratic or high bourgeois background. In France, as perhaps elsewhere, the university was somewhat provincial in its outlook. This was true for the universities in the regions, which often stressed provincial specialities in their research and teaching, whilst in the capital, the background of a large part of the professoriate and student body was provincial. As shown earlier, the famous professor of literature, Thibaudet, argued in the 1920s that the Left Bank and Latin Quarter was the province in Paris. French professorial types, depicted by Marcel Proust (1871–1922) in the figures of Crottard and Brichot, frequent good, but not the best, salons; during this period the academic teacher had already gained in status. This was due to several factors: the Republican state itself promoted several learned men to leading positions, forming la république des professeurs; the general tendency of the time favoured all kinds of secular knowledge; and in France, as in Britain, the collapse of the old aristocracy after the First World War contributed, if not immediately, to the rise in the status of academic teachers and the learned. In Russia, the military and administrative bureaucracy – which largely coincided with the nobility – dominated. In 1899, Chekhov depicted the self-absorbed emeritus professor of literature Serebrjakov in Uncle Vanja. A Dreary Story, published in 1889, illustrated the narrow world of the famous professor of medicine, his assistant professor and his son, who prefers a military career despite its financial constraints. The situation in Germany is most interesting and is also relatively well known: the transition from the older, more established, clerical group with strong family ties, to a Leistungselite with mostly scientific competence, is very clear. The world of learning in general, professors included, played an important role in the national unification and shaping of semantic and moral unity, which developed before, and persisted after, political unification. In that sense, many professors were important as members of the Wertelite. But in Germany as elsewhere, much of the prestige originated 157

Matti Klinge in the professors’ social background and social ties; the question remains whether a university career enhanced or diminished the social position conferred by a noble or high bourgeois birth. It might generally be said that professors were bound to the social group from which the majority came – the clergy and middle bourgeoisie – but emerged in the late nineteenth century with both the rise of the universities and their new contacts with industry and with the rise of the German Empire.70 Certainly there was a difference between the status of professors in Berlin, Munich and Leipzig, ¨ and that of those in minor cities. Of course, Gottingen, Heidelberg, Jena, ¨ Tubingen and other smaller universities had some very famous teachers, but overall they did not have much impact on the profession becoming a national elite. Status also varied between faculties and disciplines: professors of Lutheran theology gained in prestige within the ecclesiastical world, but lost outside as a result of the general decline in the prestige of religion. The medical faculty gained in prestige with the general success of the health-care system and ideology. The technical sciences gained by association with the rise of industry, as evidenced by the improved status of technical high schools. The national economy and social sciences became interesting at the beginning of the twentieth century and took over something of the prophetic role played by the philosophers and historians of the nineteenth century. Let us again take an example from Finland, which is also relevant for other small countries. The Imperial Alexander University in Helsinki and its professors became instrumental in the making of the modern Finnish nation for many reasons; however, of central interest was a lack of opposition. With a very small aristocracy and a wealthy bourgeoisie of limited numbers, with the emperor residing in St Petersburg and the archbishop in ˚ Abo, the university and bureaucracy could dominate, tied as they were to each other by common ideals and family relations. In such conditions, the academic staff was omnipresent: in the press, in Parliament, in civic organizations, in publishing, assurance companies, banks, and so on. After the First World War, with the country gaining full sovereignty with a President of the Republic, a new army with generals and admirals, a diplomatic corps, and so on, the prestige of the university slowly diminished. However, in the 1930s and 1940s, popular films still portrayed professors as distinguished, duty-conscious gentlemen at the head of society. Everywhere in Europe, academia established an all-embracing system of honouring both its colleagues and others by awarding honorary doctorates, by celebrating the universities’ magnificent centenary jubilees 70

C. E. McClelland, ‘Die deutschen Hochschullehrer als Elite, 1815–1850’, in Schwabe, Deutsche Hochschullehrer, 27–57; F. Ringer, ‘Das gesellschaftliche Profil der deutschen Hochschullehrerschaft 1871–1933’s’, ibid., 93–104.

158

Teachers (which became highly fashionable in the 1870s and 1880s), and by commissioning and distributing Festschriften, portraits, medals, and so on. The professors mostly controlled the scientific societies and academies and had thereby a means of distributing academic honour in the form of memberships and prizes. Some of those prizes became well known, especially the Nobel prizes from 1903 onwards. Academic self-esteem could sometimes come near the point of being ridiculous to some observers: whereas the medievalism of the jubilees had great ceremony and drama, it was sometimes thought to be anti-modern or too theatrical. At the beginning of the period, academic gowns were rejected in some parts of the Continent – the famous poet and then bishop Tegnér, professor in Lund, described the rector’s gown as a ‘harlequin’ dress and refused to wear it; on the other hand, he always wore his doctor’s cylinder top hat, even when riding. In general, academic dress kept its status in the British Isles, whereas its use in capital cities such as Berlin and Paris was more restricted, and it was not used at all in Russia or Scandinavia, with the exception of the rector magnificus in Finland. When Ernst Haeckel in Jena, one of the most famous professors of ¨ modern times and a symbol of his time with his Weltrathsel, turned 80 in 1914, he published enormous notices in the world press requesting money for an ‘Ernst-Haeckel-Stiftung’ instead of the other honours his long life and work had entitled him to; this provoked some snide smiles. Besides the honours given by the academic community itself, heads of states honoured academic teachers by awarding honorary titles and orders. In Germany, Austria and Russia especially, but also in other countries such as Denmark and Finland, honorary titles (Geheimer Rat, Staatsrat) were highly esteemed. In Finland, the rectors of the university were ennobled if they had maintained their office for two or more triennia (because of the fact that nobility was one of the four estates composing the Finnish parliament until 1906). In Germany and Austria also, ennoblement was practised, but not in France. While becoming Geheimer Rat or Staatsrat was customary for professors, ‘Professor’ on the other hand, was given as an honorary title to persons who were not university professors. This had occurred in the eighteenth century, but it became more common later on, especially in the German and Nordic world. State decorations were awarded to professors and other teachers. In France, Napoleon I established a special order for the teaching corps, the Palmes académiques. In 1800, decorating professors was very rare, but by 1940, professors in most European countries were decorated sooner or later, and other academic teachers sometimes as well. The status of the academic world and of the people within it, both students and especially teachers, is reflected in a most spectacular way 159

Matti Klinge in the university buildings which were mentioned in the context of the public role of professors. The well-known Danish literary critic, Georg Morris Cohen Brandes (1842–1927), once overlooked for a chair in Copenhagen University and twenty years later recompensed with an honorary chair, wrote in 1889 about the new main building of Uppsala: ‘The whole is as a great temple of Minerva, where the best rooms are built for the cult of the Muses of Music and Dance, for the Authority of the State, for the righteously punishing authority and the Consistorium, but where only small rooms and corners are left for that Goddess for whom the Temple was built. The whole is suited to propose to youth a spirit of progress. Everything here says to the young: Grow and go higher and become a Professor! – Then you will have comfortable chairs, and beautiful pictures by great masters on the wall.’71 But seen from the standpoint of academic freedom, both the external pomp of buildings, festivities, processions, poetry and Latin, and the demand for intellectual debate and participation, were conservative trends against the bureaucratization of the university.72 They represented different voices of an academic ethos. This ethos was in various circumstances represented by different categories and types of academic teachers and students. It is nevertheless clear that the professors were the most important pillar of academic autonomy in teaching, research and morality. select bibliography Autio, V.-M. Yliopiston virkanimitykset 1809–1952, Helsinki, 1981. Baumgart, P. (ed.) Preussen in der Geschichte, vol. I: Bildungspolitik in Preussen zur Zeit des Kaiserreichs, Stuttgart, 1980. ¨ Baumgarten, M. Professoren und Universitaten im 19. Jahrhundert, Zur ¨ Sozialgeschichte deutscher Geistes- und Naturwissenschaftler, Gottingen, 1997. Berg, C. (ed.) Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. IV: 1870–1918. ¨ Von der Reichsgrundung bis zum Ende Ersten Weltkriegs, Munich, 1991. Charle, C. Naissance des intellectuels, Paris, 1990. ¨ ¨ Ferber, Chr. von Die Entwicklung des Lehrkorpers der Deutschen Universitaten und Hochschulen 1864–1954, Untersuchungen zur Lage der deutschen ¨ Hochschullehrer 3, Gottingen, 1956. 71 72

G. Brandes, ‘’Tale i Upsala (1889)’, in Brandes, Samlede Skriften xv (Copenhague, 1905), 419. On archaic elements in academic ceremonial as a ‘contemporaneity of the non¨ contemporaneous’ (Mannheim) and the ‘ferment of humanity’ (Horkheimer): W. Ruegg, ¨ Soziologie an der Johann Wolf‘Die Bildungsgesellschaft. Antrittsrede als Ordinarius fur ¨ ¨ ¨ Frankfurt am Main’, in W. Ruegg, ¨ gang Goethe-Universitat Anstosse. Aufsatze und ¨ zur dialogischen Lebensform (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1973), 264ff. Vortrage

160

Teachers Gerbod, P. La Condition universitaire en France au XIXe siècle, Paris, 1965. Gerbod, P. ‘Les Epurations administratives (XIXe et XXe siècles)’, Actes du Colloque, Publications de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes, IVe Section: Histoire et Philologie V: Hautes Etudes Médiévales et Modernes 29, Geneva, 1977, 81–98. ¨ Hammerstein, N. Antisemitismus und deutsche Universitaten 1870–1933, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1995. ¨ ¨ ¨ Hammerstein, N. (ed.) Universitaten und Aufklarung, Gottingen, 1996. Jeismann, K. E. and Lundgreen, P. (eds.) Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. III: 1800–1870. Von der Neuordnung Deutschlands bis zur ¨ Grundung des Deutschen Reiches, Munich, 1982. J´ılek, L. (ed.) Historical compendium of European Universities/Répertoire historique des universités européennes, Geneva, 1984. ¨ Die Universitat ¨ Helsinki 1640–1990, Klinge, M. Eine Nordische Universitat. ¨ Helsinki and Gottingen, 1992. ¨ ¨ Koˇsenina, A. Der gelehrte Narr. Gelehrtensatire seit der Aufklarung, Gottingen, 2003. Maurer, T. Hochschullehrer im Zarenreich, Ein Beitrag zur russischen Sozial- und Bildungsgeschichte, Cologne, Weimar and Vienna, 1998. McCulloch, G. Philosophers and Kings: Education for Leadership in Modern England, Cambridge, 1991. ¨ Tubingen ¨ Paletschek, S. ‘Geschichte der Habilitation der Universitat im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert. Das Beispiel der Wirtschaftswissenschaftlichen (ehemals ¨ ¨ in Tubinger Staatswirtschaftlichen/Staatswissenschaftlichen) Fakultat’, Professoren der Wirtschaftswissenschaften (1817–1991) – Leben und Werk, ed. H. von Strecker et al., Stuttgart, 2004. Pedersen, O. Lovers of Learning: A History of the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters 1742– 1992, Copenhagen, 1992. Schmeiser, M. Akademischer Hasard. Das Berufsschicksal des Professors und das ¨ 1870–1920, Stuttgart, 1994. Schicksal der deutschen Universitat ¨ Schubert, E. ‘Die Geschichte der Habilitation’, in H. Kossler (ed.), 250 Jahre ¨ Erlangen-Nurnberg, ¨ Friedrich-Alexander-Universitat Erlangen 1993, 115– 51. Schwabe K. (ed.) Deutsche Hochschullehrer als Elite 1845–1945, Deutsche ¨ Fuhrungsgeschichten in der Neuzeit 17, Boppard am Rhein, 1988. Verger, J. (ed.) Histoire des universités en France, Toulouse, 1986.

161

CHAPTER 6

THE DIFFUSION OF EUROPEAN MODELS OUTSIDE EUROPE

E D WA R D S H I L S A N D J O H N R O B E R T S

g e n e r a l r e m a r k s1 The establishment of new universities and colleges outside Europe in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries continued the pattern of earlier foundations, when new universities in Western and Central Europe reproduced existing models under new circumstances. By 1800, too, Central and South America had already taken their models of universities from Spain and the North Americans theirs from Great Britain. In the nineteenth century, the German universities, markedly affected by the ideas of Friedrich Schleiermacher and Wilhelm von Humboldt and their realization in the University of Berlin,2 were to become the sources of yet another – but still European – model that was implanted in the United States, in Japan, and elsewhere. Concurrently, too, an amalgam of features of the old and the modern English and Scottish universities did much to shape new North American colleges and universities as well as those of Canada, India, Australia and South Africa. Finally, though the university patterns of France were more limited in their diffusion, North Africa, French West Africa, Syria and Indo-China all showed the impact of French higher education in the last half century of our period. 1

2

Edward Shils’ untimely death left the draft of this chapter unfinished. It had to be thoroughly revised and edited by John Roberts and the editor with the generous expertise and help of Jurgen Herbst, Madison (USA); Steven Turner, Fredericton (Canada); Orlando Albornoz, Caracas, and Hans-Albert Steger, Erlangen (Middle and Southern America); H. Gerber, Jerusalem (Middle East); Jacques Verger, Paris (French colonies); Philip V. Tobias, Johannesburg (South Africa); Judith M. Brown, Oxford (South Asia); M. C. Rickleffs, Canberra (Philippines, Thailand); Patricia Herbert, London (Burma); Annabel Teh Gallop, London (Malaya); Andries Teeuw, Leiden (Indonesia); Don Garden, Melbourne (Australasia); Herbert Franke, Munich, and Hongjie Chen, Beijing (China); Ann Waswo, Oxford (Japan). See chapter 2, 47–9.

163

Edward Shils and John Roberts The world’s idea of the university as it was shaped in the nineteenth century is therefore a European one. Centres for advanced scholarly research and instruction regarding religious texts, academies for philosophical discussion and instruction and specialized schools for training in military science, administration, law and theology had been known in antiquity and in ancient India, parts of the Islamic world and Imperial China. Yet only one of these institutions still survives, the al Azhar University in Cairo. All universities outside Europe were formed in accordance with an image of the European university in the minds of their founders, at first or second remove. The very belief in the need for and the desirability of a university was a part of the image of what a modern society should be and of the proper place of a university within it. It was part of a larger conviction that society needs formally established, officially legitimated institutions in which advanced knowledge would be sought and taught and in which individuals would be trained for these practical professions which require differentiated intellectual knowledge and skill, such as cannot be acquired solely through apprenticeship and experience. From the belief that universities were needed for the well-being of society, there was derived the additional belief that the possession of such knowledge must be authoritatively certified by diplomas and degrees awarded by an appropriately qualified institution. In some countries, it was also believed that the majesty of a state and the dignity of a society required the existence of a university within its territory, quite apart from the utility of the knowledge it conveyed for the conduct of the affairs of state, Church and society. Universities became part of the symbolic apparatus of progressive civilization, of modernity. north america The first colleges founded by the British North American colonists had been seen by them as appropriate adaptations in a new environment of patterns of already tried and tested English institutions.3 Like them, they had close connections with religious bodies. They adhered to the curriculum of Latin, Greek and mathematics of the colleges of the ancient universities; they were residential, primarily teaching institutions, and original scholarship was not high among their aims. Though, as time passed, the Scottish universities also came to exercise a broadening influence on the American colleges, these institutions, like the few North American universities which existed in 1800, trained students usually only to the level of the baccalaureate. Professional education, insofar as it was not provided 3

See vol. II, chapter 6.

164

The diffusion of European models through apprenticeship, was conducted by other institutions and in other ways, most of them independent of colleges and universities and many of them private and proprietary. The later state universities in North Carolina (1776) and Georgia (1785) broke with their antecedents in having no religious affiliation, and widened the range of subjects taught, under the influence of the Scottish universities and, later, of University College, London. Despite these developments, though, the state universities continued to resemble in character the colleges which had preceded them. Notably, they were established and supported with little encouragement or aid from government; the traditional course of studies pursued at Oxford and Cambridge also long remained fairly intact, though with an admixture of moral philosophy, political economy and sciences from Scotland; courses were strictly prescribed, attendance at classes was compulsory and the morals of students were kept under surveillance. The British model was observed as faithfully as the very different circumstances allowed. Like their antecedents, new nineteenth-century colleges and even the state universities at first showed little sense of obligation to enrich the stock of knowledge or to encourage their students to do so. There was little sense of a calling to a life of learning among their teachers or that the pursuit of knowledge might itself be an appropriate career. This approach and atmosphere continued to prevail in many colleges for most of the nineteenth century and in some even into the next. Organization also long followed British patterns. Higher educational institutions had to be chartered by political authority. Once a charter was received, a private college was autonomous. Statutes and by-laws governing their internal working and structure were drawn up by the institutions themselves, that is, by their boards of trustees; neither the state – as in Germany – nor the teaching staff – as in the ancient English universities – had a hand in their promulgation. North American collegiate government bore, instead, a close resemblance to that of the eighteenth-century dissenting academies in England; there was usually a strong board of nonacademic governors, a principal or president with much executive power, and no effective voice for the teaching staff. There was no question of even the most senior and experienced teachers having a part, for instance, in the appointment of the president, which was entirely in the hands of the non-academic board of trustees. Deans were chosen by the president and served at his pleasure. As colleges grew in size, staff and numbers of students, departments were formed along disciplinary lines, they were then given chairmen by the dean and the president. Smaller colleges, with only a few hundred students, did not reach even this stage of differentiation and delegation. American colleges’ tendency to follow the pattern of the dissenting academy, not that of Oxford or Cambridge colleges, may in 165

Edward Shils and John Roberts part be explained by sectarian and denominational tradition; the Church of England and its reputedly luxurious and self-indulgent colleges were often regarded with stern disapproval. Small residential institutions brought teachers and students together, and sometimes favoured pastoral and personal relations between them. Concentration on teaching brought forward those who loved teaching and who aroused and held the esteem of many students and over many years. In this regard, there was some selective assimilation of the model of the Oxford and Cambridge colleges (and it was to be followed more deliberately in the twentieth century in the ‘house system’ introduced in Harvard in the 1920s and 1930s, and the ‘residential colleges’ of Yale). Even in the universities which were to show the greatest readiness to accept the German model – such as the University of Chicago – the provision of residential accommodation was associated with traces of the collegiate pattern – and often what was believed to be the characteristic architecture – of Oxford and Cambridge. In the twentieth century the model of the North American liberal arts and medical colleges was itself to spread, notably in the Middle East and in China. This, too, was a diffusion of European models, but at one remove: the United States exported an American modification of British models which imprinted itself on the liberal arts colleges of those regions and continued to inspire the organization of undergraduate instruction in them well into the twentieth century. The staff of a North American college was usually too small to allow specialization of teaching or separate administration in all but the most clearly disjunct disciplines. With few resources for research for most of the nineteenth century, those faculty members who wanted to pursue research used the books and laboratory equipment provided for teaching. Students were not trained for research; recipients of the doctorate were very few and most of them, in any case, were doctors of divinity. Even senior teaching staff had no permanent tenure. In the earlier nineteenth century, there could still scarcely be said to be an academic profession. Many teachers might well spend their entire working life in a college or even a university – as in Oxford or Cambridge colleges – with no intention of making a career of teaching, but holding their places while awaiting appointment to a suitable ecclesiastical living; in the English dissenting academies, too, the teachers had not been more than ‘assistant’ masters. Students were admitted to American colleges and universities at an early age and graduated young. There were no courses of preparation for professional careers on offer; graduates might enter such careers later – the clergy for example. To provide a fundamental education was the goal: this, it was believed, would discipline the mind, form and strengthen character and provide the cultural requisites for a life of responsible leadership in 166

The diffusion of European models society. Once again, this was an adaptation of a British ideal. The often promulgated goal was defined as the formation of character; it lives on in American undergraduate life today, in the dreams of self-discovery, or the discovery of one’s true identity. A major change began from the 1850s or thereabouts, as German universities began to be increasingly influential as models for major American universities, old and new. The leading universities, public and private, embraced the German model most obviously in their development of graduate schools. The tradition formed from the British models continued alongside this, but in the 1830s and 1840s, increasing numbers of graduates of American colleges and universities had already been going to German universities and fewer to British universities in spite of their prestige in the American academic world. The use of British models continued to be influential where it was reinforced by Anglophilia or respect for the antiquity and achievements of British institutions, particularly among those whose ancestors had come from the British Isles to America. Until the end of the nineteenth century these still supplied a large fraction of American college and university teachers. But German influences became far more powerful as postgraduate studies gained large numbers of students and as more provision was made for teaching them to do research.4 The German university had to be deliberately and actively propagated as a model. There was opposition to it when, as early as 1828, the faculty of Yale College declared that, since the German universities were chiefly occupied with professional studies while the American colleges sought to lay the foundations of a liberal education, they doubted that German universities could serve as a model for American colleges.5 Nevertheless, the German model made its way. There was powerful opinion in support of it, not least from those who had studied in German universities and who were firmly persuaded that it was imperative for the well-being of American society and for the dignity of the United States in the world. Younger teachers and a handful of university presidents strenuously advocated it, notwithstanding its critics, and returning young scientists and scholars wanted the German mode of training advanced students which they had experienced to be introduced into the American universities. The State of Michigan, soon after its admission to the Union in 1837, granted a charter to permit the establishment of a University of Michigan which was to follow the German university model, though without a theological faculty. So clearly was the German model held in esteem by its 4 5

On German scholarship in religious and human studies see chapter 10. ‘Original Papers in Relation to a Course of Liberal Education’, American Journal of Science and Arts, 15 (January 1829), 297–351.

167

Edward Shils and John Roberts founders that even before the university opened, a number of Gymnasia on German lines were established in the state to prepare students for studies at it.6 Another outcome was the propaganda by young Americans who had observed in Germany the functioning of the agricultural, mining and engineering academies. It led to the rapid spread of the American idea of agricultural and mechanical colleges which began to flourish after the Civil War and the Morrill Act of 1862 which introduced the granting of public land for educational institutions.7 These colleges were to become the model for higher education in many countries in Asia and Africa. By the end of the century 9,000–10,000 American students had attended German universities.8 On their return, those who sought posts as university and college teachers wanted to do research and to have others do it. It was not possible simply to replace the colleges which had been formed on British models and which had become firmly implanted and adapted in the United States with a different kind of institution approximating more closely to the German university. Thus the idea of a graduate school appeared a possible compromise. This was an American innovation. The British had nothing like it and had indeed resisted the efforts of reformers like Mark Pattison (1813–84) who admired German practice.9 The Germans had not needed it since their universities were already graduate schools, though they now provided the model of much of what came to be embodied in the American graduate school. The presidents of three new American universities which instituted the great innovation had all either studied in Germany or had turned to Germany when they became the heads of their new institutions. Daniel Coit Gilman (1813–1908) was first president of the Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, opened in 1876,10 Granville Stanley Hall 6

7 8

9 10

On the University of Michigan and early German influences: J. Turner and P. Bernard, ‘The “German Model” and the Graduate School: The University of Michigan and the Origin Myth of the American University’, History of Higher Education Annual, 13 (1993), 69–83; H. H. Peckham, The Making of the University of Michigan, 1817–1967 (Ann Arbor, 1967); A. Creutz, ‘The Prussian System of Practical Training: The Educational Philosophies of the University of Michigan’s First Two Presidents’, Michigan History, 65 (Jan.–Feb. 1981), 37–9. For the Michigan preparatory academies: J. Herbst, The One and Future School: 350 Years of American Secondary Education (New York, 1996), 58–60. E. D. Ross, Democracy’s College: The Land Grant Movement in the Formative Stage (Ames, 1942). J. Herbst, The German Historical School in American Scholarship (Ithaca, 1965), 1ff.; K. H. Jarausch, ‘American Students in Germany, 1815–1914: The Structure of German ¨ and U.S. Matriculants at Gottingen University’, in H. Geitz, J. Heideking and J. Herbst (eds.), German Influences on Education in the United States to 1917 (Cambridge, 1995), 195ff. See chapter 10, 427. H. Hawkins, Pioneer: A History of the Johns Hopkins University, 1874–1889 (Ithaca, 1960); F. Cordasco, Daniel Coit Gilman and the Protean Ph.D. (Leiden, 1960); A. Flexner, Daniel Coit Gilman: Creator of the American Type of University (New York, 1946).

168

The diffusion of European models (1844–1924), first president of Clark University in Worcester (Mass.), chartered in 1887,11 and William Rainey Harper (1856–1906), first president of the University of Chicago, opened in 1892.12 The fourth major figure in the introduction of the German pattern, Charles William Eliot (1834–1926), President of Harvard, had studied chemistry in Germany and acquainted himself at first hand with German universities.13 The first three wanted to establish in the United States universities which would do what the German universities had done as sites of research and of the training which was required to do research. Eliot shared this view, though less enthusiastically, and with greater concern for undergraduate education. Not all features of the German university were imported into the United States. They did not import the pattern of akademische Selbstverwaltung. The principle of presidential rule was too firmly established to gain acceptance. Academic self-government nonetheless made significant progress in the first four decades of the twentieth century. The idea of academic freedom, scarcely mentioned before the appearance of the German university model with its principle of Lehr- und Lernfreiheit, slowly advanced from a condition of nullity to widespread affirmation by the profession of university teachers and to a greater respect for it from university administrators, boards of trustees and publicists. The preoccupation with academic freedom and the formation in 1916 of the American Association of University Professors14 which had as its main aim the protection of academic freedom did not occur just because academic freedom was so often infringed in the United States. It had also required the emergence of a conception of the dignity of the academic profession and of the value of the university as an estate of the realm before academics began to seek protection for the right to express opinions or investigate beliefs and institutions vested with sacredness. Without an idea 11

12

13

14

D. Ross, G. Stanley Hall: The Psychologist as Prophet (Chicago, 1972); L. Pruette, G. Stanley Hall: A Biography of a Mind (New York, 1926); W. A. Koelsch, Clark University, 1887–1987: A Narrative History (Hanover, NH, 1987). T. W. Goodspeed, William Rainey Harper, First President of the University of Chicago (Chicago, 1928); J. P. Wind, The Bible and the University: The Messianic Vision of William Rainey Harper (Decatur, GA, 1987); R. J. Storr, Harper’s University: The Beginnings (Chicago, 1966). H. Hawkins, Between Harvard and America: The Educational Leadership of Charles W. Eliot (New York, 1972); H. James, Charles W. Eliot, President of Harvard University, 1869–1909, 2 vols. (Boston, 1930); C. W. Eliot, Educational Reform: Essays and Addresses (New York, 1898). W. P. Metzger, ‘The German Contribution to the American Theory of Academic Freedom’, Bulletin of the American Association of University Professors, 41 (1955), 214–230; R. Hofstaedter and W. P. Metzger, The Development of Academic Freedom in the United States (New York, 1955); H. Mumford Jones, ‘The American Concept of Academic Freedom’, Bulletin of the American Association of University Professors, 46 (1960), 66–72.

169

Edward Shils and John Roberts of academic freedom, there would not have been the principled reaction against infringements on it, and this idea, too, American academics had imbibed in Germany. The principle of the Einheit von Forschung und Lehre was the main aim of the Germanizing movement, and it was a great success in the major private and state universities of the country. Yet the extent of its acceptance varied greatly over the American academic landscape. Even in the universities in which it was most successful it was not uniformly so; islands of the ancien régime continued to exist even in the most Germanized American universities. Lernfreiheit was not always what the returnees from Germany very much wanted. The first stirrings of the freedom of learning for the students occurred through the ‘elective’ system which was introduced in the 1870s by President Eliot in Harvard for undergraduates.15 There is no evidence that the German model was in Eliot’s mind, but the previously prevailing syllabuses were so confining and so narrow that the German model was really indispensable for a person seeking to broaden the range of intellectual opportunities for students. Yet, paradoxically, at the postgraduate level, where German influence was most pronounced, freedom of study and freedom in the choice of courses and of attendance at classes, did not establish themselves. German students were free to choose the courses and the subjects they would study, but American graduate students who were their coevals were subjected to course requirements, written examinations and course marks unknown in Germany. On the other hand, the American graduate students were exempted from the discipline of the principle of in loco parentis, which was strictly applied to undergraduates. The idea of the unity of research and teaching was central to such new universities as the University of Chicago, the Johns Hopkins University and Clark University. Their teachers were appointed on the understanding that research was as important as teaching, and it was equally understood by university administrators that they were to make available the space and equipment needed for scientific research and the libraries needed for research in the humanistic and social science disciplines. New universities found this easier because they did not have to overcome the resistance of teachers attached to the traditional model. Clark University, though, became a victim of a conflict of models; the founder and financial patron, Jonas Gilman Clark (1815–1900), wished that his university be a traditional undergraduate institution, while Hall, passionately devoted to the Germanic idea, more or less surreptitiously made it into a graduate 15

H. C. Carpenter, ‘Emerson, Eliot, and the Elective System’, New England Quarterly, 24 (1951), 13–334; S. E. Morison (ed.), The Development of Harvard University since the Inauguration of President Eliot, 1869–1929 (Cambridge, Mass., 1930). See also note 13.

170

The diffusion of European models institution, and Clark had to add his residuary estate for the establishment of Clark College as the undergraduate school.16 The recruitment of teachers by new institutions often deliberately drew on young men who had studied in Germany. Before Johns Hopkins opened, its president made a European tour to recruit teachers. Ira Remsen ¨ (1846–1927) who held a doctorate from Gottingen, was one of his best discoveries. The first teachers of history and political economy at Johns Hopkins, Herbert Baxter Adams (1850–1901) and Richard Theodore Ely (1854–1943) had both studied in Heidelberg. Harper had studied in Germany and gone back there as soon as he was appointed to the presidency in order to study the functioning of the Berlin model, to look for teachers and to buy the entire stock of a great Berlin academic bookseller as the foundation of the University of Chicago library. He urged James Henry Breasted (1865–1935), to go to Berlin to be properly trained in Egyptology. An 1894 Ph.D. of the University of Berlin, Breasted became the foremost Egyptologist in the United States. Albion Woodbury Small (1854–1926), who became the first head of the sociology department at Chicago, had studied history and economics in Germany, Robert Park (1864–1944) had studied in Berlin and taken his degree under Windelband at Strasburg, well before beginning his academic career in Chicago. At Clark, not only was Hall a product of the German universities but some of its most important teachers like the anthropologist Franz Boas (1858– 1942) and Albert Abraham Michelson (1852–1931) who got the 1907 Nobel Prize in Physics came from Germany. Young teachers were sometimes given leave in order to go to Germany. The mode of teaching in the graduate schools in one very important respect was much affected by what Americans who had studied in Germany recalled as standard German academic procedures. What stood out in their memory, in addition to the personal attention they had received from the professor, was the seminar, which became the dominant and distinctive feature of graduate schools in the United States. It was intended to be the place where graduate students could present the results of their research and have them critically discussed by their teachers and fellowgraduate students. The close supervision of the student research by his teacher in the laboratory or in the teacher’s office became another fixture; this was also imported from Germany. Many graduate departments had journal clubs, which were a variant of the seminar in the sense that they were devoted to the critical analysis of research; the research in question was that already published in scientific or scholarly journals, many of them German, or citing German literature. Ability to read German fluently was required; without it a large part of the most important 16

Koelsch, Clark University (note 11).

171

Edward Shils and John Roberts literature would have been inaccessible. Another feature of the German model which was adopted in the United States was the publication of research in journals and in series of monographs. The institution of the university press which also established itself in the United States came apparently not from Germany but from Great Britain. The academic institute – usually attached to a professorial chair – did not come into American universities at the same time as the idea of the seminar. It is difficult to account for this. One reason may have been the early development of the departmental arrangement of disciplines within the university rather than the faculty, together with the flexibility of the policy of appointment to professorships. For a very long time, German universities had only one professor for each major discipline, whereas in many American universities it was possible at an early date to appoint more than one professor within a particular disciplinary department. The German system was monocratic; a single professor was responsible for his whole subject, no one shared in his authority in the distribution of teaching or in the allocation of resources or in the appointment of his juniors, except for the Privatdozenten. The institute – which in German-speaking universities was called Seminar for religious and human studies17 – was the exclusive domain of the professor in which he allocated space, equipment and funds in accordance with his own conception of what was important in his discipline. In an American university, though the chairman of a department was sometimes autocratic, he was not always the most important scientist or scholar in it, far less the only one, whereas in Germany, the professor was generally presumed as such. It would have created difficulties to have an institute which was directed by a person who was not the leading intellectual figure in his subject within the particular university. The Americans did not wish to create that difficulty for themselves. When, from time to time, ‘institutes’ were created in a few American universities – for example, the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago, the Harvard-Yenching Institute at Harvard, the Institute of Human Relations at Yale – they tended to be interdisciplinary and interdepartmental. Thus they were not the domain of a single professor. They permitted a wide range of research to be done; they had funds outside the regular university budget and so could have special equipment, special library collections. They gave their members considerable freedom. American institutes therefore bore little relationship to the German Institut. Most research continued to be done in departmental laboratories or in the university libraries. Another feature of the German university which did not travel across the ocean was the Habilitation, the production of a specialized monograph 17

On the introduction of the monocratic seminar directors see chapter 10, 408, 425–6.

172

The diffusion of European models on a particular subject beyond the doctoral dissertation, the delivery of a public lecture on the subject and submission to an oral interrogation on the lecture.18 This was towards the end of the nineteenth century in all German-speaking countries the precondition for the award of the venia legendi, the right to teach and the title of Privatdozent. The Privatdozentur entitled its incumbent to attend and teach without a salary, without the civil servant’s tenure or status, as enjoyed by a professor, and to be paid only through capitation fees from the auditors of his lectures. Habilitation and the status of Privatdozent were the necessary conditions for election to a professorship. Why did this rigorously grinding process of selection for candidates for professorships not find a home in American universities? It is difficult to explain why something did not happen but one distinguishing circumstance was no doubt financial. The status of Privatdozent depended on having either private means, a wealthy wife or a profession or business occupation allowing some free time for teaching and research. Most wealthy Americans – except a few in the north-east – hardly thought of entering the academic profession. To be a connoisseur, or a collector or a private scholar was one thing, but to be under the dominion of a professor – often likely to be an imperious one – did not appeal to a man of taste and spirit. American academics to a greater extent than German academics came from the lower middle class; they were often the offspring of farmers and small businessmen and it was against their grain to work without payment. It would have been practically impossible to find enough competent young teachers to teach without salary, however small. Hence, although American universities which aspired to be like German universities had a rank with the title of docent, it had no life in it. The docent disappeared in favour of the ‘instructor’. The Germans had no equivalent to the instructor. American universities also departed from the German pattern in their library provision. In Europe the universities relied on the rich imperial, royal and other kinds of state libraries.19 In Germany towards the end of the nineteenth century university institutes or seminars were able to build and develop their own libraries in accordance with the scientific or scholarly interests of their directors. In the United States, the leading private universities and some of the state universities built great, wellrounded collections of books; this probably owed something to the emergence of academic librarianship as a profession in the United States. It might be noted that in a number of cases American university libraries 18

19

On the slow introduction of the ‘Habilitationsschrift’, see chapter 5, 37. Cf. N. Rheingold, ‘Graduate School and Doctoral Degree: European Models and American Realities’, in N. Rheingold and M. Rothenberg (eds.), Scientific Colonialism: A Cross-Cultural Comparison (Washington, DC, 1986), 129–49. See chapter 4, 106.

173

Edward Shils and John Roberts purchased the entire personal libraries of eminent deceased German schol¨ ars. The University of Michigan purchased August Bockh’s library, the University of Syracuse Leopold von Ranke’s. By 1914, the attendance of American students for study in Germany had waned. Graduate studies were by then well established in the leading private and state universities and there was no longer such a widespread and shared belief among American university teachers and graduate students that German universities had much to offer which could not be obtained in the United States. American scientists and scholars were still used to reading German; German universities and their science and scholarship were still very highly regarded by them. The profound and distinctive imprint of the German university model on graduate studies in American universities did not fade, but after the First World War, American universities drew their inspiration almost wholly from traditions already assimilated. Germanic influences had become so much a part of American tradition that they had ceased to be German and had become American, and the driving forces were now the intellectual aspirations and motives of American scientists and scholars. Nonetheless, direct influence of German universities on American universities by no means disappeared. Teachers who had studied in Germany were still in post in the 1920s and early 1930s; their pupils continued to draw on their intellectual dispositions and beliefs. They were somewhat reinforced, too, in the 1920s when American physicists began to travel to Europe in large numbers to be trained in the most advanced physics of the time. Germany had never lost its eminence in physics and, as American academic physics became more sophisticated, it was widely realized that the German universities still offered much from which they could learn. Thus it happened that many of the leading American physicists of the 1920s and 1930s spent extended periods at German universities with scientists like Max Born (1882–1970), Walther Hermann Nernst (1864–1941), Max von Laue (1879–1960), Werner ¨ Heisenberg (1903–76), and Erwin Schrodinger (1887–1961). They were often assisted by the Rockefeller Foundation which initiated a programme of fellowships for travel to Germany. The Foundation also supported summer seminars in theoretical physics at the University of Michigan in the 1920s which were very important for the subsequent development of American physics, and leading German physicists were guests and teachers at these seminars.20 Americans also went to Germany to study with mathematicians such as Christian Felix Klein (1849–1925). But the Americans were now interested in specific things; like their predecessors they were inspired by German science, but they no longer sought, or were 20

D. J. Kevles, The Physicists: The History of a Scientific Community in Modern America (New York, 1978).

174

The diffusion of European models interested in, new general views of what a university ought to be. They had already got that from their studies in American universities. The intellectual current flowing from German to American universities became more animated with the coming to power of Hitler, when numerous scientists and scholars of the first eminence were forced to leave Germany.21 The racial laws in Italy also drove out some of the best Italian scientists and scholars. They also had been trained according to the German model, and many of them – Enrico Fermi (1901–54) was the most outstanding – found places in American universities. Earlier, the same had been the case with Russian scientists and scholars who after the Russian Revolution of October 1917 left their universities and sought a livelihood and the continuation of their intellectual work in American universities.22 Refugee scientists and scholars improved the quality of American scientific and scholarly teaching and research, but they did not bring with them new ideas of how a university should be organized or how it should function. Nor did the Americans seek their guidance regarding the idea of a university. CANADIAN universities also showed a diversity of influences, but within a predominantly British tradition. The oldest Canadian university, the University of King’s College in Windsor, incorporated in 1809, originated as a grammar school, the King’s College of Nova Scotia, which had been founded in 1789 by Anglican clergymen who had remained loyal to the crown and had emigrated from the United States. The first state institution of higher learning in Canada, the University of New Brunswick in Fredericton, began in 1785 as a grammar school, the Provincial Academy of Arts and Sciences, and was incorporated as King’s College in 1828 and as the University of New Brunswick in 1859. Both institutions were initially modelled upon the Oxford college and reflected the determination of provincial Anglican elites to re-create British social patterns in British North America. In Nova Scotia and New Brunswick as in other provinces, these efforts were strongly resisted by Protestants of other denominations. They lobbied the provincial legislatures to force the colleges to abandon compulsory Anglicanism or to adopt a less-exclusively classical curriculum, and they founded rival colleges less committed to the Oxbridge model. The University of Edinburgh provided the institutional model for McGill College and University in Montreal, and for Dalhousie College 21

22

D. Fleming and B. Bailyn (eds.), The Intellectual Migration: Europe and America, 1930– 1960 (Cambridge, Mass., 1969); L. A. Coser, Refugee Scholars in America: Their Impact and Their Experiences (New Haven, 1984); H. Lehmann and J. Sheehan (eds.), An Interrupted Past: German-Speaking Refugee Historians in the United States After 1933 (Washington, DC, and Cambridge, 1991). The influence of the German model on the Italian and Russian universities is dealt with in chapter 2, 66–8, 70–2.

175

Edward Shils and John Roberts at Halifax, Nova Scotia, which was founded in 1818 and became Dalhousie University in 1841. Both institutions had troubled early histories. McGill had been created by royal charter, the usual British legal device in 1821, but with its initial endowment tied up in court battles, it did not accept students until 1843, except in the medical school, which had been loosely affiliated with the university since 1829. With the support of Montreal’s merchant elite, McGill went on to become one of the larger and wealthier institutions in Canada, growing partly by developing affiliations with other institutions in Montreal and across Canada. These included four Protestant colleges in Montreal, their arts students obtaining degrees by sitting McGill examinations; Macdonald College in St Anne de Bellevue; McGill University College of British Columbia; and Victoria College in Victoria, BC. King’s College, Toronto, received its royal charter in 1827. An Anglican college on the Oxford model, King’s drew the opposition of rival denominations and their own colleges in Upper Canada (Ontario). In 1853 King’s was relieved of its denominational affiliation, renamed University College, and reconstituted as the teaching-arm of the newly created University of Toronto. The University of Toronto quickly went on to become the largest institution of higher learning in Canada. It grew partly by federating itself with other colleges and professional schools in the Toronto area as an examining and degree-granting body. This institutional pattern, much more common in Canada than in the United States, reflected the influence of the University of London. However, some of its patterns of government continued to reflect Oxford influence. Toronto borrowed the Oxford practice of electing the chancellor by vote of the convocation which included all graduates. The jurisdiction of the Senate was extended to all branches of the study of literature, science and the arts, and to the granting of the privilege of affiliation. The University of Toronto also led Canadian institutions in developing research. Mathematician James Loudon (1841–1916), President of the University of Toronto from 1892 to 1906, admired the German system of higher education and in 1898 introduced a research-orientated Ph.D. programme. His successor, theologian and classicist Robert Falconer (1867–1943), President from 1907 to 1932, further developed graduate studies, mostly on the American institutional model, in part to limit the brain drain towards US graduate schools.23 McGill closely followed Toronto in developing research and graduate studies and became Canada’s leading centre for research in the natural sciences and medicine. Higher education in Canada’s francophone community followed French continental models. In 1852 the French-speaking Grand séminaire, 23

P. N. Ross, ‘The Origins and Development of the Ph.D. Degree at the University of Toronto, 1871–1932’, Ph.D. diss. University of Toronto, 1975.

176

The diffusion of European models founded in the city of Quebec in 1663 by Bishop Laval, became the Université Laval, whose curricula, degrees and structure were influenced by the models of European Catholic institutions of higher learning and French universities. The Province of Quebec already possessed thirteen classical colleges, the upper forms of which educated students of early university age, and the new university quickly developed an agreement with five of the colleges to accept their graduates. In 1876 Laval founded a branch-campus in Montreal, although students had to sit for exams at the Laval University in Quebec. Laval also became affiliated in 1887 with ´ the Ecole polytechnique, founded in 1874, and later with schools of veterinary medicine (founded 1886), dentistry (founded 1894), pharmacy (1906), and the Institute of Agriculture (1908).24 latin america Although little practical or immediately visible difference was made to the universities of Latin America at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth centuries by the upheaval of wars of independence, they underwent a great change in principle. In varying ways, and at varying speeds, new states came into being to replace the Spanish and Portuguese Empires. The universities of the southern continent, though, had been organically and intimately linked to the ancien régime; they were all foundations emanating from Church or state, existing by virtue of those agencies’ decisions. Revolution and independence implied the dismissal of the founding state from the scene. The authority of the Church survived over its own universities, but was significantly modified in its freedom to act by the consequences of decolonization. There came to an end a long tradition of mutual interdependence and co-operation between lay and ecclesiastical authority (though one somewhat weakened in the last half of the eighteenth century, as the influence of absolutist modernizing and secular policies began to operate in Spain itself), and there were some important institutional and ecclesiastical changes. Some of these (the dissolution of the Society of Jesus, for example) had come about even before independence, thanks to the operations of absolute monarchy; some arose directly or indirectly from the French Revolution (the ultimate regulating power of the ecclesiastical universities, for example, disappeared with the abolition of the Spanish Inquisition in 1808). More significantly still, and in the longer run, the legal position of the Church would change 24

P. Axelrod, ‘Higher Education in Canada and the United States. Exploring the Roots of Difference’, Historical Studies in Education, 7, 2 (1995), 141–75; R. S. Harris, A History of Higher Education in Canada 1663–1960 (Toronto, 1976); A. B. McKillop, Matters of Mind: The University in Ontario 1791–1951 (Toronto, 1994).

177

Edward Shils and John Roberts further as the new national states took up more anti-clerical attitudes and policies.25 Interestingly, though, this development itself displayed much continuity with the past. Many Latin American politicians and administrators were unwilling to abandon the old regalian principles, which had never been more clearly expressed than in the patchy but nonetheless effective imposition of ‘enlightened’ ideas on the universities in the last prerevolutionary decades and the foundations of new royal universities at that time. Government had never counted for more in the Latin American universities than at the end of the ancien régime. The innovations then made – notably the adoption (even in ecclesiastical universities) of Spanish as the language of instruction and changes in curricula which reflected the ‘enlightened’ and ilustrado thinking of the ministers of Carlos III who looked to France for intellectual leadership – made it clear that the universities were regarded as institutions to be regulated to serve public ends, and not to serve autonomous purposes of their own.26 The impact of European models in Latin America was, therefore, very visible in its latest form in the universities at the time of independence. Not only did their curricula and personnel constitute a substantial and material legacy to the new order, but the last secularizing and ‘enlightened’ phase of the ancien régime had already somewhat prefigured some aspects of what was to be more strongly marked in the future; the republics had no intention of giving up the old patronato of the monarchy. At first sight, indigenous Latin American thinking about universities in the nineteenth century, and even down to the Great War of 1914, was exiguous. In so far as broad concepts and general ideas were concerned, university development still tended to take its inspiration from Europe. As under the ancien régime, there was a continuing assumption that higher educational institutions should before all else provide society with an adequate supply of professionally trained specialists; this, though, was now to be expressed in administrative forms derived from the Napoleonic models of France and the establishment of specialized schools for this task. Another influence, less closely defined, was that of Positivism. It tended to stress the general educational role of the university in the shaping of personal outlook and character, and therefore of national identity and culture, in an anti-religious, materialistic sense. The French cultural ascendancy which stood in the background of both of 25

26

These generalizations, like most of what follows, apply for the most part to universities in the former Spanish territories. The special case of Brazil is dealt with as a separate topic. Mario Gongora, ‘Origins and Philosophy of the Spanish American University’, in J. Maier and R. W. Weatherhead (eds.), The Latin American University (Albuquerque, 1979), 43–5 and passim.

178

The diffusion of European models these trends again recalls the concerns of eighteenth-century afrancesados in Madrid; the revolutionary years brought only a brief interruption of French influence in Latin American culture. The specific French impress on Latin American universities was to remain strong and very visible until well into the twentieth century; British and North American influences had much less impact, and less still had the German model of the research university. That the special local conditions in which the French assumptions would operate might imply a need for more sensitive awareness of the Latin American context and circumstances was not grasped until the end of the nineteenth century. French ideas played in the first instance on the institutions left behind by the colonial era and later on new facts and circumstances thrown up by the politics and social developments of individual countries. In this context, though, and, some would say, even today, the roots of what became the uniquely politicized university world of Latin America can be seen to lie in attitudes and assumptions of the ‘enlightened’ phase of the ancien régime. Setting aside ideology, though, the practical and material legacy of the colonial period was unpromising. There were indeed some 25 universities in Spanish America at the beginning of the nineteenth century, mainly in Mexico (eight) and Peru (four), with three in Colombia and three in Argentina, but no single institution among them could be regarded as distinguished, except, perhaps, by antiquity.27 The scene contrasted strongly with the blossoming variety and comparative wealth of the North American world of colleges and universities. University staffing had been badly weakened by the closure of Jesuit institutions and the expulsion of Jesuit teachers. Other ecclesiastical institutions had by no means fully repaired this damage before the Society was reconstituted in 1814 and able to resume its efforts in South America. In so far as a general political or administrative tendency in higher education can be discerned across the new American nations in the nineteenth century, it was one which undermined or neglected (and sometimes even abolished) existing universities. Instead, new academies and institutes were created for the study of specific aspects of the humanities and science (and predominantly these reflected the traditional prestige of literary and philological study rather than the natural sciences). Others provided professional training.28 Also important were the escuelas normales which were set up in some countries, the teacher-training institutions which, notably in Mexico and Argentina, came in fact to serve in a measure as general post-secondary schools for the talented poor, and 27 28

See vol. II, chapter 6, pp. 262–6. The vigour with which these were encouraged should not be exaggerated: the School of Mines in Ouro Prete ‘founded’ in 1832 which later became the Scuola Nacional de Minas e Metallurgia da Universidade do Brasil, did not open its doors until 1876.

179

Edward Shils and John Roberts so fulfilled a small part of the university role. Attempts were made to ensure that these heterogeneous bodies were at least in theory and form co-ordinated and centralized so as to express something of the Napoleonic idea of the university. Another outcome was the confining of research to non-university bodies. The new arrangements were the creatures of public authority, possessing little or no autonomy. In the process, the old universities, where they survived, were sometimes reduced to mere degree-giving bodies. They were almost always identified, though, with the new goals of creating national identity and culture, and marched under the banners of anti-clericalism and positivism. In the twentieth century, the state became more positively interested in them, and by no means always as a benevolent patron. The pervasive influence of positivism, while often confirming existing anti-religious attitudes, did little in Latin America to promote change of a truly innovatory or radical kind. Indeed, by antithesis it may even have helped to provoke a counter-current which was itself to prove the bearer of innovation, the appearance of the private university. Most of the constitutions of the republics professed liberalism and religious liberty; this could be taken advantage of by the Church, some saw, to found new universities of its own. The first of them was set up at Santiago de Chile in 1888. The private universities’ heyday, it is true, was not to come until the second half of the next century; only then would a vigorous growth of private universities begin. Nevertheless those few that came into existence before 1939 represented a significant alternative principle in higher education. They also reflected, of course, yet other influences from Europe, this time from Catholic universities there which had taken in the nineteenth century a more ultramontane and defensive stance vis` a-vis government than in the past.29 The introduction of change into national higher education systems was driven by different circumstances and with different degrees of urgency in different republics. Chile was notably early in getting under way. In 1842 the University of Chile at Santiago was set up by a lawyer and statesman, born in Venezuela, Andrés Bello (1791–1865), on the basis of a former university of the colonial era; structurally reflecting Napoleonic institutions, his ambitions were nonetheless to create an institution capable of contributing significantly through research to the well-being of the new nation. Later the Chilean Istituto Nacional was set up as a national centre of education, overseeing all kinds of teaching institutions in a fusion of colleges with other organizations, including a seminary and a missionary school of Indians. Uruguay had a national university from 1849; 29


180

The diffusion of European models this, too, was a co-ordinating structure on Napoleonic lines. Mexico was a very special case, particularly characterized by a struggle for the domination of education by lay and clerical contenders which began as early as 1830. At one time, the ancient colonial university was abolished, but quickly revived under conservatives. The new National University of Mexico which was founded in 1910, a year of revolution, was a deliberate ideological evocation of the centenary of another revolutionary act, that of the grito de Dolores which had begun the war of independence itself. The university was to become in the 1920s a notable and conscious embodiment of the idea of the university as a creator of nationalist selfconsciousness and perhaps the most successful of many experiments in this respect.30 Brazil was a special case. She had never had a colonial university and followed a very individual course towards independence. The removal of the Portuguese court to Brazil in 1808 and the survival after its return to Portugal of a monarchy there provided ties which lingered later than in the new republics; Brazil had an emperor of the royal house of Braganza until 1889. Traditional cultural ties with Europe also remained strong, and for most Brazilians who sought university education during the nineteenth century, the Portuguese university of Coimbra continued as in colonial times to suffice until the draw of Paris became stronger later in the century. Such new higher education institutes as appeared in Brazil before the monarchy gave way to the federal republic in 1889 were either basically schools of secondary education (of which the most celebrated and 30

See volume II of this History for the colonial period. From 1800 on new universities were founded in Argentina: Buenos Aires 1821, Cuyo 1939, Litoral 1919, La Plata 1897, ´ 1912; Bolivia: Cochabamba 1832, La Paz Mendoza 1939, Santa Fé 1889, Tucuman ´ 1832, 1832, Oruro 1892, Potos´ı 1894, René Moreno 1879, San Andrés 1830, San Simon ´ Frias 1892; Chile: Catolica ´ ´ Santa Cruz 1890, Tomas de Chile 1898, Catolica de Val´ 1920; Colombia: Antioquia 1801, Bogota´ 1867, para´ıso 1928, Chile 1842, Concepcion ´ 1827; Cartagena 1827, Cauca 1827, Medellin 1886, Pontificia Medellin 1936, Popayan Ecuador: Central 1826, Cuenca 1867, Guyaquil 1867, Loja 1869; El Salvador: San Salvador 1841; Haiti: Port au Prince 1944; Honduras: Tegucigalpa 1882, Mexico: Chiapas 1826, Coahuila 1867, Culiacan 1918, Durango 1860, Guerrero 1869, Guadalajara 1925, Hermosillo 1938, Hidalgo 1869, Mérida 1848, Monterrey 1933, Morelos 1872, Nayarit ´ 1933, San Luis Potos´ı 1826, Sinaloa 1874, Sonora 1928, Tabasco 1903, 1925, Nuevo Leon ´ 1922, Zacatecas 1832; Nicaragua: Leon ´ 1812, Managua 1812; Panama: Panama Yucatan ´ 1890; Peru: Agraria de la Molina 1902, Arequipa 1828, Inge1935; Paraguay: Asuncion ´ ´ Lima nieria 1875, La Libertad 1824, San Agustin 1825, Trujillo 1824, Catolica del Peru, 1917; Uruguay: Montevideo 1849; Venezuela: Carabobo 1892, Los Andes 1810, Mara¨ caibo 1891, Mérida 1805. See H.-A. Steger, Die Universitaten in der gesellschaftlichen Entwicklung Lateinamerikas (Bielefeld, 1967); T. Halperin Donghi, Historia de la Uni´ versidad de Buenos Aires (Buenos Aires, 1962); M. Pacheco Gomez, La Universidad de ´ Chile (Santiago de Chile, 1953); G. I. Sanchez, The Development of Higher Education in Mexico (New York, 1944); I. Leal, Historia de la Universidad Central de Venezuela (Caracas, 1961).

181

Edward Shils and John Roberts probably the best was the Colegio Imperial de Pedro II, founded in Rio in 1803) or academies and schools of particular disciplines. But proposals for something more exalted were frequently aired, and in the course of the nineteenth century parliament received and debated (though it did not pass into law) many bills proposing various steps towards the creating of a university. In his last speech from the throne even Dom Pedro II himself acknowledged the need for a university in Brazil – and preferably two, one north and one south. Meanwhile, French cultural influence predominated in Brazilian society, literary and academic life. Many private institutions appeared to provide higher education. At last, in 1920 a University of Rio de Janeiro was set up by the merging of existing academic institutions (a polytechnic, the Rio School of Medicine and a private law school). To it was added the first Brazilian faculty of philosophy, sciences and letters in 1930. By then another university had been founded in 1927 at Minas Gerais. When dis˜ Paolo, a delegation was sent, significantly, cussion began of a third, in Sao to France, and in due course a group of distinguished French social scientists came to Brazil and helped to prepare the university which opened in 1934. Yet these often vigorous institutions still showed notable deficiencies on the eve of the Second World War. Not until 1930 had any course of higher studies in history or geography been available in Brazil and graduate schools were not to appear there until the 1960s. Research was still mainly confined to a few prestigious non-university centres and private foundations. Indigenous cultural thinking began to bear upon the Latin American university more towards the end of the nineteenth century, when intellectuals began to be concerned with the wakening of public opinion to the question of Latin American identity as something distinct from a compilation of European transplants. The Uruguayan José Enrique Rodo´ published an essay, Ariel, which did not directly address questions of university reform, but which raised two threatening images which have resonated ever since in Latin American academic life and debate: the threat to the Ariel of Latin American culture and independence by Caliban, represented by the United States, and the danger of oligarchic capitalism. These themes are still the stock-in-trade of university radicalism in Latin America though, ironically, the majority of Latin American graduate students who go abroad to take higher degrees now go to universities in the United States. There had been rumblings of discontent among Argentinean students in the first years of the twentieth century and in 1918 these broke out in the so-called ‘Reform’ movement; it began with a student rebellion ´ and the publication at the University of Cordoba of a famous Manifiesto containing many of the ideas which had been circulating for years already 182

The diffusion of European models among the students of Buenos Aires.31 There was a quick and sympathetic response to this initiative, even at the highest level of government, which suggests, perhaps (as does the rapid spread of interest in the Manifiesto to Uruguay), that the location was significant; the river Plate region was at that time where the most prosperous and stable societies were to be found south of the Rio Grande, containing the nearest thing to a middle class resembling those of Europe.32 Substantial urbanization had followed the flourishing growth of an economy based on the export of primary agricultural products, and Argentina and Uruguay both had better records of governmental stability than many other parts of the continent. It was hardly surprising that the University of Buenos Aires should soon adopt some of the specific proposals set out in the Manifiesto. From this area the Reform ideas spread, winning student adherence first in neighbouring countries – Chile, Bolivia and Peru – and then further afield. In 1921 an International Student Congress held in Mexico City brought them a little notice even outside the continent. The movement was to have protracted significance – it would be only a venial exaggeration to say that most of the internal politics of the Latin American universities since 1918 have been a long series of footnotes to the Manifiesto – though its origins were particular and local. What hap´ pened at Cordoba owed little to outside influences. That city had a small, traditional university whose professoriate was dominated by cliques and an oligarchy of academic families. The result was inadequate teaching and resentment of those who should have provided better. A few months before the outbreak, too, there had been much feeling among the students about an arbitrary closure of a student dormitory by the university. In March 1918 medical students began to agitate for change and attracted sympathetic notice by the national government in Buenos Aires. The president himself accepted the Committee’s invitation to intervene. Only when the university authorities then further bungled their own response did the situation burst out of control. The main characteristics of the Reform were a call for the promotion of national identity and independence through the university (a demand 31

32

O. Albornoz, ‘The Latin American University at the Beginning of the Twentieth Century: ´ The Cordoban Movement and the Emergence of the Latin American Model of University’, in O. Albornoz (ed.), The Latin American University Facing the 21st Century (New Delhi, ¨ 1994), 11–15; for further information see E. Garzon Valdes, ‘Die Universitatsreform ¨ des Lateinamerikanischen von Cordoba/Argentinien’, in H.-A. Steger (ed.), Grundzuge Hochschulwesens (Baden-Baden, 1965), 163–208, and Anhang I: Das Manifest von Cordoba (12.5.1918) Manifiesto de la Juventud Argentina de Cordoba a los Hombres Libres de Sud-America. At the turn of the century several local or provincial institutions of higher learning were ´ (1914), Santa founded which became national universities in La Plata (1906), Tucuman Fé (1919).

183

Edward Shils and John Roberts not in itself new) and for resistance to imperialism – which meant the influence of the United States and the threat it presented to Latin American culture. Thus far, it was an expression of the continuing indigenous search for identity, both national and continental, pursued by many intellectuals. As such it was by no means unwelcome to governments which had been confronted with what looked often like aggression from the United States in the years (1904–16) of the ‘Roosevelt Corollary’ to the Monroe Doctrine and President Wilson’s vigorous promotion of democracy and political morality in Central America. The Manifiesto was in part also a reversion to old assumptions about the priority in education of the character-forming process. Reformers showed strong anti-clerical bias (expressing particular suspicion of the Jesuits) and argued that the liberalizing of the university itself, the realization of its autonomy, and the opening of its doors to greater numbers drawn from a wider spectrum of the populace were all urgent requirements. Significantly, the part-time professors who traditionally provided most of the teaching in Latin American universities (as they still do, because part-timers are cheap to hire) were to give way to full-time staff promoted by merit, while students were to be given a real part in the governance of the university. Such reforms achieved, it was hoped that the university would truly become the conscience of the nation. What is more, if that were achieved, then the authors of the Manifiesto envisaged that each reformed university would take its part in a network of liberal institutions spread throughout Latin America, transcending national barriers. On the one hand, the students’ assertion of the importance of the autonomy of the university suggests at first a return to ideas lying at its European roots. Yet in so far as this expressed specific and positive discontent with things as they were, it was also a rejection of what a specific set of European ideas had led to in the Latin American universities. The ideas which had been taken for granted in the nineteenth century had been taken for granted for too long, and, the way their theoretical implications actually worked had produced the inadequacies of the typical universities of the early twentieth century. It is difficult not to believe that the true significance of Reform lay less in a programme, than in its announcement of a new fact, the beginning of the era of student politics in Latin America, and a new intensity of politicization of the universities. The Reform movement has never lost its fascination for Latin American academic radicals. In this way too, though, it marks a new and indigenous departure in thinking about Latin American universities and not just another borrowing of ideas from abroad. Its own ideas and slogans, rather than influence from Europe and North America, were to provide the background to the enlargement of old and the foundation of new universities in the 1920s and 1930s, in which greater sensitivity began to be 184

The diffusion of European models shown to local conditions and special needs than ever before, even if still not enough. With this went a swing among political authorities towards distrust of the new level of politicization in the universities, as expressed in the student body, and even towards repression. The balance sheet of achievement of the Latin American universities may well not have seemed a very impressive one in 1939. The best scientific research work in the continent was at that time still not being done in them, but in the specialized institutions which contributed little to their teaching; this was a reflection still of the original French influence. The universities were, at their best, large-scale schools of higher education and professional training, producing such specialists as the somewhat conservative societies of Latin America required to fill the ranks of law (some have characterized the old style of Latin American higher education as the Universidad de Abogados), politics, medicine and other professions. This they did in ways demanded by a narrow elite among often still predominantly rural and illiterate populations. Though much enlarged, the majority had not broken through to democratic recruitment as envisaged by the reformers (Peru’s seven universities had less than 4,000 students enrolled in them in 1940 even if the University of Mexico was already on its own way to its later huge expansion and the elaboration of its connections with research institutes33 ). The continent’s universities thus continued to contribute to the prolonged and exaggerated cult of the intellectual which pervaded Latin American urban life, and they reflected the demographic weakness of the urban middle classes. They displayed none of the pluralism of goals and inspirations so vigorously expressed among North American universities, nor could they tap major economic resources for their maintenance. The Latin American university has been called ‘a plaything for an elite alienated on its own continent’34 and if this is too harsh to be the last word on it as the first half of the twentieth century began to draw to its close, there is enough truth in it to be borne in mind as one turns to what should have been a golden age of expansion in the second half of the twentieth century, when demographic pressure, technological ambition, changing views of what sort of elite society was required, and the stabilization of politics all encouraged increases in numbers which transformed the scale and the quality of what was provided. 33

34

H.-A. Steger, ‘Die Entstehung von “El Colegio de México”’, in Wirkungen von Migratio¨ frankische ¨ nen auf aufnehmende Gesellschaften, Schriften des Zentralinstituts fur Lan¨ Erlangen (Nurnberg, ¨ deskunde und allgemeine Regionalforschung an der Universitat 1996), 119–32. ¨ H.-A. Steger, ‘Universitatsgeschichte und Industriegesellschaft in Lateinamerika’, in Die ¨ in der Welt. Die Welt in der Universitat, ¨ Schriften (Nurnberg, ¨ Universitat 1994), 45– 61; H. A. Steger, ‘The European Background’, in Maier and Weatherhead (eds.), Latin American University (note 26), 89.

185

Edward Shils and John Roberts middle east In 1939, the roster of modern universities – as distinguished from Islamic seminaries – in the Middle East consisted of a number of separate faculties in Iraq and Syria; two missionary universities and a number of separate faculties in Lebanon; and one fully fledged university in Palestine. The separate faculties in the Arabic-speaking lands were usually faculties of medicine – often combined with pharmacy – law and humanities. They had uncertain lives; sometimes their operations were suspended for extended periods. Their essence as separate institutions, unconnected with any other faculty, was a French idea, a product of the revolutionary and Napoleonic reforms of higher education which abolished the universities of the ancien régime. No other country in Europe possessed such institutions. They were treated in France as step-children of the higher educational system. Their status stood in public esteem well behind the prized creations of the state, the grandes e´ coles.35 But none of the countries of the Middle East which provided higher education through separate faculties had such a cluster of superior institutions in comparison with which the faculties were, at best, second best. In Syria and Iraq, there were nothing but faculties introduced by the Ottoman rulers. IRAQ: In 1908, the Ottoman rulers of Iraq established a law faculty in Baghdad. This was the first secular educational establishment in Mesopotamia. In 1919, the law faculty was placed under the control of the Ministry of Justice; in 1926, it was transferred to the control of the Ministry of Education. It offered a four-year course. A teacher-training college was founded in Baghdad in 1923, closed in 1931, but soon reopened. This provided a two-year course for prospective teachers which was taught in the evenings. In 1939 it was made into a four-year course. A medical school was founded next, in 1927 in Baghdad. It provided a six-year course. A school of chemistry and pharmacy followed in 1933. During the Second ´ World War, an Ecole polytechnique opened in 1944 which was attached first to the Ministry of Works and Communications and then to the Ministry of Education. Each of these schools awarded diplomas and degrees, beginning with the Bachelor of Arts degree, and going up to doctorates in philosophy and medicine.36 The government of Iraq was clearly not content with the set of higher educational arrangements inherited from the Ottoman Empire and commissioned various reports on the subject. But nothing came of them. By 1945 there was still no university in Iraq. 35 36

See chapter 2, 34–5, 44–5. Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. II, 3rd edn (Leiden, 1965), s.v. ‘Djami’a’; R. D. Matthews and M. Akrawi (eds.), Education in Arab Countries of the Near East (Washington, DC, 1949), 199–209; J.-J. Waardenburg, Les universités dans le monde Arabe actuel, vol. I (Paris, 1966), 152–57.

186

The diffusion of European models SYRIA: Like Iraq, higher education in Syria began under Ottoman rule with the foundation on Turkish initiative, in the case of a medical institute in Damascus in 1901. By 1909, there were 40 students enrolled for its sixyear course. Turkish was the medium of instruction; the staff was made up of professors recruited in Istanbul. In 1905 the Sultan had the name of the Institute changed to the Imperial faculty of medicine. During the First World War, this faculty was transferred to Beirut, to be installed in the quarters of French Jesuits, who had departed. It ceased to exist in 1918, but by the time of its closing, it had trained 110 physicians and 152 pharmacists. In 1912 a school of law was created in Beirut, also taught in Turkish by Turkish professors, with a five-year course. In 1914 it was transferred to Damascus where it occupied the premises of the former Anglo-Dutch School. In 1918 it went back to Beirut but shortly thereafter ceased to exist. In 1913 an Arabic School of Law with a three-year course of study had appeared in Damascus; in 1931, it acquired a four-year course conforming to the German pattern of legal education. In 1919 the formerly Turkish Imperial medical faculty was restored to and complemented by a school of pharmacy, a dental school, a nursing school and a school of midwifery. The medical school itself was renamed the Arab School of Medicine and Arabic became the language of instruction although French professors in the school taught in French. In 1919, the law school was reopened in Damascus. In 1923, the University of Syria was established by a decree of the president of the Confederation of Syrian States through the joining together of these two previously separate faculties. Most of the teachers were Syrians, with a small admixture of French. ´ In 1929 an Ecole supérieure des hautes e´ tudes littéraires was established by governmental decree. In 1929, it became part of the university, only to be closed in 1933.37 LEBANON: Lebanese higher education underwent influences quite different from those exercised by Turkish ideas in Iraq and Syria. In Lebanon, the inspiring ideas came from the United States and France, and were in both instances religious. The first higher educational institution in Lebanon, founded in 1789, was Ayn Warak, intended primarily for the training of the higher Maronite clergy. It taught a wide variety of humanistic subjects as well as theology and admitted lay students as well as aspirants to ecclesiastical careers. French influence predominated. A Presbyterian seminary opened at Abrih in 1849. In 1863, the Syrian Protestant College, supported by American and British Protestants, received a charter from the State of New York. The College opened three years later. It began as a college of arts and sciences in 37

Matthews and Akrawi (eds.), Education (note 36), 379–88; Waardenburg, Universités (note 36), vol. I, 274–77.

187

Edward Shils and John Roberts the style of an American liberal arts college of the time. In 1867, it added a medical school; in 1871, a school of pharmacy; in 1900, a school of commerce; in 1905, a school for nurses; in 1910, it opened a dental school. In 1901, the Syrian Protestant College had already a student body of more than 600 and was by far the largest modern higher educational institution in the region; its students came from all the main religious communities of the Middle East, Muslims and Jews as well as the diverse Christian communities. In 1910, it changed its name to The American University of Beirut and became a secular institution. Women were admitted from 1924. It continued to be supported financially by American and British Protestant bodies, and in 1929, founded an Institute of Rural Life on lines shaped by the pattern of an American agricultural and mechanical college. Most teachers at the American University of Beirut came to be recruited from the Middle East as Europeans and Americans who had been preponderant at the outset became a minority. The presidency was for a long time held by Americans; the first president had been a missionary but with time religious requirements for appointment, particularly for teaching posts, were abolished. In internal government, as well as admission policy and religious requirement, the Syrian Palestine College and the American University of Beirut paralleled closely the course of development of American private liberal arts colleges. An independent board of trustees appointed the president who was responsible to it. Academic appointments were ultimately at the disposition of the board of trustees, but they were usually made by the president and confirmed by the board. Down to the Second World War there was no effective self-government by the staff. Except for the greater emphasis in its teaching on Arabic and Islamic subjects than would have been found in a liberal arts college in the United States, the American University of Beirut was an American college set down in the Middle East. As such it was a significant force for the promotion and acceptance of liberal ideals in the region. At the time, both Muslim and Christian students appreciated it greatly. Publicists did the same. Nevertheless, there was a sense of anomaly. Much as the American University of Beirut was admired, its foreign medium of instruction and its exogenous origin and support caused uneasiness even among its grateful graduates.38 The other main higher educational institution in Lebanon was the Université Saint Joseph, another foreign creation. Its origins lay in a Roman Catholic seminary at Ghazir founded by Jesuits in 1850. A college was added to the seminary, which became a pontifical university in 1881, when 38

Matthews and Akrawi (eds.), Education (note 36), 487–99; Waardenburg, Universités (note 36), vol. I, 186–94.

188

The diffusion of European models doctorates in theology and philosophy were to be recognized by Pope Leo XIII as possessing the same validity as those of the Gregorian University. Although the Université Saint-Joseph was an ecclesiastical foundation, the French Government, laic and anti-clerical at home, created in 1883 a school of medicine in agreement with the Jesuits who governed the university. The legal relationship between the medical school and the university is unclear; the French Ministry of Public Instruction granted it the status of a faculty of medicine. In 1889, a faculty of pharmacy was added and it was henceforth called the French faculty of medicine and pharmacy. Its diplomas were certified by the ministry and in 1898 were ˆ declared by the ministry to possess the same validity as French diplomes d’état. Institutes of chemistry and bacteriology, of physiotherapy, cancer research and treatment, schools of dentistry, midwifery and nursing were added in the half decade following the end of the First World War. By then, too, the Université Saint-Joseph had also inaugurated an observatory. In 1902 a Faculté orientale, in 1908 the Ecole supérieure de Commerce were added. ´ In 1913, an Ecole française de droit and an Ecole française des ingénieurs were established as a part of the Université Saint-Joseph by agreement between the Beirut Jesuits and a group from Lyon formed by their city’s chamber of commerce and a number of professors at its university. This Association Lyonnaise pour le développement a` l’étranger de l’enseignement supérieur et technique had taken the initiative in 1911 and again in 1912 to visit Lebanon and to investigate the possibility of providing higher education there under its auspices. 1913 brought an agreement with the Jesuits. They organized and administered the French faculties, the Association and the French Government took the financial responsibility. Teachers were appointed by joint decision.39 The faculty of law extended its scope; it taught private law at first, then it added public law and political economy. When France became the mandatory power, the French Government considered the possible foundation of a new university. By 1925, it came to the conclusion that it should not proceed but should instead continue to collaborate with the Université Saint-Joseph, supporting it financially. Apparently some of the financial support for the faculties was paid directly to them and not through the university, but whatever the channel of payment, the funds came ultimately from the French Government. It is interesting that the French Government used the nineteenth-century French model of separate faculties, perhaps in order to avoid any interference by the Jesuit university government, although it had renounced this model, at least in principle, in 1891 as far as France was concerned.40 39

Waardenburg, Universités (note 36), vol. I, 471ff.

189

40

See chapter 2, 56.

Edward Shils and John Roberts PALESTINE: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem which was established in 1924 adhered to no single national model although British provincial and German influences predominated, while its first president was an American rabbi. It was devoted to the proposition that both teaching and research should flourish within it, and its founders believed no less unswervingly in academic self-government and freedom of teaching. Its early appointments of academic staff brought Germans and Britons to senior positions. When the National Socialists came to power in Germany, other distinguished German scholars were appointed there, accentuating the tone of the German university at its best.41 The constitutional form of the Hebrew University, though, remained British. There was no dependency on any ministry to confirm its appointments. Great Britain, the mandatory power in Palestine, abstained from any intrusion into the affairs of the university, although it looked upon it benevolently and gave it its patronage. The pattern of a lay governing body alongside an academic body was like that of provincial British universities. The names of degrees which it conferred were taken from a British list but the MA degree was, like the same degree in the American universities of the time, awarded on the acceptance of a dissertation based on research. In substance, the university took as its proper field of action the full range of disciplines of any German or British university of the 1920s, though giving less prominence to technology than the British universities and in this respect coming closer to the German pattern. In addition to the fundamental scientific subjects of the European humanistic tradition, it gave special attention to the religious and intellectual history of the Jews and made substantial provision for Islamic and Middle Eastern studies. The medium of instruction was Hebrew. The result of the researches conducted by its teachers in the fundamental sciences were published in English for the most part, although until 1933 some were published in German. In the subjects of local interest and for those interested in Jewish studies (broadly conceived) Hebrew was the main language of publication. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem is probably the most successful instance of the implantation of the Western European university model in Asia in the period up to the Second World War. While it retained essential fidelity to its model or models, it did not merely emulate them. It used them as points of departure for its own distinctive course. It was sustained by a firm academic ethic which was at first brought from abroad by its teachers, and which they reaffirmed and reproduced in the activities of teaching and research. Its financial support came from abroad, and the 41

Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. VIII (Jerusalem, 1971), s.v. ‘Hebrew University of Jerusalem’.

190

The diffusion of European models teaching staff in its first two decades had few Jews of Palestinian origin, no Arab teachers and practically no Arab pupils. Judah Leon Magnes (1877–1948), its first president, had hoped that the university would be an institution through which Jews and Arabs could be brought together through the common pursuit of scientific and scholarly truth, but this hope was not to be realized. In Haifa the Hilfsverein der deutschen Juden in Berlin, aided by gifts from Moscow and New York, initiated in 1912 a technical high school, the Technikum; but a struggle over the language of instruction – German or Hebrew – delayed its opening. After the war, the Zionist Organization acquired the property and from 1924 on the school developed as a technological university modelled on similar Central and Eastern European institutions and taking the name of Technion.42 africa EGYPT: The al Azhar university, the oldest in the world, dates from 970. It was entirely an Islamic theological university until the present century. Advanced secular education was provided in Egypt only in the nineteenth century. In the first three decades of the nineteenth century, Mohammed Ali (1769?–1849) sent more than 300 Egyptians to study in Europe, particularly France. The government and the military academies were then responsible for the creation in 1827 of a medical school – to which schools of pharmacy and midwifery were added in 1838, and a school of veteri´ nary medicine, of an Ecole polytechnique in 1834, of a school of civil and commercial administration and a school of language and translation in ´ 1837, a school of technology (Ecole des arts et métiers) in 1839. A law school, granting degrees in law was founded in 1886. A school for training teachers of Arabic was established in 1871, a teacher-training college ´ (Ecole normale) in 1880, a school of commerce in 1911, which became part of the Egyptian university in 1925. Despite the presence of the British in Egypt, the higher educational system was similar to the French model. There was little thought of amalgamating these numerous schools into a university until 1894, when a publication by Yacoub Artin Pasha (1842– 1919) in Paris put forward the idea of an Egyptian university. After much public discussion, efforts were made to collect funds and in 1908 the private Egyptian university came into existence. At first concentrating mainly on humanities, history and classical literature and thought, and social sciences, it acquired in 1914 a department of law. It awarded degrees up to the level of the doctorate but they were not recognized by the state. Instruction was in Arabic but it was given mainly by Europeans. 42

Ibid., vol. XV, s.v. ‘Technion, Israel Institute of Technology’.

191

Edward Shils and John Roberts Governmentally supported and controlled schools and faculties remained separate. Only in 1917 did the Ministry of Education form a committee to examine the problem of organizing a public or state university. It recommended that the existing e´ coles supérieures should be brought together under a single administration. In 1923, the ministry and the administrative council of the Egyptian University agreed that the latter should be incorporated into the new state university; this came into existence in 1925 under the name of Fuad the First University. It had four faculties; the faculty of arts was constituted by bringing together the departments of letters of the Egyptian University and the parallel section ´ of the Higher Training College which had emerged in 1922 from the Ecole normale of 1880. The French influence prevailed in the faculties of law and arts. British influence was dominant in the faculties of science and medicine and later in the Polytechnique, which was incorporated in 1935. In the same year, the schools of agriculture, commerce and veterinary medicine were also taken into the university.43 A second state university was established in Alexandria in 1942 as Faruk the First University. It was made up of the faculties of arts, law and the polytechnic which, as branches in Alexandria of the Fuad the First University, were already in existence. To these were added by a decision of the ministry, faculties of medicine, science, commerce and agriculture. However, not only French and British traditions were at work in Egyptian higher education. The American model of the liberal arts college appeared in Egypt with the formation of the American University of Cairo. Planning for it had begun in 1914; it was incorporated in the District of Columbia in the United States in 1920. It had a board of trustees resident in the United States and financial support coming mostly from the United States. In these respects and in others, it strongly resembled the American University in Beirut. It was almost entirely an undergraduate college but undertook advanced work in a few fields. Its system of government was much like that of the American University of Beirut or a private American liberal arts college of the turn of the last century and its degrees were not recognized by the government of Egypt, although they were very well esteemed in Egypt and did not disqualify those who held them from holding public appointments.44 SUDAN: The Gordon Memorial College opened in 1902 in Khartoum was created by private initiative; it was supported financially by public subscription of a fund of £100,000 in response to an appeal to form a college in memory of General Charles George Gordon (1833–85), but from the beginning it was jointly supported by private philanthropy and the government of Sudan, the latter bearing most of the costs. It had a board of trustees and an executive committee, with Queen Victoria as 43

Waardenburg, Universités (note 36), vol. I, 226.

192

44

Ibid., vol. I, 256–61.

The diffusion of European models patroness. The principal was director of education for the Sudan, which placed the college under the control of a government official. Its teachers were civil servants. In 1934, the authority of its board of trustees was transferred to the governor general. It was, in fact, scarcely a higher educational institution. At first it had attached to it a vocational school, a school for training teachers and a technical or industrial school. It had also a primary school but that was eliminated in 1924, when it was decided by the government to turn the college into a secondary school. In 1924, the Kitchener School of Medicine was established in Khartoum. It had a governing authority similar to that of the Gordon College but it was not amalgamated with it. Its principal was the director of the Sudan medical services. At first the medical school granted only diplomas. Beginning in 1940, graduates of the medical school sat for final examinations for the diploma under the supervision of the two Royal Colleges – of Physicians and Surgeons – in London. The possessor of this diploma was then admitted to the formal examinations of the Royal Colleges. In 1936, a law school was created; it was attached to the legal department of the government of the Sudan. The de la Warr Commission on Higher Education in East Africa affirmed the intention of the Colonial Office to create more professional schools. It also recommended that Gordon Memorial College should become a ‘university type’ of institution and sooner or later, a full university. In 1938, a school of agriculture and veterinary medicine was established; in 1939, a school of science and technology; and in 1940, a school of arts. These schools were also separate from each other and from the Gordon Memorial College, but in 1942 they were linked together under a higher school’s advisory committee. In 1943, all these separate schools were amalgamated into the Gordon Memorial College which thereupon became Gordon College. Its diplomas were awarded by the University of London, which set the examinations, appointed the examiners, and made arrangements for their assessment. These specialized schools and their heir and later overlord, Gordon College, were wholly British creations, teaching in English. They were to a greater extent than in other parts of the British Empire, adjuncts of colonial government. They were derived from British models by their subject matter and the medium of instruction and became peripheral parts of the British higher educational system in that the University of London examined their pupils and awarded its diplomas to those who were successful. But with respect to their constitution and internal government, they were remote from any British university model.45 45

Ibid., vol. I, 267–8.

193

Edward Shils and John Roberts FRENCH COLONIES IN AFRICA: The policy of the French Third Republic concerning school and university education in its colonies was very timid, especially if compared to its brilliant and successful achievements in metropolitan France.46 Partly due to colonist pressure, the republican ideals about education as a way towards liberty and democracy were left aside in the overseas territories: to enable the native populations to get access to them was always presented as much too expensive and politically dangerous. Even for the European families, it is true, the realizations were modest. A decent network of primary and secondary schools, belonging either to the state or to religious orders, was created only in the oldest colonies (Algeria, Senegal) where the population of metropolitan origin was numerous enough. But if they wanted to go to university, the sons of colonial families had usually to come back to France, either to Paris or to towns which had traditional overseas connections like Aix-en-Provence or Bordeaux. For the natives themselves, the educational opportunities were much weaker. Where they already existed, traditional schools, like Koranic schools and madrasas in North Africa, were preserved. Some primary or ‘upper primary’ (primaire supérieure) schools, with French or native teachers, were founded but their total number largely varied according to the country. For secondary education, natives could just go to a few old renowned colleges (like Moulay Idriss College in Rabat or Sadiki College in Tunis) and to some lycées, where the sons of some worthy local families were admitted alongside those of metropolitan descent. As regards the opportunities for university education for native people, they were even more reduced. A very limited number came to France to study mainly law and medicine. In 1932, there were in metropolitan France less than 200 students from North Africa (mostly from Tunisia) and about twenty from Black Africa and Madagascar. Yet, these figures were growing steadily and in 1938 they had probably already doubled. The Association des e´ tudiants musulmans nord-africains, founded in 1927, became very quickly a centre for anti-colonialist politics and a breeding-ground for future nationalist leaders. Overseas, the French university policy achieved but a very few concrete realizations. They were usually due to the personal energy of some local government official. These colonial upper schools and universities were more or less intended to give at the same time to young European students the possibility to do (or at least to start) their university studies at home and to native students, belonging to a very restricted local elite, to make their career in an upper position, generally connected with 46

Unless otherwise indicated, the following data and statistics are taken from J. Thobie et al., Histoire de la France coloniale, 1914–1990 (Paris, 1990).

194

The diffusion of European models some precise professional and technical expertise; finally, there could also be the intention of supporting some specific fields of research, like local archaeology, history or linguistics, anthropology or colonial medicine. All the professors, with a very few exceptions, came from metropolitan France. In ALGERIA, the first institution for higher education was the ‘Prepara´ tory School of Medicine and Pharmacy’ (Ecole préparatoire de médecine 47 et de pharmacie), founded in 1857. The 20 December 1879 law added ´ a faculty of law and ‘higher schools’ for humanities and sciences (Ecoles supérieures des lettres et des sciences). The first years of these schools were not very successful: in 1889, there were fewer than 300 students who had plenty of room in the huge ‘palais universitaire’ built in 1887 according to the pattern of the new French metropolitan universities. The ´ main point was that these ‘Ecoles supérieures’ were not allowed to grant university degrees (in particular, doctorates), so that their students had to go to France to complete their studies; medical students, for example, usu´ ally went to Montpellier. In 1909 the Ecoles supérieures were turned into the four faculties (law; medicine and pharmacology; humanities (lettres); sciences) of the newly constituted University of Algiers. It was shaped on the metropolitan model, with just a few distinctive features. The faculties did not have their own budget; there was just one budget for the whole university and this budget was itself but a part of the general budget of Algeria, except that the professors’ salaries were directly paid from Paris by the Ministry of Education. In the same way, it was the Ministry too which imposed upon the University of Algiers, as regards the curricula, the examination system and the appointment of teachers, exactly the same rules as in the metropolitan universities. Between 1918 and 1939, several research institutes were created within the University of Algiers. Some of them attained a good scientific reputation in various fields (Islamic law, Arabic and Berber languages, Roman African archaeology), the Algiers Observatory, Institut d’hygiène et de médecine coloniales, Institut de physique du globe, Institut de géographie, Institut de recherches sahariennes, Institut d’urbanisme. The numbers of students rose from 751 in 1910 to 1,870 in 1929 and 2,246 in 1939, the largest faculties being law (44 per cent of the students in 1929) and medicine (29 per cent), far ahead of humanities (16 per cent) and sciences (11 per cent). But one must also stress the fact that it remained an essentially European university; still in 1939, there were only 94 Muslim students (4.2 per cent). 47

On Algiers University: C. Taillart, ‘L’Université d’Alger’, in Histoire et historiens de l’Algérie (Paris, 1931), 363–80; E. Guernier (ed.), Algérie et Sahara, L’Encyclopédie coloniale et maritime (Paris, 1946), 183–4.

195

Edward Shils and John Roberts TUNISIA AND MOROCCO were just French protectorates; but the French Government kept alive the old Islamic ‘universities’ of Tunis, al-Zaytuna and Fez (al-Qarawiyyna). Both were connected with the great mosques of the city; Islamic theology and law were taught there under the supervision of the Tunisian and Moroccan authorities. Aside from that, the French Government just founded some ‘Upper Schools’ (Ecoles supérieures), not allowed to grant academic degrees which had to be taken in Algiers or in France. In Tunisia were thus founded upper schools for agriculture (1898) and Arabic language and literature (1911) and a centre for legal studies (1922). In Morocco, an Institut des hautes Etudes marocaines was instituted in Rabat in 1912, devoted to the study of Arabic and Berber languages, history, civilization and law;48 after 1914, this institute was given the right to grant some kinds of ‘certificates’, ‘brevets’ and ‘diplomas’ of Arabic and Berber, which nevertheless were not recognized as true academic degrees; during the year 1939, 198 such ‘certificates’, ‘brevets’ and ‘diplomas’ were conferred. In 1920, two schools of law were established in Rabat and Casablanca, which got the authorization to confer certificates of Moroccan legal and administrative studies and even degrees in law which were considered equivalent to those granted by the universities of Algiers or Bordeaux; in 1939, 63 such degrees were conferred at Rabat, mostly to French students. Finally, in 1940, a centre for upper scientific studies was created at Rabat too. In Black Africa, France did almost nothing as far as university education is concerned. We can just mention the schools of medicine founded in Dakar and Tananarive after the First World War to train indigenous auxiliary physicians and pharmacists, alongside nurses and midwives. But they just received a basic training and could not, of course, obtain the title of doctor in medicine. From 1918 to 1931, the school of medicine of Dakar seems to have produced 97 auxiliary physicians, 15 auxiliary pharmacists, 150 midwives and 12 qualified nurses.49 SOUTH AFRICA: The first modern educational institution was The South African College at Cape Town founded in 1829, initially a private and proprietary primary and secondary school with a small university section attached of modest quality. In 1857, it ceased to be a proprietary institution and began to raise its academic standards. It was to become the nucleus of the future University of South Africa and the next step in this direction was the creation in 1858 of a Board of Public Examiners in literature and science. This institution granted certificates which were of degree level. In 1873 the Board of Examiners was abolished and a new University of the Cape of Good Hope was constituted, which received 48 49

E. Guernier (ed.), Le Maroc, L’Encyclopédie coloniale et maritime (Paris, 1940), 159–60. G. Peter, L’effort français au Sénégal (Paris, 1933), 298–300.

196

The diffusion of European models its royal charter in 1873 and was closely modelled on the University of London.50 The Huguenot University College in Wellington, founded originally as a seminary for girls in 1874, prepared women for examinations set and assessed by the examining body at the University of the Cape of Good Hope. In 1904 the Rhodes University College with laboratories for physics, chemistry, zoology and botany was founded in Grahamstown. Dutch-speaking citizens founded in 1866 the Stellenbosch Gymnasium to which in 1874 was added a higher educational section which in 1881 was recognized as Stellenbosch College. This was renamed Victoria College on the occasion of Queen Victoria’s golden jubilee in 1887. It was the forerunner of the University of Stellenbosch. In Johannesburg, the University of the Witwatersrand grew out of the South African School of Mines which had come into being as the School of Mines in the diamond city of Kimberley in 1896. It became in 1906 the Transvaal University College and in 1910 The South African School of Mines and Technology, ultimately attaining full university status in 1922. As a result of Acts of Parliament passed in 1916 and 1921 South Africa was provided with four universities: (1) The University of South Africa (UNISA) in Pretoria which replaced in 1918 the University of the Cape of Good Hope and had a federal structure embracing the University College of the Orange Free State, which had grown out of Grey College at Bloemfontein, founded in 1855; the Huguenot College for women at Wellington; the Natal University College at Pietermaritzburg, founded in 1909; the Rhodes University College at Grahamstown, founded in 1904, which had developed from St Andrew’s College that was started in 1855; and the Potchefstroom University College formed in 1919 from the arts division of the Dutch Reformed Church theological school which had been founded in 1869.51 (2) The University of the Witwatersrand was established in 1922 having grown through several guises out of the South African School of Mines and Technology at Johannesburg.52 (3) The University of Stellenbosch replaced the Victoria College.53 (4) The University of Cape Town, incorporated in 1916, was a unitary university from the beginning.54 In 1930 the Transvaal University College in Pretoria which 50 51 52 53 54

A. P. Newton, The Universities and Educational Systems of the British Empire (London, 1924), 36. Ibid., 73; University of Cape Town and University of the Witwatersrand: The Open Universities in South Africa (Johannesburg, 1957). B. K. Murray, Wits the Early Years: A History of the University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg and its Precursors, 1896–1939 (Johannesburg, 1982). H. M. Thom et al., Stellenbosh 1866–1966. Honderd Jaar Hoër Onderwys (Cape Town, 1966). J. H. Louw, In the Shadow of Table Mountain: A History of the University of Cape Town Medical School and its Associated Teaching Hospitals up to 1950, with Glimpses into the Future (Cape Town, 1969).

197

Edward Shils and John Roberts had been formed in 1908 from the departments of arts and sciences of the Transvaal University College in Johannesburg, became the University of Pretoria. All of the South African universities, except for the University of South Africa, being a federal university, modelled on the University of London, followed the model of the modern provincial English universities like Manchester.55 To these higher educational institutions should be added the South African Native College, which had come into being in 1916 as part of a Methodist educational complex and seminary close to the town of Alice, and in 1951 became the University College of Fort Hare. By the end of the period under review, the universities of South Africa were divided linguistically and sociologically into English-medium universities (Cape Town, Witwatersrand, Natal, Rhodes and Fort Hare) and Afrikaans-medium universities (Stellenbosch, Pretoria, Orange Free State and Potchefstroom). At eight of these institutions the student bodies were predominantly white or of European extraction, with small numbers of black African, ‘coloured’ and Asian students at the English-medium universities, while the students at Fort Hare were almost exclusively black (Xhosa).56 south asia: india and ceylon INDIA: In 1800 there were no universities in India, in 1939 there were seventeen. India presents an instance of a diffusion of the model of the European university into a society in which there was no indigenous tradition of such a type of institution. There had once been in the remote past a large and elaborate institution at Taksashila for advanced religious and philosophical studies: by 1900 it had long ceased to exist, as had similar far lesser institutions at Nalanda. During Moghul rule over India there were many Muslim schools or madrasas, some of which were places of advanced Koranic studies; none of them, though, could be regarded as equivalent to a university. The first institution in India offering higher education in European subjects – as well as Indian subjects – was the Hindu College in Calcutta, founded in 1817 by the initiative of David Hare (1775–1842), a British craftsman settled in India, and a number of Bengalis, mainly religious reformers and advocates, who desired that India should benefit from the 55 56

Newton, Universities (note 50), 105–6. P. V. Tobias, The African in the Universities (Johannesburg, 1951). On the problems of Apartheid in South African university education: Apartheid Medicine: Health and Human Rights in South Africa (Washington, DC, 1990); M. Horrell, Bantu Education to 1968 (Johannesburg, 1968); H. W. van der Merwe and D. Welsh (eds.), Student Perspectives on South Africa (Cape Town, 1972); P. V. Tobias, The Sixth Freedom, Edgar Brookes Academic and Human Freedom Lecture (Pietermaritzburg, 1977).

198

The diffusion of European models cultivation of Western science. The government, on the other hand, wished to found a ‘Sanskrit college’ to teach traditional Indian subjects. Rammohun Roy (1772–1833), the leading spirit of the reformist religious society, the Brahmo Samaj, wanted a college which would teach ‘Mathematical, Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, Anatomy and other useful sciences’,57 the teaching to be done by persons educated in Europe. The Hindu College languished for about six years, until saved by the tenacity of Hare and a few Indian associates who sought the financial support of the East India Company. It responded favourably to their application. This was the first official participation of the British in providing English-style higher education in India. By 1828 the Hindu College had 436 students. The syllabus included ‘natural and experimental philosophy, chemistry, mathematics, algebra, Tytler’s Elements of General History, Russell’s Modern Europe, with Milton and Shakespeare’.58 There followed after this the creation of a number of new colleges teaching basic modern subjects, namely the physical and biological sciences, mathematics, geography, history, and European literature and languages – mostly English. In 1830 the Elphinstone Institution was founded in Bombay, the funds being raised by Indian public subscription, and supplemented by a grant from the East India Company. Neither Hindu College nor Elphinstone offered degrees. The two colleges were financed mainly by Indian philanthropy and student fees. There were about 25 such colleges in India at mid-century. This reflected a vigorous and continuing demand for higher education in modern scientific and European subjects from the Indian mercantile and professional classes, who were beginning to form a distinctive ‘modern sector’ in Indian society. What sort of teaching the government of India and the provincial governments should support had been much discussed in the British Parliament and governmental circles in India. Indian public opinion in the ‘modern sector’ was warmly in favour of instruction in modern European subjects. Among the British, those known as ‘Orientalists’ were opposed to British official promotion of higher education of Indians in modern subjects, and wished to promote the cultivation of Hindu and Islamic subjects by providing instruction in them in Sanskrit and Persian. Their ideas were challenged by the ‘Anglicists’, most clearly in the crucial educational minute of 1835 by Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800–59), Law Member of the Governor General’s council and President of the General Committee of Public Instruction. Macaulay wrote disparagingly of ‘Oriental learning’ – of which he said that the whole ‘native literature’ of India 57 58

Memorial to Governor-General, 11 December 1823, W. H. Sharp, Selections from Educational Records, vol. I (Calcutta, 1920), 101. M. Sayeed, A History of English Education in India 1781–1893 (Aligarh MAO College, 1895), 26.

199

Edward Shils and John Roberts was inferior to a ‘single shelf of a good European library’; but what he said had enduring resonance and thereafter government policy in India became the promotion of European science and literature through the medium of the English language.59 Shortly afterwards it was decided that the language of government business would be English instead of Persian; and once this decision had been made, the demand of an educated Indian public for the provision of Western higher education became even stronger. In 1854, Sir Charles Wood (1800–1885), President of the Board of Control of the East India Company, issued a despatch on educational policy. It included provision for modern universities in India. Three were opened in 1857, the year of the Mutiny, in Calcutta, Bombay and Madras, with public funding, and were constituted along the lines of the University of London.60 Their most fundamental feature was the use of the English language as the medium of instruction. This created a very strong bond of affinity between the new Indian universities and their later affiliated colleges on the one hand, and certain British models on the other. The similarities of the syllabuses in India and some British universities were greatly facilitated by the identity of language. The new universities were ‘affiliating universities’, and were to teach no students; all teaching was to be done in affiliated colleges. The model was the University of London, to which University College London and King’s College were affiliated. London University was the examining, degree-awarding authority, teaching was done in the constituent colleges. There was also some resemblance to the pattern of Oxford and Cambridge, where most teaching was carried out in the colleges, while the universities conducted examinations and awarded degrees. Through its administration of examinations and its consequent influence on the syllabus, the university was to assure the maintenance of uniform and presumably high standards of teaching and learning. Calcutta University had affiliated to it colleges dispersed throughout Bengal, Bihar, Orissa, the United Provinces and as far westward as the Punjab. Bombay University had affiliated to itself the colleges in the Bombay Presidency; Madras University had its colleges in the Madras Presidency. In 1882, in response to strong urging by eminent Indians, the University of the Punjab was founded in Lahore, and in 1888 a fifth in Allahabad, organized on the same pattern as the first three. The pattern was varied 59 60

Minute of 2 February 1835. See H. Woodrow (ed.), Macaulay’s Minutes on Education in India (Calcutta, 1862). B. T. McCully, English Education and the Origins of Indian Nationalism (Gloucester, Mass., 1940; rpt. 1966), 131ff. A classic account of education during British rule in India: S. Nurullah and J. P. Naik, A History of Education in India (Bombay, 1951).

200

The diffusion of European models to some degree in the twentieth century, when unitary, teaching universities emerged, but they did not change the dominance of the affiliating university model. That this model was imposed on and persisted in India was not the choice of Indians, who though anxious for ‘modern knowledge’ did not specify the institutional form in which it should be presented. The imperial government chose the form of an affiliating university partly on grounds of cost. There were already three colleges in the three Presidencies of Calcutta, Bombay and Madras, maintained at what was considered to be high cost by the provincial governments. The central government saw no need and no financial practicability to create three teaching universities at its own expense. However it did not seem feasible to give the existing Presidency colleges the status of universities; and there were already in existence a considerable number (c. 50) of non-governmental colleges which the government recognized were satisfying a growing demand for education. Sceptical about their teaching standards, the government thought it desirable to maintain some control over them. Officialdom was very sensitive to costs, partly because many British officials were utilitarian in varying degrees. A utilitarian disposition may also have helped to turn thinking to the London model, as University College London was to a large extent a creation of utilitarians. Oxford and Cambridge were not thought suitable as models, though many Indians were in due course to attend them. At that time, they were in relatively poor repute: their syllabuses were old-fashioned by comparison with new British and Scottish universities, and they had religious requirements for election to fellowships and for admission to degrees whose imposition would have disqualified non-Christian Indians. They were also very costly, although they received no public funding. However, the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge were to some extent models for some of the British missionary colleges in India. Scottish universities might have appeared to have been more suitable models for India because they were not so narrowly concentrated on classics, were open to all classes in society and had no religious requirements, but they were teaching universities. They might have been good models if it had been thought feasible to turn the Presidency colleges into universities, allowing them to grant degrees. But this would have left the private colleges uncontrolled and the government did not favour this. In the ensuing 80 years, the number of private colleges also increased vastly, founded by Indian and European educationalists and philanthropists. For example, between 1881–2 and 1901–2 the number of English arts colleges rose from 63 to 140, and their pupils from nearly 5,500 to over 17,000. By the turn of the century a substantial majority of

201

Edward Shils and John Roberts these colleges were private institutions.61 Some were of a good intellectual standard. Among them were those founded by British missionary societies, some of which, like Wilson College in Bombay and Scottish Church College in Calcutta, were Presbyterian, and like St Stephen’s College in Delhi were Anglican; Madras Christian College was also founded by missionaries. Roman Catholic missionary colleges multiplied too; several of them, such as St Xavier’s College in Bombay and others of the same name, were Jesuit colleges. Despite their diverse Christian inspirations, these colleges all taught the full range of Western subjects according to the syllabus approved by the universities to which they were affiliated. Many of their European teachers were clergymen, some members of religious orders, generally well educated and committed to high teaching standards. Unlike University College London and, to a lesser extent, King’s College London, which were sites of important scientific and scholarly research, Indian colleges and universities did not usually expect their teachers to do research, and few did. The colleges, except for the main Presidency or government colleges, depended largely on student fees; missionary colleges obtained some support from their parent missionary societies. The provincial governments provided meagre sums for the support of the universities but did not, with the exceptions referred to above, give any support to the colleges. To qualify their students for degrees, all colleges had to conform to the requirements of the university in their syllabuses. The University of London had two distinctive and separate layers of university government, a lay governing body and an academic governing body. The lay governing body was self-recruiting, its members were not chosen by the government. The Indian lay governing body, called the senate, in contrast, was also the academic governing body. It was constituted partly through election by graduates but mainly by governmental appointment, with only a small number of academic representatives. The Indian government was always fearful of undesirable political influence in the conduct of the affairs of the universities; no body of teachers was provided in them to hold its own against senate and vice-chancellor over academic matters. Both government colleges and missionary colleges, but especially the former, had strict criteria for the admission of students and appointment of teachers. Teachers in government colleges had the status and tenure of civil servants. Protestant missionary college teachers did not have this security; those in the Roman Catholic colleges had, if they were members of the religious order. The laymen who taught in the Protestant and Roman Catholic colleges had no assurance of indefinite reappointments. In most 61

A. Seal, The Emergence of Indian Nationalism: Competition and Collaboration in the Later Nineteenth Century (Cambridge, 1968), 22.

202

The diffusion of European models private colleges, teachers were very insecure and served at the pleasure of the principal. The private colleges also had lay governing bodies who often had little respect for a necessary difference between their own jurisdiction and the academic sphere in the colleges for which they had responsibility. Teachers in the private colleges were of varying quality, as there was no clear method of appointment or prescribed qualification. Usually, they were appointed by principals with the agreement of the board of management. Unless they also taught in ‘university courses’ for the degree of Master of Arts, their appointments were not ‘university appointments’ and the affiliating university had no control over their appointment. The Indian colleges, unlike the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, were for the most part autocracies; there was no institutional provision for the voice of the teachers in the affairs of the college. Formally, no protection for freedom of teaching and freedom of learning existed. Some teachers, both in government colleges and, less frequently, in the missionary colleges, were distinguished scholars and scientists. But teaching was their primary task; and certain administrative tasks were also expected of them. Indian realization of the model of the University of London thus fell short of the original. The University of London worked because it covered colleges which did not need to be pressed to observe intellectual standards. Their teachers already did so and to this extent the University of London was superfluous. In India, even if some of the colleges might have wanted to become independent of the university to which they were affiliated, the pupils wished to have degrees; and the power to award degrees could not be delegated, it was believed, without a marked failing off of standards. If the degrees were to be worthy of acknowledgement, they had to be awarded by responsible institutions. In India, outside the Presidency and the best missionary colleges, the appropriate institutions, the private colleges, were weak and the university could not undo the injurious influence of boards of management little concerned with the quality of teaching and learning. It could however determine the syllabus and set and assess the examinations. These three activities, which determined whether a candidate was awarded a degree, were performed by teachers from the colleges and outsiders selected by university administrators of whom the registrar was the most powerful. The university imposed on its affiliated colleges courses of study leading to degrees similar to those of London. The subjects were mainly the same subjects as those taught and studied in the London colleges except that there was a small admixture of ‘oriental’ subjects, notably the Sanskrit and Persian languages and some texts. The variety of subjects which students could study for a degree was none the less wider than those formally available in Oxford or Cambridge in the 1850s. The college taught, through lectures and classroom recitation, the methods practised in the University 203

Edward Shils and John Roberts of London and in the Scottish universities. There were occasional efforts at tutorial instruction like that of the ancient English universities, but this model was seldom realized because teachers had heavy burdens of routine classroom instruction. Low degrees awarded were of the level of the English Bachelor degree. Some colleges also came to offer instruction, in accordance with the regulations of their respective universities, leading to the Master’s degree. No provisions were made for degrees to be awarded following submission of dissertations based on research. The first major step to introduce postgraduate studies and research in the universities was only taken in the second decade of the twentieth century by Sir Ashutosh Mookerjee (1864– 1924), a distinguished mathematician, judge of the high court in Calcutta, and vice-chancellor of the University of Calcutta (1906–14, 1920–23). Although India had already produced a handful of distinguished scientists and scholars, they were largely self-taught. There was no provision to train them in methods of research or to provide supervision by teachers who had themselves done research. Sir Ashutosh was able to bring about at Calcutta a revision of statutes to permit advanced training along the lines, long established in Germany and at the time being realized in the postgraduate departments at the modern British universities or in the United States. Though it is likely that such developments were well known to him, it is uncertain where Mookerjee discerned the model for his reforms. He once referred to his desire to emulate the Johns Hopkins University. After the reforms in Calcutta, other Indian universities began to provide teaching at the postgraduate level. The members of staff for such teaching were appointed directly to the university; a few were recruited from the colleges’ teaching staffs. In the twentieth century, some of the new Indian universities were founded from their very beginning as ‘unitary universities’, teaching as well as examining and degree-awarding institutions. Some of them possibly encouraged members of their teaching staff to do research but time and facilities for research remained extremely scanty. The continuing concentration on teaching with little or no research was a consequence of poverty but occasionally was justified as being similar to the pattern in Oxford and Cambridge colleges. Before research became normal in Indian universities, there were a number of governmental research institutions such as the Archaeological Survey of India, and private research institutions such as the Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal62 and the Bandharkar Research Institute in Poona. These institutions published reports, journals and monographs. The development of postgraduate departments in the universities created a demand 62

See chapter 12.

204

The diffusion of European models for Indian scientific journals. The University of Calcutta established the Calcutta University Press to bring before a wider public the scientific and scholarly work of Indian academics as well as translations of works on Indian subjects. Within India all scientific journals and nearly all scholarly journals were published in English. Nevertheless, Indian scientists and scholars continued to look abroad, not only for the directions in which to focus their research but also for places of publication. Publication by a European publisher or in a European journal was highly prized. So was attendance at European – above all, British – universities, whose administration, teaching and research were regarded as superior to what was locally available in the subcontinent. Though the teachers in Indian colleges and universities were from the very beginning mainly Indians, even in the missionary colleges and the Presidency colleges, there were also numerous expatriate teachers, usually European and mostly British, many of them making permanent careers in India. Expatriates were common as professors in the universities and as principals of the missionary and the Presidency colleges. Some continental Europeans such as Aurel Stein (1862–1943) and Julius E. Jolly (1849– 1932) joined the Indian Educational Service as teachers in government colleges in order to do Indological research in India. Indians began to go abroad for studies from the 1870s onwards, almost exclusively to England. Those who went to Oxford and Cambridge were accorded high prestige on their return to India, even if they only took another undergraduate degree there. After Oxford and Cambridge, London drew most Indians. M. K. Gandhi, for example, studied at the Inns of Court, while J. Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister, was an undergraduate at Cambridge. The London School of Economics in the 1920s and 1930s was especially attractive to them, a few of them remaining in England and never returning to India, while there was also a continuing flow of Indians who sought legal careers by entering the Inns of Court, but few of these had any connection with universities. In the last three decades of the nineteenth century, young Indians who went to Great Britain to study often did so with intention of preparing themselves for entry into the Indian Civil Service. Later, and especially after the First World War, an increasing number of Indian graduates of European universities, almost exclusively British, entered the academic profession in India. Their participation tended to reinforce features of the British university model in Indian higher education. Small numbers of Indian students, though, went to Germany because they had political objections to placing themselves under the instruction of Englishmen. A very few went to France. Not many went to the United States, but among them, a small number stayed to make academic careers in universities and colleges, usually of second rank. Before the Second 205

Edward Shils and John Roberts World War, the United States and its universities had only just begun to feature on the Indian intellectual horizon. When the Americans who had studied in German universities in the nineteenth century returned to the United States, they were usually determined to carry on and to advance from where they had left off in Germany. The Indians returning from Britain had to deal with a situation which was more difficult to relate to their own aspirations. They confronted the tenacity of a pattern in which the university was remote from its teaching staff; the teachers were scattered among numerous colleges and were not effective in creating a national academic ethos. They had to teach a syllabus over which they had very little influence because of the constitution of the affiliating university. There was a further problem in that the model of the implanted university was foreign to India, not only in constitution and structure but also in much of the substance of what was taught. Although the mathematical and physical sciences and a large part of the biological sciences had a universal validity and relevance – though they were not outgrowths of indigenous scientific traditions – other sections of the syllabus like history and literature were likely to appear Euro-centric. The returning Indian scholars might appreciate its European components, but also felt its anomalous character, especially when in the twentieth century a nationalist movement gathered strength, claiming not just political independence but a more truly ‘national’ system of education, making use of the vernacular languages rather than that of the imperial ruler. Not all of the criticism of higher education in India came from nationalist politicians and journalists; it had its British critics, too. It was widely argued that the university ought to be better adapted to Indian circumstances. It was difficult however to make desirable adaptations deliberately and effectively. It was repeatedly contended that there were too many young persons being graduated for a peasant society in which there were not enough occupational opportunities for university graduates. Yet any suggestion or implication of reduced opportunities produced a loud and angry outcry of protest. A change in the medium of instruction towards a wider use of Indian languages in university study seemed to be the most feasible measure of adaptation. Many important reports on Indian higher education between 1882 and 1917 invariably referred to the difficulties of effective education of young persons in an alien language. The use of English was often criticized, but even those who criticized it, except for extreme nationalists, ended by accepting it because the alternatives seemed to be impracticable. In short, no one was satisfied with the state of the imported university model, but constructive, imaginative and practical ideas about the adaptation of universities to Indian circumstances were in short supply. 206

The diffusion of European models British and Indian educationalists alike seemed unable to find a solution. Among several efforts in the twentieth century to create ‘genuinely Indian’ universities was the Bengal National College, created during the period of the Swadeshi agitation in 1907. It was short-lived, and a more substantial and enduring achievement was the university created by the great literary figure Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941) at Shatiniketan in Bengal in 1917. Even this notable experiment was an isolated exception to the persisting norm. Indian universities thus continued to adhere to the models drawn from the British universities. But given the anomaly of an alien curricular substance taught in an alien language, and the combination of ultimate power with the intangibility and remoteness of the affiliating university, it was difficult for the academic ethic to become implanted in India. However, there were outstanding exceptions in the Presidency colleges, leading missionary institutions and some Indian-run establishments such as Fergusson College in Poona. But the provision of Indian higher education had long-term and profound results beyond the purely academic. Indian graduates were the creators of a new type of public sphere, and a new public identity, which found political fruition at independence in 1947. Further, as higher education was gradually opened up to girls as well as boys in the twentieth century, gender roles were refashioned and Indian women increasingly played an important role in many more spheres of public life and the professions. The modern Indian polity and India’s greatly changed society would have been impossible without the experience, however anomalous and disputed, of higher education as implanted by the British. CEYLON: The first higher educational institution in Ceylon was Queen’s College. This had developed from a secondary school, the Colombo Academy, which had in 1859 become affiliated to Calcutta University. Under a new name, the Royal College, it offered postmatriculation instruction which in part prepared its pupils for the external examination of the University of London. Medical education was offered by Ceylon Medical College, founded in 1870. The college was housed in buildings paid for by local benefactors. It was recognized as a medical school by the Medical Act of 1886. A law college was founded shortly after this. Other than in law and medicine, though, nineteenthcentury British and wealthy Ceylonese families who wished their children to receive university education had to send them to Great Britain. The professional and more prosperous mercantile classes made known their desires for university education in Ceylon later than in India, and a Ceylon University Association was only formed in 1906. Leading intellectual figures demanded the establishment of a university which would combine the teaching of modern Western knowledge with traditional knowledge. It was assumed that government must be the agent of such a foundation. 207

Edward Shils and John Roberts The government for its part was neither obstructive nor enthusiastic. In 1912 it was proposed by a committee of the legislative council that a university be established in a building of the Royal College. The First World War intervened and nothing was done. After the war, the Ceylon University College was established in 1921, affiliated to the University of London which administered external examinations to the students of Ceylon University College. Meanwhile, the demand for a full university went on and the government accepted the proposal in principle. A draft constitution was prepared in 1930. The University of Ceylon was finally established in 1942. Like its predecessor, the University College, it was entirely dependent on the government for its financial support. An eminent British constitutional lawyer, Ivor Jennings (1903–65), had become principal of the University College in 1940, and in 1942 became the vice-chancellor of the university. He insisted that the new university be both autonomous and unitary. In its arrangement for the exercise of authority within the university, it resembled closely a modern British university of the period between the two great wars. In its new quarters in Peredeniya, it was said by one observer to be like ‘a Cambridge in the Mahaveli’.63 But this was again a university on the British model. The model, though, had undergone much development since the first Indian universities were founded. There had been enough experience of affiliation in India to provide convincing evidence that it ought to be avoided for the future. Meanwhile the modern British universities had developed very fruitfully and they provided both ideas and a new standard for aspiration such as had not attended the birth of the Indian universities. south-east asia BURMA: The University of Rangoon opened in 1920 with six professors and 829 students. It had two constituent colleges, the former Rangoon College (renamed Government College in 1904 and University College in 1920) which began as a college department of the Rangoon High School and became affiliated in Arts to the University of Calcutta in 1885; and Judson College (known until 1918 as Baptist College) which was a foundation of the American Baptist Mission and affiliated to the University of Calcutta for ‘First Arts’ in 1895 and for the Bachelor of Arts degree in 1909. Like the Indian universities, the colleges were created largely to satisfy the demands of the small Burmese professional and commercial classes for higher education, an additional impulse being the British colonial government’s recognition of its duty to provide higher education for 63

K. De Silva, ‘The Universities and the Government in Sri Lanka’, Minerva, 15, 2 (Summer 1978), 251ff., quotation p. 254.

208

The diffusion of European models its subjects. The medium of instruction was English, the majority of the teachers of the university were European; there were a few Chinese, Indians and Burmese, and teaching methods and courses of study followed the Oxford and Cambridge model (the University of Calcutta precedent which was set up upon the model of the old London University when it was an examining body only having been expressly avoided).64 The university expanded, with a Teacher’s Training College of the University in 1930, while the Agricultural College and Research Institute of Mandalay gained its status in 1938 and the affiliated Mandalay Intermediate College (established 1925) was raised to degree status in 1948 (only becoming a separate university in 1958). The University of Rangoon was from the start regarded by its students as imperialist and restrictive, and indeed the university’s opening on 1 December 1920 was boycotted in a protest which spread to schools nation wide. As Burmese nationalists’ demands grew, there were in 1936 and 1938 two further strikes at the University of Rangoon whose highly politicized Students’ Union leaders became architects of Burma’s independence.65 MALAYA: In 1905 the Straits Settlement and Federated Malay States Government Medical School was founded in Singapore. It was created on the demand of the local Chinese population and was intended to train only medical auxiliaries, but was the first modern higher educational institution in what was then Malaya. Its name was changed to the King Edward VII Medical School in 1912 and in 1926 its medical degree was certified by the General Medical Council in London. In 1921 its name was again changed to the King Edward VII College of Medicine. In 1928, Raffles College came into existence, also in Singapore. It, too, was a response to a demand by the Chinese educated class and became conjoined with the College of Medicine. Both were British institutions. Raffles College could not award its own degrees or diplomas; its students had to sit for an examination set and marked by an examining body in the United Kingdom. Their teachers were mostly British with a small percentage of Chinese and the senior administrators British. The medium of instruction was English, the subjects and the degrees and diplomas for which the students were prepared were those of modern British universities, as were the methods of teaching.66 64 65 66

H. Tinker, The Union of Burma, 4th edn (Oxford, 1967), 193. Nyi Nyi, ‘The Development of University Education in Burma’, Journal of the Burma Research Society, 47, 1 (June 1964), 11–57. Chai Hon-Chan, Education and Nation-building in Plural Societies: The West Malaysian Experience (Canberra, 1977); P. Loh Fook-seng, Seeds of Separation, Educational Policy in Malaya, 1874–1940 (Kuala Lumpur, London and Oxford, 1975); R. Stevenson, Cultivators and Administrators, British Educational Policy Towards the Malays, 1875–1906

209

Edward Shils and John Roberts THAILAND: King Chulalongkorn (1853–1910) had intended from the late nineteenth century to create a university in Thailand for the training of civil servants. He did not succeed in this but the Royal Pages’ School which he founded in 1906 was converted to the Civil Service College in 1911. This in turn served as the nucleus of the Chulalongkorn University which was founded in 1917, on the pattern provided by British universities. There were already in existence separate medical and engineering colleges which were incorporated into the university. The new university included a law school and a department of moral and political science. At first the teachers were mainly foreigners, most of them British. Much of the teaching was in English since there were in most subjects few textbooks available in Thai, whether original texts or translations. In 1933, a second university was founded, the Thammasarat University; it incorporated a previously separate law school dating from the time of King Chulalongkorn. It had faculties of law, political science, public administration, social work and arts but not of natural sciences or technology. Despite the desire of the founders to avoid excessive attachment to any single European country and to its university model, the Thammasarat University bore a closer resemblance to the pattern of the London School of Economics than it did to any of the continental institutions specialized in the social sciences. Like the University of London, it admitted external students to its examinations and degrees. It also drew ´ some inspiration from the Ecole libre des Sciences politiques in Paris; its aim was the education of a modern ruling class. The third university, the Kasetsart Agricultural University, formed at Bang Kaen during the Japanese occupation in the early 1940s, was an amalgamation of various departmental training schools for officials working in fisheries, agriculture and forestry and was modelled upon the American agricultural and mechanical college. It was less dependent on governmental financial support than the other universities since it received the revenue produced by its forestry concession as well as by the sale of its agricultural products.67 INDO-CHINA (CAMBODIA AND VIETNAM): Indo-China, where a strong local tradition of school education existed, was decently provided with schools: in 1932, 92 per cent of the townships of Cochinchina (South Vietnam) got a school. In 1932, there were 21 lycées (among which three for girls), with 4,800 pupils. Some went to France to study mainly law and medicine. The first association for colonial students in Paris

67

(Kuala Lumpur, London and Oxford, 1975); S. Kanagasabai et al., Studies in Malaysian Education, An Annotated Bibliography (Kuala Lumpur, 1980). B. A. Batson, The End of the Absolute Monarchy in Siam (Singapore, 1984), 78; D. K. Wyatt, Thailand: A Short History (New Haven, 1984), 228; J. A. Stowe, Siam Becomes Thailand: A Story of Intrigues (Honolulu, 1991), 76, 85.

210

The diffusion of European models was the Association mutuelle des Indochinois, founded in 1926 and an Indo-China House was opened within the Cité universitaire of Paris for Indo-Chinese students in 1931. The only innovative university foundation in the French colonies was the University of Hanoi in Tonkin (1917), mainly because it was the only one really open to the indigenous population.68 A first attempt had taken place in 1907, in order to counterbalance the attraction of Indo-Chinese students towards Japanese universities, but it had to be closed as early as 1908 because of students’ nationalist unrest. The true founder of the University of Hanoi was governor general Albert Sarraut (1872–1962). While abolishing the old system of mandarin examinations, he expended great energy in developing and modernizing the whole educational system of Indo-China. The University of Hanoi received native as well as French students. Students’ halls of residence were built as soon as 1920. Eight faculties or institutes were planned (law, medicine, veterinary school, engineering, agriculture, etc.) within which Indo-Chinese fine arts and oriental medicine would be taught alongside European sciences; but in 1931, due to lack of money, only law, medicine and fine arts were actually taught. In 1934, the University of Hanoi became a complete French university and its upper schools or faculties were granted the right to confer degrees in sciences and even doctorates in law or medicine. Lectures were given both in French and Vietnamese. The standard of teaching and examination seems to have been rather good, as it was also in the lycées of the same colony. For the colonial bourgeoisie, the University of Hanoi was a dangerous innovation, even if it remained unsatisfactory in the eyes of the nationalist movements. It was nevertheless the most original achievement of the Third Republic university policy overseas, for it was the only one to take some account of the local cultural and educational traditions and to try at the same time to support the advancement and integration of the indigenous elites. INDONESIA: The Netherlands East Indies fell behind most of the British and French colonial areas of South and South-East Asia in higher education. Although Dutch universities had very important centres of Indological and Sinological research – which included the study of all aspects of life in Indonesia – and although a considerable amount of research by Dutch officials, residents and visiting scholars was carried out in Indonesia, there was no university in the Netherlands East Indies until the very end of our period. There had been a movement to create 68

One must notice that in Indo-China as well as in North Africa, Senegal or Madagascar, the first real attempts to promote some kind of higher education were closely linked with the First World War during which indigenous troops were engaged in large numbers on the European battlefields; it was a kind of compensation offered to these populations.

211

Edward Shils and John Roberts a law school in 1909 but it was frustrated by the opposition of Dutch lawyers in the colony. A faculty of law was nevertheless created in Batavia in 1924, and faculties of medicine in Djakarta and Surabaja were established in 1926 to replace the Netherlands Indonesian physicians’ school of 1913 which had been opposed by Dutch physicians. An engineering school at Bandung was established in 1920. Stimulated by the interruption of communication caused by the First World War, Dutch businessmen as well as Indonesian had pressed for such an institution. It was at first private but in 1924, the colonial government assumed responsibility for it. An advanced teacher-training school had been established in Purworjedjo (Java) in 1914 and the beginnings of a faculty of agriculture at Bogor. Indonesians who wished to study physical and biological science, history, social sciences, etc. had to go abroad, and, when they did, went mainly to Dutch universities. Their numbers were small.69 It was only before World War II that plans had been made to set up a university in Batavia, mainly on the basis of the three professional schools. However, due to the outbreak of the Pacific War, in December 1941, these plans did not materialize. The only new development was the foundation of a Faculteit der Letteren en Wijsbegeerte (faculty of letters and philosophy) which was officially opened in Batavia on 4 December 1940. The plan to set up a university was again taken up after the capitulation of the Japanese army, when the Dutch were making an – abortive – effort to reestablish themselves in Indonesia, and it was effectuated by the foundation of the so-called ‘Nood-Universiteit van Indonesia’ (Provisional University of Indonesia) which comprised the pre-war colleges of law and of medicine together with the faculty of letters. It was opened on 21 January 1946, and a new faculty of social sciences was soon added. After the Dutch in December 1949 transferred the sovereignty to the Republic of Indonesia the Provisional University was transformed into the Universitas Indonesia. The Provisional University followed the German model introduced and adapted by expatriates from the Netherlands who brought to the East Indies their own ideas of what teaching at a university ought to be. THE PHILIPPINES was the first Asian country to have European insti´ was tutions of higher education. In 1611 the College of Santo Tomas founded in Manila. It received – from the Spanish crown – the royal authorization to award degrees and, in 1645, a papal charter. For nearly a century after these auspicious beginnings it was given over to the advanced training of Roman Catholic priests. It was a Dominican foundation and for a long time, its teachers were members of the Dominican order. It followed the Spanish pattern of colleges conducted by religious orders. It introduced the teaching of civil law in 1734 and it was permitted to 69

B. A. Knoppers, ‘Het hoger onderwijs in Indonesia’, Indonesia, 3 (1949), 36–60.

212

The diffusion of European models confer degrees in civil and canon law in the same year. Until the middle of the eighteenth century most of its students were aspirants to the priesthood. In 1871, it opened a medical school. The reforms introduced at this time were inspired by the idea of Spanish liberal reformers who regarded the German university as the appropriate model. It was now called the ´ and was a private university, largely Manila University of Santo Tomas dependent on student fees for its support. Its teaching staff were either part-time or poorly remunerated Roman Catholic priests. In 1896, it organized a faculty of philosophy and letters and, in 1907 established a faculty of engineering. In 1901, the Philippines came under American rule. In 1909, the University of the Philippines, also in Manila, was founded. In many respects, it resembled the pattern of the American land-grant colleges. Its funds came mostly from government. It taught practical subjects like veterinary medicine, commerce, nursing and journalism. It also taught courses in humanistic subjects. In addition to these two universities there were missionary universities, like the Ateneo de Manila University, founded 1859 as a primary school. In 1865 the Jesuits introduced a five-year programme leading to the Bachelor of Arts. In 1959 the Ateneo obtained its university charter. The Protestant counterpart was the Union Theological Seminary, founded in 1907. The Philippines also had proprietary colleges and universities, conducted as a business for the private profit of its owners. The leading such institution – the Far Eastern University – acquired the status of university in 1934, having previously been a privately owned commercial evening college. Some of the privately owned universities were specialized. For example, the Araneta University specialized in agriculture. Because it was an American colony, the Philippines came closer to mass higher education at an earlier date than any other country, apart from the United States. australasia AUSTRALIA: It appears incongruous that in the second half of the nineteenth century when Britain had only a handful of universities, most dating back for several centuries, four of the raw, young Australian colonial communities, and the colony of New Zealand, should devote a significant part of their limited resources to establishing universities. They did so in order to cloak themselves with manifestations of the culture and sophistication of the mother country, to assert that though distant from the centre of the Empire, British culture and learning survived on the periphery. The universities were to be an agency of civilization, to improve the moral character of the colonies. Distance and colonial rivalry dictated that they each wanted their own seat of learning. 213

Edward Shils and John Roberts The Australian colonial universities were founded by legislation in Sydney (1850),70 Melbourne (1853),71 Adelaide (1874)72 and Tasmania (1890).73 After nationhood in 1901, new institutions followed in Queensland in 1909 and Western Australia in 1911.74 The diversity of the backgrounds and university experiences of the Australian colonists meant that there were many models from which to choose. Oxford and Cambridge were the unobtainable ideal, while Trinity College, Dublin, and the Scottish universities were often favoured because they had many graduates in Australia. However, the colonial universities were also a product of contemporary liberal thought, and therefore more generally reflected the models provided by Britain’s newest institutions, London University and the University of Ireland, in that they were non-sectarian. In other respects the colonial universities were unlike any British model as they were essentially state facilities rather than private or church enterprises, more secular than their British counterparts and with limitations imposed upon church influence. They also challenged tradition in that teaching was to be the responsibility of their own faculties, rather than being undertaken by colleges whose students would be examined by university authorities. Church-based colleges were to be allowed, or even encouraged, but they were to be largely residential institutions, more supplementary and peripheral than in Britain. The first colleges in Sydney were St Paul’s (1854) and St John’s (1857), and in Melbourne Trinity (1872), Ormond (1882) and Queen’s (1888). The Australian universities were small and elite bodies, their few students mainly drawn from the comfortable socio-economic classes. Until the 1880s the students were male. Partly for pedagogical reasons and partly because of issues of viability, there was frequent debate over the range and content of courses, with tension between traditionalists who supported a classically orientated education, and those who for liberal and pragmatic reasons promoted utilitarian courses ranging from medicine to engineering to education. Eventually, the latter approach had to triumph if the universities were to survive. Until well into the twentieth century, most professors were recruited from Britain, and the most successful students were sent there for postgraduate study, which perpetuated the influence of the British system. 70 71 72 73 74

H. E. Barff, A Short Historical Account of the University of Sydney (Sydney, 1902). G. Blainey, A Centenary History of the University of Melbourne (Melbourne, 1957). W. G. K. Duncan and R. A. Leonard, The University of Adelaide 1874–1974 (Adelaide, 1973). R. Davis, Open to Talent: The Centenary History of the University of Tasmania (Hobart, 1990). F. Alexander, Campus at Crawley: A Narrative and Critical Interpretation of the First Fifty Years of the University of Western Australia (Melbourne, 1963).

214

The diffusion of European models NEW ZEALAND universities were also a hybrid combination of British tradition and local variation. While the motives for founding universities were similar to Australia, including significant local rivalries between cities and provinces, student numbers and resources, as well perhaps as inclination, operated against the establishment of full teaching universities. The system became one of a central degree-conferring body with teaching conducted in regional colleges. Scottish Presbyterian interests were largely responsible for the foundation in 1869 by the Provincial Council of Otago of the University of Otago at Dunedin, a full teaching university. However, there were competing pressures for a national university which resulted a year later (confirmed by revised legislation in 1874) in the colonial government legislating to establish the University of New Zealand. It would be based in Wellington, the capital, its government somewhat modelled on the University of London. It was not to be a teaching university, its role confined to examination of candidates for admission, scholarships and degrees. Affiliated colleges were to be responsible for teaching.75 Initially there were no affiliated colleges. Otago was reluctant to give up its independence and negotiations were inconclusive. Eventually Canterbury College was founded by Anglicans at Christchurch in 1873, and in 1874 Otago finally gave up its power of conferring degrees and became affiliated, though still with the title University of Otago. After financial and other delays, the secular Auckland University College was founded in 1882 and Victoria University College at Wellington in 1897. Like the Australian universities, the four colleges depended almost entirely upon British academics for their staff. Like Australian governments, New Zealand struggled for several decades in a sparsely populated country to support the several small tertiary institutions with a broad range of courses, though an unusually high proportion of the New Zealand population undertook a university education. In most ways the colleges operated independently of the University of New Zealand at Wellington, but there was dissatisfaction with the continuance of the federal system. Rivalries and stretched resources meant that none of the colleges could grow as it wished, nor assert its independence.76 In both Australia and New Zealand, growth, transformation and challenge to the dominance of British influence in the tertiary sector did not commence until the prosperity, population growth and expanding demand for tertiary education in the decades after World War II. 75 76

H. Parton, The University of New Zealand (Auckland, 1979). S. Keith and T. McNaughton, A History of the University of Auckland, 1883–1983 (Auckland, 1983).

215

Edward Shils and John Roberts east asia HONG KONG: The University of Hong Kong, founded in 1911, was from the start intended to be like a modern British provincial university. It had four faculties – of arts, engineering and architecture, medicine and science – and an institute of oriental studies. The medium of instruction was English in all subjects except Chinese literature, language and history. It was almost wholly dependent on the government of Hong Kong for its financial support with respect to capital expenditures and more than half of its budget for current expenditures also came from government. This inevitably exercised constraint on the university, but otherwise the Government did not intrude into the affairs of the university. Its pattern of internal government was much like that of the modern British university.77 CHINA: Probably there was no civilization except that of the modern West in which academic certification was more closely articulated with appointments to high governmental office than it was in the Chinese Empire throughout most of its long history. This no doubt helps to explain why China has the longest continuous history of institutional provision for the cultivation of learning of any civilization. Sages and schools of their disciples, academies of scholars and pupils have existed in China for more than 2,000 years. Yet, these learned institutions were very different from Western universities in what they taught, and so were the degrees, diplomas, certificates awarded on the basis of competitive examination which were so prominent a feature of Chinese history. Desperation about the weakness of China in the face of the great powers in the nineteenth century slowly and jerkily pushed the Chinese towards radical solutions in many aspects of their society. Yet there was much reluctance to jettison traditional arrangements and Confucian learning and to replace or supplement them with ‘Western learning’. A number of Chinese had studied in universities in Europe and North America or travelled in those parts of the world; something of the institutional forms and substantive knowledge of the modern university was therefore already known in China by the end of the nineteenth century. The issue debated in China had not been whether it was desirable to establish universities in the Western model but the prior, more fundamental, more pressing question as to whether it was desirable or necessary to learn Western science and technology and, if so, whether it was possible to learn them without the matrix of Chinese society, polity and culture.78 77 78

See Yearbook of the University of Hong Kong. E-tu Zen Sun, ‘The Growth of the Academic Community 1912–1949’, in J. K.Fairbank and A. Feuerwerker (eds.), Cambridge History of China, vol. XIII: Republican China 1912–1949 (Cambridge, 1986), 361–420.

216

The diffusion of European models A first answer to these questions was the establishment in 1861 of a school of foreign languages, especially English, French and Russian. It was located in the government arsenal in Peking and administered by the equivalent of the Foreign Office. In 1863, additional schools of foreign languages were founded in Canton and Shanghai and in 1866 astronomy, mathematics and other natural sciences were added to the syllabus of the foreign language institutes. In the 1880s, schools of military technology and telegraphy were set up. These institutions were the first attempt to deal with the challenge from the West by acquiring only what was seen as absolutely necessary, namely, the technology which had made the West strong enough to threaten China. The University of Beijing, which came into existence in 1898, was not a wholly convincing answer to this question. It was suspended in 1902, to reopen the following year, when it absorbed the old language institute and an institute of medical research. The university taught Chinese classics, politics and law, medicine, natural history, agriculture, engineering and commerce. Extramurally it taught administration and provided teacher training. The administrative organization of the University of Beijing, the subjects taught there, its intention to promote scientific and modern scholarly research, the organization of syllabuses and the degrees awarded were all, in a blurred way, European in inspiration. In addition to the wide range of European subjects which it taught, it also made large provision for the study of classical Chinese philosophy, religion and literature. For much of this early period the University of Beijing was under the control of the government. As the syllabus was constantly being changed, courses of study were ill-defined, students lax. Its presidents were for the most part without academic experience, especially European academic experience. Nonetheless, there was always a vague conviction that it should be a university in the European style. The foundation of the Imperial University was followed in 1905 by the abolition of the imperial examination system, and in 1910 by the decree requiring that an imperial university be established in every province of the Chinese Empire. In 1911 China became a republic, and in 1912, the Ministry of Education issued an ‘Ordinance on Colleges and Universities’ which declared, ‘The objectives of colleges and universities are to instruct [students] in advanced learning, to train knowledgeable experts and to meet the needs of the nation’.79 The University of Beijing made little progress. For a short time, 1911–12, the president was Yen Fu (1853– 1921), who had lived for several years in England where he had been sent by the imperial government to study naval technology and naval techniques. While in England, he became an admirer of British political 79

Ibid., 379.

217

Edward Shils and John Roberts institutions and a liberal in political convictions. On his return to China, he translated into Chinese, works by Herbert Spencer (1820–1903), Thomas Henry Huxley (1825–95), John Stuart Mill (1806–73) and Montesquieu’s Esprit des lois, though he was not familiar with British universities. In 1917, Ts’ai Yuan-P’ei (Cai Yuanpei 1867–1940), who had studied in Leipzig from 1908 to 1911 and on his return had been placed in charge of the Ministry of Education, took up the chancellorship. He was a fervent admirer of German universities, where the training of teachers and governmentally supported scientific research in the universities had an evident connection with Germany’s emergence as a powerful country. He raised the standard of the teaching staff through strict attention to intellectual merit as the chief criterion of academic appointment. He created research institutes attached to university departments; he created faculty councils and a university senate with considerable powers in academic matters. He provided money for the students to publish their own newspaper. He introduced the elective system for students and allowed women to become students. There was also a conflict between his views as a partisan of the German idea of the university and those of Li Shu-hua (Li Shuhua, 1889–1979) who was trained in France and who favoured the French pattern of placing research primarily in separate institutes outside the universities. In 1918 T’sai Yuan-P’ei drew up plans for graduate studies in humanities, natural sciences, social sciences and law. In his ideas about graduate studies, he regarded the University of Berlin as an ideal.80 When the government violently suppressed the 4 May movements in 1919, he resigned in protest, but he was persuaded to return and remained until 1927. The Chinese academic liberals of the 1920s and 1930s desired to attain for China a standard of achievement which would permit China’s universities to be ranked with Harvard, the Sorbonne, Oxford and Cambridge, its national libraries to be ranked with the Library of Congress, the Bibliothèque nationale and the British Museum. Lou Chia-lun (Lou Jialun, 1896–1969) said that when he was in charge of the Central Political Institute, he wanted it to be a school with a four-year course on the level of the ´ London School of Economics and l’Ecole libre des sciences politiques.81 By 1922 there were five national universities, two provincial universities and seventeen Christian colleges. In 1936, nearly one-half of the 78 universities and colleges in China were private, and probably more than half of these private institutions were originally missionary colleges supported in considerable measure from foreign sources. Nearly one-quarter of the 42 universities open in that year were national universities and 80

Ibid., 372.

81

Ibid., 408ff.

218

The diffusion of European models one-quarter provincial universities. Other important institutions in the early 1920s were – in Beijing alone – the National Normal University ¨ ¨ (Kuo-li Shih-fan hsueh-y uan), founded in 1898; Yenching University, founded in 1919 by American and British Protestant missionaries, with ¨ arts, science and law; the Peking Union Medical College (Hsieh-ho I-hsueh ¨ yuan), founded in 1906, since 1915 funded by the Rockefeller Founda¨ tion; and the National Tsinghua University (Kuo li Ch’ing-hua tahsueh), a college intended to prepare young men to go abroad as scholars supported by American grants from the Boxer Indemnity Fund – English was its language of instruction. In all, there were 40 institutions of modern higher education in Beijing alone in 1922. Their Western ancestry was very heterogeneous: British, American and French models were drawn on and freely intermixed. The efforts of Christian missionaries of various national origins brought many Christian denominational influences to bear. In the missionary colleges, there was a clear tendency towards the mode of the American liberal arts college. One of the main private higher educational institutions, the Nankai University in Tientsin, was the achievement of Chang Po-ling (Zhang Boling, 1876–1951), a former naval officer who had left the force in protest against Chinese concessions to the British and who turned to education as the means of national redemption. In 1917–18 he spent a year at Teachers College, Columbia University. In 1919 he founded the Nankai University with the financial support of wealthy friends. The new university began with three divisions: letters, sciences and business. The founder travelled several times to the United States to observe universities and to raise funds. In 1928–29 he reorganized Nankai University into three colleges: a college of letters including political science, history and economics; a college of science including mathematics, physics, chemistry and biology; and a college of business, including financial administration, banking, statistics and business. The most interesting private Zhendan (Chen-tan) University in Shanghai was founded in 1903 by a wealthy landowner who was also a distinguished scholar and diplomat, Ma Hsiang-po (Ma Xiangbo, 1840–1939). He was a Roman Catholic who was educated by the Jesuits at St Ignatius College, Shanghai, and had become its principal in 1872. Its students had to follow intensive courses of study first in the Chinese classics and then in Western subjects. He was also a mathematician and astronomer who wrote on Chinese and Western mathematics. He left the Society of Jesus in 1876. His brother, Ma Chien-chiung (Ma Jianzhong, 1844–1900), had ´ taken a Bachelor degree in Paris and studied at the Ecole libre des sciences politiques. After extensive experience in business and travels in Europe and America, he came to the idea of creating ‘a new style university that

219

Edward Shils and John Roberts would keep pace with Western universities’.82 The outcome was the foundation of Zhendan (Chen-tan) in 1903. Zhendan had a small number of students – about 100 by 1905 – and a carefully organized curriculum in which Chinese classical and Western learning and science were brought together rather than merely juxtaposed as in the Imperial Beijing University. Ma employed Jesuits because of their pedagogical skills. In 1905, the Jesuits, in Ma’s absence, introduced changes in the direction of conformity with the pattern of Jesuit colleges in France, and the standard of French higher education. It was a success. By 1908, there were 241 students following two main courses of study, one leading to the licence-ès-sciences, the other to the licence-ès-lettres. In 1914, Zhendan established three faculties of lettres, science and médecine. Between 1909 and 1924 about 1,500 students followed these courses. In the 4 May movement of 1919, the 200 students supported a general strike and most of them left the college. Ma had left Zhendan after the crisis of 1905 and formed the new Fudan College. It was intended to be more Chinese than Western in its orientation. Zhendan, which had always attempted to be a ‘French university in China’,83 retained the endowment which Ma had established with his own fortune, and Fudan College had a much more exiguous existence, though it had gained some governmental aid. The students served as administrators and some of them also taught. The College was fortunate in attracting the services of Li Teng-hui (Li Denghui, 1873–1947), as dean of studies from 1905 and then as principal from 1913 to 1915. He had been educated at Yale and was one of the first professional academics educated abroad to pursue a career as an academic administrator in China. The curriculum in the first two years was divided into French and English sections. French was discontinued after a short time and English became the language of instruction. The main subjects were Chinese classics, politics, law, commerce, natural science, engineering and agriculture. In 1907, 200 students were enrolled there, and by 1911, there were 57 graduates. Fudan College did not achieve as high an intellectual standard as did Zhendan. At the same time, both teachers who followed other occupations, and professors and students were more closely attuned to Chinese society as it then existed. Christian missionary colleges had usually laid stress on scientific education and foreign cultures and languages. Some of them became outstanding, above all the Peking Union Medical College founded in 1906 by British Protestant missionaries. In 1934, there were 26 medical 82 83

R. Hayhoe, ‘Towards the Forging of a Chinese University Ethos: Zhendan and Fudan, 1903–1919’, The Chinese Quarterly 94 (June 1983), 341. Ibid., 333.

220

The diffusion of European models colleges in China; fourteen of them were missionary institutions supported by the Rockefeller Foundation. Yenching University in Beijing, founded in 1919, was perhaps the most prominent, thanks to the quality of some of its teachers and its location in the capital. Others were the Nanking (Ginling) University (1915), Lingnan University, Canton, and the Yale-inChina Medical College, established in Ch’angsha in 1907.84 In the same year in Shanghai, German sponsors founded a medical college, the Tungchi (Tongji) University, which in 1919 by the treaty of Versailles (art. 135) became French, but which resumed teaching only in 1924 with the help of private grants.85 The missionary colleges had, in varying degrees, diminished their efforts to proselytize to their students and had turned themselves into the equivalent of liberal arts colleges more or less on the American pattern. St John’s University in Shanghai, founded in 1879 and incorporated in Washington DC, was composed of schools of arts and sciences, civil engineering, theology, medicine and a graduate school, which was run by American Episcopalian missionaries and had a sufficiently high intellectual standard for its graduates to be accepted for advanced degrees in the United States. The majority of teachers were Chinese; only a minority were expatriates, mostly American and British. English was the language of instruction. Among the Roman Catholic universities, special attention should be given to the Fu-Jen University, founded in Beijing in 1925. The teachers did notable work in the subjects of meteorology, geology and archaeology and left a mark in Chinese work in those fields. It counted among their number great scholars like Leon Wieger (1856–1933) and Teilhard de Chardin (1881–1955). The missionary colleges had introduced the study of modern science and medicine to China, had been the first to institute co-education and had favourable ratios of students to teachers. They had better libraries and laboratories than the Chinese private universities and standards higher than all but the best Chinese national universities. Yet their graduates were discriminated against by the Chinese government and they stood apart from the nationalist movement which dominated Chinese politics. They were burdened with their foreign and Christian origins. The prestige of science and the belief that mastering it could restore China to a central position in the world had led Chinese educational reformers to assert that colleges and universities should make provision 84 85

J. Chen, China and the West (London, 1979), 133. ¨ Zur Geschichte deutscher Kulturarbeit in ShangR. Bieg-Brentzel, Die Tongji-Universitat: ¨ ch’uang-chiao pa-shih chou-nien chihai (Heidelberg, 1984); Kuo-li T’ung-chi ta-hsueh nien t’e-k’an (Shanghai, 1987); cf. R. Reinbothe, Kulturexport und Wirtschaftsmacht. Deutsche Schulen in China vor dem Ersten Weltkreig (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1992), 141–230.

221

Edward Shils and John Roberts for the conduct of research, instead of confining themselves to teaching. This was a new idea in China. It is not unreasonable to infer that the model of the unity of teaching and research, represented most dramatically in the German university of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and then assimilated into American and the provincial British universities, was the source of the new Chinese expectation that university teachers must do scientific research.86 The universities of Nankai and Chao-t’ung appointed young scientists recently returned from Europe and the United States to teach scientific subjects. A group of Chinese students at Cornell University started a Science Society in 1914. It was called, more formally, the Chinese Association for the Advancement of Science, and from 1918 conducted a very active programme in popular scientific education and in propaganda for science. A further channel for the flow of influence of the American model resulted from the decision of the United States government to set aside the sum in the ‘Boxer Indemnity’ which was calculated in excess of the ostensible damage done by the rebels to American interests. This came to nearly $12,000,000 and it was to be used for scholarships for young Chinese to study at American universities. Between 1909 and 1929, 1,268 such scholarships had been awarded. Between 1926 and 1929 what remained of the Boxer Indemnities was used for grants made to thirteen Chinese universities and colleges and three research institutes.87 In order to prepare young persons for advanced study and particularly for study at American universities, the National Tsing-hua University in Beijing was founded in 1909. Stressing the teaching of subjects like English, French, German, history, geography, physiology, physics and chemistry, it developed into one of the leading universities in China. Of 732 scientists and scholars who received fellowships for research and study from the Boxer Indemnity funds between 1928 to 1945, 327 remained in China, 208 went to the United States, 64 went to France, 56 to Germany and 39 to Great Britain.88 This was all happening, unfortunately, amid extreme political disorder which disrupted the universities and discouraged those who wanted to redeem China through modernizing scientific research and the scientific outlook. In addition to this obstacle to the realization of the ideas of leading Chinese intellectuals, there had also long been resistance to borrowing from foreign models on the part of educated and scholarly 86

87 88

A list of the secretaries-general and directors of institutes of the Academia Sinica from 1928 to 1940 embraces nineteen persons. Nine had studied at American universities, six at British, two at German and one in Belgium. Later, part of the Boxer Indemnities paid to Great Britain, France and Italy were returned for similar purposes. E-tu Zen Sun, ‘Academic Community’ (note 78), 405.

222

The diffusion of European models Chinese deeply attached to the Confucian tradition. From 1928, the government took a xenophobic hand in this resistance to foreign influences and required that all colleges and universities of foreign origin register with the Ministry of Education. Courses on religious subjects had to be made entirely voluntary, and the ruling party – the Kuo Min-Tang – demanded that Sun Yat-sen’s (1888–1926) ‘Three People’s Principles’ – nationalism, democracy and the people’s livelihood – be the subject of required courses. Other demands were that the colleges and universities should have Chinese presidents and predominantly Chinese boards of trustees. Yet though the republican government was distrustful of universities, it could not dispense with them. Whilst willing, within limits, to allow an imported institution, the university, to function in China, it intended to keep its hand on its working in practice as firmly as possible. It therefore decided to strengthen the national universities at the cost of the private and missionary colleges and universities. It was, nevertheless, very difficult for the government to make the universities into instruments for bringing about national unity for promoting economic progress, since it could not provide sufficient financial support for them. The national universities were dependent to the extent of 90 per cent of their budget on the central government, and this necessary support was in many cases simply not forthcoming. Try as it might by any other means, the government could not extirpate the frequently stricken and ill-treated plant of alien origin which had taken root in China. The Chinese universities, broken and frail though they were, testified by their very existence to the tenacity of their reception, often at second remove, of the model of the European University. JAPAN: Unlike China, Japan was a willing beneficiary of the diffusion of the models of the European and North American university systems.89 Their reception thus was decisive and the process of implantation relatively brief. It followed a similarly brief period of uncertainty and conflict between proponents of Shinto traditionalism who wished to relegate Western and Confucian studies to the study of ‘the national language, history and religion.’90 Unlike China, though, the decision to seek foreign guidance was made by a government of unquestioned authority and once made, it was carried out with every appearance of firm conviction. After the relatively brief consideration of alternatives, the model of the German university as that was understood at the time was adopted. Like China, 89 90

Ikuo Amano, ‘Universities and Colleges’, in Kodansha Encyclopaedia of Japan, vol. VIII (Tokyo and New York, 1983), 170. G. B. Samson, The Western World and Japan (New York, 1950), 478. On the influence of the Dutch military medical schoolmodel, see chapter 14, 557.

223

Edward Shils and John Roberts Japan had a long history of advanced education for the training of higher governmental officers, for the resolution of calendrical problems, astrology and divination. There were local institutions along the same lines and for the same purpose, noblemen’s schools which taught traditional Japanese cultural subjects and private colleges teaching a traditional Confucian curriculum. Western subjects such as geography, foreign languages and elementary natural science began to be introduced into these schools late in the Tokugawa regime (1603–1867); such subjects were sometimes known as ‘Dutch Studies’, because the Dutch were for more than two centuries the only Europeans regularly admitted in Japan – and on a very restricted basis. An office for the study of Western writings – the Bansho Shirabesho – was created in 1856; these writings were originally mainly in Dutch but later the range was extended to include works in English, French, German and Russian and some chemistry. This school also, after 1862, sent some students to study in the West. Yukichi Fukuzawa (1835–1901), the great proponent of Western science, founded a school – the Keiogijuku – in 1858 for the study of Dutch. In time, it became the leading centre for teaching English, economics, law and other subjects needed for commerce and industry. From the 1840s, Western surgery and medicine were taught at a private medical school in Yedo; about 3,000 students were trained at this school in its first two decades. After the Meiji Restoration it became the medical faculty of the University of Tokyo. A centre of vaccination – the vaccine was derived from a scab sent from Batavia to a German doctor in Japan in 1849 – became a centre for Western medicine in 1861. Other private medical schools existed which taught Western surgical subjects, and beginnings were made in the teaching of chemistry and pharmacology. The former medical college of the Bakufu was revived with instruction in medicine and surgery, given by German teachers. The Kaiseijo, an institution to replace the Bansho Shirabesho, was founded in 1863 to study ‘barbarian writing’; it served later as part of the University of Tokyo. In 1869, the Shohei Gakko, a former Confucian college, was revived and converted into a university in Tokyo which brought together the Kaiseijo and the medical schools. This university was short-lived. Quarrels between the dominating professors of Japanese and Chinese classics and of both of these against the teachers of Western subjects led to its closure. In 1877, it was reopened as the University of Tokyo, concentrating on Western studies; the schools of Japanese and Chinese classics had no place in it. From 1871 to 1873 the Iwakura mission toured the main Western countries to examine their universities and overall education systems to recommend a pattern which Japan should accept. One of its members, Tanaka Fujimaro (1845–1909), became the top official of the Ministry of 224

The diffusion of European models Education and paved the way for the enactment of the Education Order of 1879 which was based on the more decentralized American System but which was severely criticized as inviting confusion and decadence in education.91 The Imperial University Ordinance of 1 March 1886 stipulated: ‘The aim of the Imperial Universities is to teach those arts and sciences essential in the nation and to conduct research into unknown areas’. The ordinance followed the North American pattern of a strong supervision on the lower level by ‘college’ directors and on the top by a president, appointed by government, and assisted by a university council, composed of the directors and professorial delegates from the ‘colleges’. The universities were divided according to the first aim of teaching essential arts and sciences into ‘colleges’ of law, medicine, engineering, arts, sciences and agriculture, and they had according to the second aim to conduct research, a graduate school, the ‘University Hall’.92 In fact little provision was made for research and it had to be done, when it was done at all, with the equipment and materials which were allocated to teaching. As a result, the name of the University of Tokyo changed to the Imperial University of Japan in Tokyo, and in 1897 the Imperial University in Kyoto was added. The Kaisei Gakko was the first form of the Imperial University in Tokyo. Numerous German scientists and scholars were invited to become professors in the two imperial universities. They were permitted to teach in German at first but after two years of service, they were required to lecture in Japanese. The imperial universities were regarded primarily as a means of bringing Western knowledge to Japan. But the disregard of Japanese and Chinese literature did not last long and Japanese legal history and Chinese philosophy were soon provided with departments of their own.93 Nevertheless, traditional religious subjects never gained the importance which they had in European universities or even in China in the early decades of the National University of Beijing. Between 1900 and the Second World War other imperial universities were founded: 1907 in Sendai the Tohoku Imperial University with the university hall and faculties of sciences, medicine, engineering, law and literature; 1910 in Fukuoka the Kyushu Imperial University with faculties of medicine, engineering, law and letters; 1918 in Sapporo the Hokkaido Teikoku Daigaku with the university hall and faculties of agriculture, medicine, engineering and science; 1924 in Keijo-Seoul (Korea) with faculties of medicine, law and literature; 1928 in Taiwan the Taihoku Imperial 91 92 93

ˆ ‘Tanaka Fujimaro’, in Kodansha Encyclopaedia (note 89), vol. VII, 336. Hideo Sato, Minerva, Handbuch der gelehrten Welt, 1 (Strasburg, 1911), 547–9. Samson, Western World (note 90), 487.

225

Edward Shils and John Roberts University with faculties of literature and politics, science and agriculture and medicine. In 1929 the Hiroshima Bunrika Daigaku with eight departments for pedagogy, philosophy, history, literature, mathematics, physics, chemistry and biology; 1931 the Osaka Teikoku Daigaku with the university hall and faculties of medicine, sciences, engineering, and in 1939 the medical school in Nagoya (Nagoya Ikwa-Daigaku) developed into an Imperial University.94 Japan also had a long tradition of private universities. In Tokyo these included the Keiogijuku University, founded in 1858 and comprising the colleges of literature, economics, law and medicine with their graduate courses. The Waseda University, founded in 1882 by the Marquis Shigenobu Okuma, Azusa Ono and Sanai Takata, had only a university department with graduate course, and a professional department. The Chuˆ oˆ University (1885) consisted of faculties of law, commerce and economics, as did the Meiji Law School, founded in 1881, when it developed in 1918 into the Meiji University; it also had a women’s college. Universities and university institutes with one faculty developed in several towns: in Kanazawa, a medical school and another for pharmacy; ˆ Shogy ˆ oˆ Daigaku, 1903); in in Kobe, the University of Commerce (Kobe Kumamoto, a medical school (1931); in Osaka the University of Commerce (1928), founded in 1880 as Osaka Institute of Commerce; in Taihoku, the College of Commerce (1910); in Tokyo, the University of Commerce (1920), founded in 1875 as Tokyo Higher Commercial School. In towns without imperial universities to teach engineering, imperial, and other, colleges of technology were founded: in Fukuoka in 1907, in Hamamatsu, Hiroshima, Kanazawa; in Kagoshima an Imperial College of Agriculture and Forestry was founded in 1908.95 In the period under consideration, the Japanese universities and their administrators achieved institutional autonomy at the expense of academic freedom.96 In 1891, Professor Kume of the University of Tokyo was deprived of his professorship for having said that Shinto was originally a primitive form of worship. The reception of the Western academic ethic and the academic freedom which is so integral to it was to have a hard passage in Japan’s reception of the model of the European universities.

94

95 96

¨ Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt, 33 (1938), Abteilung Universitaten und ¨ Fachhochschulen, II: Die aussereuropaischen Hochschulen (Berlin, 1938); Ikuo Amano, ‘Imperial Universities’, in Kodansha Encyclopaedia (note 89), vol. III, 281. Minerva (note 94). B. K. Marshall, Academic Freedom and the Japanese Imperial University, 1868–1939 (Berkeley, and Los Angeles and Oxford, 1992).

226

The diffusion of European models concluding observations The ways in which models of European universities spread, and the reasons for their spread in other parts of the world, are evidently very complex. However the recipient societies were organized politically, in no case was the implantation of universities simply a function of the initiative of the expanding European centre. There was always – in varying degrees – a stirring of initiative among the prospective, indigenous, recipients. This was as true of the reception of European models in Japan as it was in the United States and India. In the case of Japan, the firmly established indigenous government took the initiative, although there also existed some demand in the society. In the case of the United States, the central government played no part at all; in India it played a major role. The indigenous laity in both societies was the real source of decision. In the United States young academics, returning from foreign countries where they had studied, played the main role in the expansion and implantation of the model of German universities; in India, it was the indigenous professional, commercial and cultivated land-owning classes who pressed the alien ruler to implant the foreign model of the university. India exemplified in an acute form one major problem of the implantation of foreign university models by colonial governments. It occurred in situations in which movements for political independence were taking shape in a setting of distrust of and resentment against the ruling power. In consequence, universities were urgently demanded in colonial societies but were also often severely criticized by indigenous adult public opinion and by the politically agitated students. In most of the countries into which European universities expanded in the nineteenth and especially in the first half of the twentieth century, except in the United States, students have often disrupted the working of the universities. Indeed, it may be said that the disruptive actions of students, justified by their political beliefs, have been a very frequent concomitant of the expansion of the university model. On the whole, over the century and a half of our period, colonial officials and the metropolitan ministries did not try very hard to establish universities in the territories which they governed. In self-governed societies the central government took little interest in the establishment of universities; it was usually a vigorous individual official or a group of officials who took the initiative. Local and state governments played a considerable part in the creation of new universities in accordance with an alien model directly or indirectly perceived in an indigenous institution embodying the foreign model. This has frequently been a governing impulse helping to spread the European university model both within and outside Europe. When a 227

Edward Shils and John Roberts subjugated periphery wished to vie with the ruling centre, and to obtain for itself a dignity equal to the dignity of that alien entity, it sometimes saw universities as the means of improving its power and status. There has usually been a consensus between the alien centre and the active indigenous periphery about the importance of universities for the society in question. When colonial administrators wished to improve the societies they ruled, they increasingly thought in terms of universities, although almost always with some impulses from the citizenry, including persons who had studied in universities which were taken into the formation of the major model of the university to be emulated. The relationship between sovereign societies has been little different. Many of the educated classes of the United States believed that methodically acquired and ordered knowledge enhanced the dignity of the individuals and societies which possessed it and was an instrument for more effective exercise of power. Among them were some who focused attention on the German universities. But it was neither German manipulative power nor German propaganda which drew American attention in that direction. The expansion of the European university model has been a consequence mainly of the desires of the recipient rather than of the professors and administrators of the institutions which, in the course of time came to be the model sought at the periphery. Administrators of the University of London did not press the East India Company in London or the Governor General’s Council in India to accept it as the model for the universities of Bombay, Madras and Calcutta. The professors of the universities of Leipzig and Berlin did not press any American magnates or newly appointed presidents of still non-existent universities – for example, William Rainey Harper – to take themselves or the entire German system as the model for the new University of Chicago. Nor did the German governments of the princely states or the imperial government ever initiate a campaign to persuade Americans that they should adopt the German universities as the model for the expansion and reform of American universities towards the end of the nineteenth century. It is possible that when the Japanese commissioner, Tanaka Fujimaro, travelled to Europe and America in 1872 to canvass the alternative patterns which Japan might adopt, some officials and professors whom he met did attempt to persuade him that theirs was the best model. There were, however, plenty of reasons for Japan to adopt the German university as their model: the main one being that the German universities were at that time acknowledged, more or less universally, to be the best in the world. Universities were vessels which floated on a stream of desire to acquire the kind of knowledge which they transmitted and created. The belief that the dignity of a nation requires not only sovereignty but a university 228

The diffusion of European models shows how important knowledge was thought to be, both intrinsically and instrumentally. The expansion of universities from Europe was the outcome of an emerging world-wide consensus – not universally shared within any society or equally spread over all the societies of the earth – that the pursuit and the transmission of knowledge of a particular type, knowledge methodically pursued and based on rigorously gathered evidence and careful critical study of the best sources, knowledge that was tested by theories and which tested the theories, was of the highest importance. This kind of knowledge was the knowledge presented by universities. That was the main reason for the expansion of the model of the European university. The phenomenon of implantation has, then, many facets. The model is seldom completely and clearly visible. It is a loose and vague compound formed by the imagination from first-hand experience and hearsay. Also it is not a single thing, just as a university is not a single, indivisible thing. There is nothing about any model of a university which makes it a rigid indivisible construction which must be entirely adopted or which must be totally rejected. The model is often a transfiguration of the reality from which it is formed. That being the case, it is not susceptible to complete implantation, and even if that were the desire, it could never be completely realized. Indigenous traditions are usually too strong to be obliterated, although certain regimes in the twentieth century have deceived themselves into believing otherwise. The persistence of indigenous traditions means that no model can be implanted and can flourish as an exact replica of the university on which it is based. The model furthermore never covers satisfactorily all the desires and aspirations – and ineptitudes – of its recipients. Yet, all this being said, the model of the European university – heterogeneous and vague though it has been – and however awkward and deforming its implantation has been – has been a major facet of world cultural history. It has changed the intellectual physiognomy of all the countries which have been its recipients and it has given birth to an international community of knowledge.

select bibliography Chai Hon-Chan Education and Nation-building in Plural Societies: The West Malaysian Experience, Canberra, 1977. Coser, L. A. Refugee Scholars in America: Their Impact and Their Experiences, New Haven, 1984. E-tu Zen Sun ‘The Growth of the Academic Community 1912–1949’, in J. K. Fairbank and A. Feuerwerker (eds.), Cambridge History of China, vol. XIII: Republican China 1912–1949, Cambridge, 1986, 361–420.

229

Edward Shils and John Roberts Geitz, H., Heideking, J. and Herbst, J. (eds.) German Influences on Education in the United States to 1917, Cambridge, 1995. Harris, H. S. A History of Higher Education in Canada, 1663–1960, Toronto and Buffalo, 1976. Herbst, J. The German Historical School in American Scholarship, Ithaca, 1965. Horrell, M. Bantu Education to 1968, Johannesburg, 1968. Kanagasabai, S. et al. Studies in Malaysian Education: An Annotated Bibliography, Kuala Lumpur, 1980. Kevles, D. J. The Physicists: The History of a Scientific Community in Modern America, New York, 1978. Kreissler, F. L’action culturelle allemande en Chine. De la fin du XIXe siècle a` la Seconde Guerre Mondiale, Paris, 1989. Loh Fook-seng, Ph. Seeds of Separation, Educational Policy in Malaya, 1874– 1940, Kuala Lumpur, London and Oxford, 1975. Maier, J. and Weatherhead, R. W. (eds.) The Latin American University, Albuquerque, 1979. Marshall, B. K. Academic Freedom and the Japanese Imperial University, 1868– 1939, Berkeley, Los Angeles and Oxford, 1992. Matthews, R. D. and Akrawi, M. (eds.) Education in Arab Countries of the Near East, Washington, DC, 1949. Newton, A. P. The Universities and Educational Systems of the British Empire, London, 1924. Nurullah, S. and Naik, J. P. A History of Education in India, Bombay, 1951. Parton, H. The University of New Zealand, Auckland, 1979. Reinbothe, R. Kulturexport und Wirtschaftsmacht. Deutsche Schulen in China vor dem Ersten Weltkrieg, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1992. Rheingold, N. and Rothenberg, M. (eds.) Scientific Colonialism: A Cross-Cultural Comparison, Washington, DC, 1986. Ross, E. D. Democracy’s College: The Land Grant Movement in the Formative Stage, Ames, 1942. ¨ des Lateinamerikanischen Hochschulwesens. Eine Steger, H.-A. (ed.) Grundzuge ¨ Einfuhrung in seine Probleme, Baden-Baden, 1965. Tobias, P. V. The Sixth Freedom, Edgar Brookes Academic and Human Freedom Lecture, Pietermaritzburg, 1977. Waardenburg, J. J. Les universités dans le monde Arabe actuel, Paris, 1966.

230

PA RT I I I

STUDENTS

CHAPTER 7

ADMISSION*

FRITZ RINGER

the quantitative approach A relatively recent initiative in the history of higher education has been the attempt to measure the flow of students into the universities and related institutions in a systematic and internationally comparable way. One of the important statistical properties of a system of higher education is its inclusiveness, an inclusive system being one that is reached by a relatively large fraction of the population. Total university-level enrolments per population may serve as reasonable measures of inclusiveness. They may not be internationally comparable, however, since the average duration of university study may vary from country to country. One way to get around this difficulty is to focus upon first-year enrolments, and to relate the number of entering students to the size of the most pertinent age-year within the population. Another method is to estimate the average duration of university attendance, and then to relate overall enrolments to the appropriate cluster of age-years. In either case, one arrives at a relative access rate or access percentage for the pertinent age cohort. Obviously, everything depends upon the quality of the available data. Since statistical sources are particularly rich for the Prussian/German system, the indicators for that system will serve as points of departure in the rest of this chapter. To approach systems of higher education in this quantitative way is to move away from the perspective of narrative history. The fate of individual institutions becomes marginal, and even system-wide legislative reforms and administrative innovations often recede into the background, proving less significant in their quantitative effects than they looked in ∗

Though initially written years ago, this chapter must now be considered as an abbreviation of chapter 3 in F. K. Ringer, Toward a Social History of Knowledge: Collected Essays (New York, 2000).

233

Fritz Ringer conventional accounts of political and institutional developments. On the other hand, patterns emerge that demand new lines of analysis and raise new questions of their own. What are the major epochs and turning points in the evolution of university-level enrolments? Can short-term fluctuations in admissions be distinguished from long-term trends? What are the underlying causes of short-term variation, of relative stability, and of long-term growth in inclusiveness? How are quantitative changes in higher education related to other aspects of the social process? What similarities and differences emerge from cross-national comparisons of major quantitative indicators, and how can they be accounted for? While conclusive answers to these questions are not yet available, certainly not for all European university systems, I can briefly report some initial findings and hypotheses for selected countries.1 Of special interest for the history of higher education are recurrent periods of crisis in which contemporaries noted an ‘overproduction’ or ‘excess’ of university graduates in relation to suitable employment opportunities for them. This happened in several European countries, and possibly in all of them, during the 1830s and 1840s, during the 1880s and 1890s, and again during the inter-war period, especially around 1930. There is some evidence that it also happened in some countries during the late eighteenth century, and even earlier. Contemporaries who observed this imbalance between the supply and the demand for graduates typically saw it as socially dysfunctional and dangerous. The term ‘academic proletariat’ was coined in Germany and much used in France around the end of the nineteenth century; but the phenomenon itself was older, and so was the fear that overeducated young people, typically from humble backgrounds, would make up an unproductive, alienated and potentially subversive element in the population.2 Anxieties of this kind usually led to public warnings about long probationary periods and potential unemployment in the learned professions. At least in Germany, it also provoked bureaucratic initiatives to stiffen qualifying examinations and requirements, to channel secondary students away from the universities, and even (during the late nineteenth century) to reduce financial aid to needy students. The Prussian Abitur, the famous secondary leaving examination and certificate, was initially introduced in 1788 to control a supposed excess of unqualified university entrants. In 1834, again during a period of academic ‘overproduction’, it was supplemented by a regulation that 1

2

Unless otherwise specified, the analysis will be based on Ringer, Education and Society; with respect to system-wide quantitative data on German universities, however, Education and Society has been superseded by H. Titze (ed.), ‘Das Hochschulstudium in Preussen und Deutschland 1820–1944’, in Datenhandbuch zur deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. ¨ I: Hochschulen, Teil 1 (Gottingen, 1987). See also Weisz, Emergence. See vol. II, pp. 56, 301–2, 393–7.

234

Admission largely restricted university access to successful secondary graduates or Abiturienten. Such restrictive policies had the effects that were intended, at least in the short run. Moreover, even public discussions of overcrowding in the professions tended disproportionately to affect students from less favourable backgrounds, who were more easily dissuaded from risking academic unemployment than their wealthier colleagues. Recurrent crises of academic ‘overproduction’ thus tended at least temporarily to reduce the share of university entrants from the lower portions of the social scale.3 the inclusiveness of university studies Excellent German data suggest a cyclical model of admission rates, in which phases of growth are regularly followed by phases of ‘overproduction’. Growth stems from a reported demand for graduates in certain subject areas and professions. Since students need time to complete their studies, the demand seems to persist even after it has called forth increased rates of university entry, and these in turn accordingly produce higher rates of graduation even after the initial demand has been filled. Partly as a result of these fluctuations, moreover, the age structures of professions tend to become uneven, which can further aggravate the oscillation from opportunity to closure. The cyclical pattern is internally produced by the educational system itself; but one can also conceive additional impulses coming from such external sources as rapid changes in the size of age cohorts. Educational planners are almost certainly wrong to assume that such demographic changes are fully translated into fluctuations in admissions; for parents and teachers may unconsciously compensate for the reduced size of an age group, for example, by finding almost as many potential university entrants in it as in the larger cohort that preceded it. Despite such dampening ‘compromises’, however, ‘baby booms’ must certainly be counted among the triggers of fluctuations in university access rates that will tend to perpetuate themselves in a cyclical way. If one further considers that enrolment increases will raise the demand for trained 3

L. O’Boyle, ‘The Problem of an Excess of Educated Men in Western Europe, 1800–1850’, ¨ ¨ Journal of Modern History, 42 (1970), 471–95; H.-G. Herrlitz and H. Titze, ‘Uberf ullung ¨ als Bildungspolitische Strategie’, Die deutsche Schule, 63 (1976), 348–69; D. K. Muller, ¨ ‘Qualifikationskrise und Schulreform’, in U. Herrmann (ed.), Historische Padagogik, Stu¨ ¨ dien zur historischen Bildungsokonomie und zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Padagogik, ¨ zur Bildungstheorie und zur Analyse padagogischer ¨ Beitrage Klassiker, Literaturberichte ¨ Padagogik, ¨ und Rezensionen, Zeitschrift fur Beiheft 14 (Weinheim, 1977), 13–35; D. K. ¨ ¨ Muller et al., ‘Modellentwicklung zur Analyse von Krisenphasen im Verhaltnis von Schul¨ ¨ system und staatlichem Beschaftigungssystem’, ibid., 37–77; D. K. Muller, Sozialstruktur und Schulsystem: Aspekte zur Theorie und Praxis der Schulorganisation im 19. Jahrhun¨ dert; W. Ruegg and O. Neuloh (eds.), Studien zum Wandel von Gesellschaft und Bildung ¨ 9 (Gottingen, 1977), esp. 274–80.

235

Fritz Ringer teachers, one begins to appreciate the purely indigenous sources of quantitative variation within a system of higher education.4 The cyclical waves in German admissions lasted for some twelve to fourteen years; but they varied from subject area to subject area, depending at least partly upon the normal duration of university study in that area. The quality of the German data in fact permits researchers to specify the relationships between the supply of graduates, the number of openings and the lengths of waiting periods in the major academic and professional fields. Exact and convincing as their demonstrations are, however, they cannot fully resolve two sorts of questions. First, their model cannot, apart from direct observation, predict whether or not cyclical phases of ‘overproduction’ in different fields will coincide to produce more general crises of academic unemployment. One also has to ask to what extent students may be able and willing to change their fields in the light of professional prospects. Second, the cyclical approach is fully applicable only to systems in which a given course of study invariably prepares for a specific profession, or a narrow cluster of professions (the juridical civil service and the private practice of law); it was in fact applied to such systems by the educational planners of the nineteenth century.5 It would not be applicable to a system in which a general university education could serve as a preparation for an unlimited variety of occupations. On the other hand, an ‘excess’ of graduates might be perceived by contemporaries even in such an environment, and not without reason. For quite apart from the kind of calculations offered by this model, any rapid increase in the output of graduates per age group may be expected to lead to a relative scarcity in the positions traditionally regarded as appropriate for them. Historically, the cyclical model is most appropriate for the early and mid-nineteenth century, and for such university systems as those of France and Germany – not England – in which access to the traditionally learned professions was linked to precise academic prerequisites, state examinations and standardized professional credentials. Even in France and Germany, however, the enrolment increases of the late nineteenth century, and more markedly those of the inter-war period, tended to loosen the links between particular qualifications and specific professions. The narrow circle of occupations taken up by university graduates began at that time to expand very slowly. Indeed, these relatively recent crises of 4

5

¨ H. Titze, ‘Die zyklische Uberproduktion von Akademikern im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 10 (1984), 92–121. See also Ringer, Education and Society, 49–50, 141–2, 327–8. ¨ In addition to German examples cited by Muller (note 3) and by Titze (note 1), the French Minister of Education Villemain’s report of 1843 is a good example. See Ministère de l’Instruction Publique, Rapport au Roi sur l’instruction secondaire (Paris, 1843), esp. 61–3.

236

Admission academic ‘overproduction’ probably helped to destabilize the inherited social conventions about what positions were appropriate for the highly educated. There is some evidence that the ‘academic proletariat’ of the Weimar period for the first time included substantial numbers of university graduates who took jobs as ordinary business employees.6 In any case, the analysis of short-term fluctuations in university admissions must be supplemented by the study of long-term changes in levels of inclusiveness, to which we now turn. Table 7.1 brings together the most pertinent indicators for the German system from the eighteenth century to the inter-war period. The figures through to 1800 take account of high rates of academic mobility among students of that era, which led to many multiple matriculations.7 The calculations of new matriculations per age group suggest more moderate rates of inclusiveness than had previously been supposed. Yet the rates of university access in all of Germany around 1800 were not equalled again until 1870 (and the indicators for Prussia alone around 1800 may have been up to 60 per cent larger). Indeed, the German ratios for 1650 are even higher (2.8 per cent) than those for 1800 (0.9 per cent).8 A long-term decline in university entries per age group persisted through subordinate short-term fluctuations that became particularly rapid after 1740.9 The recurrent complaints about a perceived excess of graduates mentioned above became most insistent during the late eighteenth century, and that led to such deliberately restrictive policies as the Prussian Abitur regulation of 1788. We will return to possible interpretations of this striking phenomenon a little later. Not visible in detail in Table 7.1 is a recovery in German university enrolments that led to a new high in access rates per population in 1830– 31, as shown in the table, and that accounts for renewed anxieties about an ‘overproduction’ of educated men during the 1830s and 1840s. After declining markedly during the 1830s, both absolutely and in relation to the population, enrolments reached a low plateau between 0.3 and 0.4 students per thousand population from about 1840 to 1870. Laments about academic overcrowding ebbed away during these years, which suggests the hypothesis of an equilibrium between the supply and the demand for university leavers during the decades around the middle of the century. From 1870 on, however, university enrolments per population and per age group increased once again until the First World War and beyond. The 6 7

8

Ringer, Education and Society, 98–100. W. Frijhoff, ‘Grandeur des nombres et misères des réalités. La courbe de Franz Eulenburg et le débat sur le nombre d’intellectuels en Allemagne, 1576–1815’, in D. Julia, J. Revel and R. Chartier (eds.), Les universités européennes du XVIe au XVIII siècle. Histoire sociale des populations e´ tudiantes (Paris, 1986), vol. I, 23–7. See vol. II, pp. 298, 303–4 (M. R. di Simone, ‘Admission’). 9 Ibid. Ibid., 311.

237

Fritz Ringer Table 7.1 Access to German universities, 1700–1930a

Date 1700 1740 1800 1820–21 1830–31 1840–41 1850–51 1860–61 1870–71 1880–81 1890–91 1900–01 1910–11 1920–21 1930–31

Secondary graduates as % of age cohort

Beginning students as % of age cohort

Total enrolments (× 1000)

Students per thousand of population

Students as % of 5-year age cohort

15.7 11.5 12.4 12.4 12.7 21.9 28.2 34.3 54.5 86.9 99.9

0.3 0.5 0.4 0.4 0.3 0.3 0.5 0.6 0.6 0.8 1.4 1.5

0.4 0.6 0.6 0.7/1.0 0.9 1.2 1.6/2.1

1.1 0.8 0.4

0.6 0.8 0.8 0.9 1.1 1.3 3.3

0.5 0.6 0.9

a

Figures to 1800 are from W. Frijhoff, ‘Surplus ou déficit? Hypothèses sur le nombre réel des e´ tudiants en Allemagne a` l’époque moderne (1576–1815)’, Francia: Forschungen ¨ zur westeuropaischen Geschichte, 7 (1979), 173–218. Figures for Secondary Graduates (Abiturienten) per nineteen-year-olds in 1921 and for beginning students per age cohort in 1870 and 1931 are from Ringer, Education and Society, Appendix Tables I, V. All other data are taken or calculated from H. Titze (ed.), ‘Hochschulstudium’ (note 1). Only universities are considered, and age cohorts are for both genders. Figures for 1830–31 etc. are almost always averages for winter term 1830–31 and summer term 1831, etc. (and for population 1830 and 1831, etc.). Enrolments per population in 1820–21 and secondary graduates per age group to 1910–11 are for Prussia only. Beginning students per cohort for 1870–71 are in fact total enrolments per four-year age group 20–23; for 1890–91 and 1910–11, first-year students are related to one-fifth of the five-year age group 1923. The results suggest that from 1890 on the university access rate was close to the ratio of enrolments to the five-year age group 19–23 used by Titze and in the last column of the table. The figures added after the slash in that column for 1900–01 and 1930–31 include students at technical institutes and other non-university institutions of higher education (with duration of study probably closer to four than to five years). Foreigners among German university students (included in the table) were some 7–8 per cent from the 1890s to the First World War and again in the mid-1920s, after which the proportion declined to around 4 per cent during the early 1930s.

last two columns in the table adequately describe this renewed expansion; but they have two weaknesses. First, the average duration of university study apparently increased after 1870, from about four to around five years. The ratio of students to the five-year age group 19–23, which stems from very good Prussian and German data, therefore tends to understate rates of university entry per age group until after 1870. Second, the table deals with the German universities alone. It thus neglects growing enrolments at the technical institutes (Technische Hochschulen), which became 238

Admission quantitatively significant after 1870, and which gained nominal equivalence of standing with the universities in 1899. Also unlisted are a number of academies and other institutions, some of them considered of university level, which grew up from the late nineteenth century on. Around 1900–01, the universities alone accounted for roughly 68 per cent of all university-level enrolments, and the technical institutes added around 22 per cent, which left 10 per cent for other institutions. As of 1930–31, the universities enrolled about 74–75 per cent of all students, and the technical institutes added another 17–18 per cent. Since average duration of study was almost certainly shorter at the non-university institutions of higher education than at the universities themselves, the indicators in the last column of Table 7.1 would have to be increased to around 1.0 in 1900–01 and 2.1 in 1930–31 to reflect first-year access to all university-level institutions. In any case, the German university system really experienced at least one and possibly two distinctive upward movements in enrolments after the plateau of 1840–70. The first of these was a phase of moderate growth that extended from 1870 to the First World War and into the inter-war period. During the 1880s and 1890s renewed concerns arose about an ‘academic proletariat’, so named during this period. Public debates about the accreditation of competing forms of secondary and higher education became extraordinarily heated. Efforts to restrict university access, while successful in the short run, ultimately failed to prevent further increases in levels of inclusiveness during the twentieth century. Indeed, the reflux of former soldiers into the German universities after the First World War, the great inflation of 1923 and the depression of the early 1930s led to unprecedented highs in enrolments that were only briefly interrupted after the currency stabilization of 1924. Beginning in 1933, the National Socialists responded with draconian measures to reduce access to the universities, which particularly affected women. These controls promptly produced shortages of educated specialists and ultimately had to be abandoned. They thus only temporarily checked the very rapid growth in enrolments per population that began during the inter-war period and that in other countries continued into the post-war era. It should be noted in Table 7.1 that Prussian secondary graduates (Abiturienten) from 1870 on were generally more numerous, in relation to the age cohort, than German university entrants; but the differences were not great. The relevant figures include graduates of incompletely classical secondary schools (later named Realgymnasien) from 1860 on and of the non-classical Oberrealschulen from 1880 on. The fully classical Gymnasium accounted for almost 90 per cent of secondary graduates around 1870, and still just over 80 per cent around 1900. Thereafter, as graduates of all secondary school types were admitted to the universities on nearly 239

Fritz Ringer equal terms, the proportion of Abitur certificates held from a Gymnasium rapidly fell to two-thirds by 1911 and continued to decline thereafter. But even before the turn of the century, many graduates of the Realgymnasien and Oberrealschulen went to the technical institutes, which are not covered in the table. The share of secondary graduates who continued on to some form of university-level study after 1870 was therefore even higher than the figures in Table 7.1 suggest. While the flow of students into the German universities during the nineteenth century can be charted with a fair degree of precision, there are few fully reliable and comparable data for France before the 1870s. The universities (really loose associations of faculties) that existed in France on the eve of the Revolution encompassed arts faculties that in theory prepared their students for the ‘higher’ faculties of theology, law and medicine. But much of the actual teaching of the arts faculties had devolved upon the collèges, only a fraction of which were actually affiliated with the arts faculties. The complete (full programme) collèges offered a classical secondary curriculum, along with a two-year terminal course in ‘philosophy’ that could be considered of university level. According to the best available estimates, students entering the ‘higher’ French faculties in 1789 were about 0.6 per cent of eighteen year-olds (or 1.2 per cent of eighteenyear-old males).10 Even without the philosophy students, this represents a fairly high level of inclusiveness as compared with the 0.4 per cent of the age group in column 2 of Table 7.1 (or 0.8 per cent of the male age cohort) at all German universities, though it comes very close to the access rate estimated for Prussia alone. Of course the Revolution swept away the French universities of the old regime, along with parts of the secondary system – and a rich network of endowed scholarships.11 In place of the old collèges, Napoleon created a system of public secondary schools (centrally financed lycées called collèges royaux under the monarchy, plus municipal collèges), which competed with private or confessional secondary schools (also called collèges). In the baccalaureate examination and certificate (baccalauréat) of 1808, he created a French equivalent of the German Abitur, which became a near-prerequisite for access to higher education and to the learned professions. The old French universities became institutionally separated faculties or ‘schools’. Among them, the professional faculties of law, medicine and pharmacy long remained much larger and more important than the 10

11

R. Chartier, D. Julia and M.-M. Compère, L’Education en France du XVIe au XVIIIe Siècle (Paris, 1976), 249–97 (written by Compère), esp. 273–6, 292; see also 294, note 7; R. Chartier and J. Revel, ‘Université et société dans l’Europe moderne: position des problèmes’, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 25 (1978), 353–74, esp. 366–8. R. R. Palmer, ‘Free Secondary Education in France Before and After the Revolution’, History of Education Quarterly (1974), 437–52.

240

Admission faculties of letters and of sciences, heirs of the old arts faculties. The latter had virtually no students until late in the nineteenth century. They administered the baccalaureate examination; they certified future secondary teachers, testing them essentially on the secondary curriculum, and they provided popular lectures for amateur audiences. It was not until the later 1870s and 1880s that the non-professional university faculties acquired regular students and demanded serious post-secondary studies, and it was not until 1896 that the various existing faculties were drawn together to form regional ‘universities’. The training of the Catholic clergy took place essentially in higher seminaries (grands séminaires).12 But far and away the most serious rivals of the French university faculties during the nineteenth century and thereafter were the famous grandes e´ coles.13 The limited numbers of students they took in annually on the basis of competitive entrance examinations, usually after a year or more in special post-secondary ‘preparatory courses’, were boarded and educated at the expense of the state, generally during a three-year course. From the late nineteenth century on, additional non-university institutions of higher education were created, many of them in technical specialities, that are now also sometimes called grandes e´ coles. This background must be considered in any quantitative account of French university access during our period. In a convincing critique of statistics initially put forward by the French Ministry of Education in 1843, it has been suggested that the French public and private secondary schools enrolled roughly as many pupils in 1842 as the full-programme collèges did in 1789.14 There was a shrinkage between 1789 and 1809; but it was largely compensated thereafter. Baccalaureate awards fell to just below 3,000 in 1842, after having slightly surpassed that figure in 1820 and 1831. This suggests that complaints about an excess of educated men during the 1830s and 1840s had weaker quantitative foundations in France than in Germany. In the absence of meaningful data on university enrolments between 1789 and 1870, the rate of baccalaureate awards is particularly important. Given a relatively stable number of baccalaureates between 1820 and 1842, along with an established university access rate of 0.6 for 1789, we can sustain the hypothesis of roughly constant levels of inclusiveness in French secondary and higher education during the early nineteenth century. Until the end of that century, it should be noted, French baccalaureate awards were generally more frequent, in relation to the age group, than university entries. Unlike the Abitur, clearly, the baccalaureate was fairly 12 14

13 See chapter 2, 57. See chapter 4, 113 and chapter 10, 396, 399–400. D. Julia and P. Pressly, ‘La population scolaire en 1789; les extravagances du Ministère Villemain’, Annales: Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations (1975), 1510–61.

241

Fritz Ringer Table 7.2 Access to French and German universities, 1840–1930a France

Dates 1842 1854 1865 1870–71 1876 1880–81 1886–87 1890–91 1898–1901 1910–11 1920–21 1930–31

Sec. grad as % of age cohort

Germany


Sec. grad. as % of age cohort

Beginning students as % of age cohort


0.6

0.5

0.4

0.5 0.7 0.9 0.8 1.0 1.2 1.1 1.4 2.3

0.5 0.5 0.6 0.8 1.2 1.7 2.1 2.1

0.8 0.8 0.9 1.1 1.3 3.3

0.6 0.6 0.9

0.6 0.7/1.0 0.9 1.2 1.6/2.1

a

The data are taken or calculated from Table 7.1 and from Ringer, Education and Society, app. tables IX, XI, which are based on published government statistics. Baccalaureate figures are percentages of seventeen-year-olds of both genders. French university enrolments are related to the four-year age cohort 19–22 (both genders), which may slightly understate university access through 1880, while slightly overstating it for the inter-war period. French non-university institutions of higher education (grandes e´ coles, higher seminaries and certain higher technical schools) are not covered in the table, but may be roughly estimated to have enrolled 10–15 per cent as many students as the university faculties. Foreigners among students at French universities increased from 6 per cent in 1901 to 13 per cent in 1911 and (again) in 1921, and 22 per cent in 1931. The apparent excess of university access over the baccalaureate rate from 1900 on is due to increased duration of study, to foreign students, and to students reaching some faculties (as non-degree or special students) without the baccalaureate.

often held as a terminal degree during the nineteenth century. Apart from occasional highs and lows, the French baccalaureate rate grew steadily but slowly until the inter-war period, when a rather rapid increase occurred. Much the same can be said of university access, especially if the grandes e´ coles, the higher seminaries and certain other technical schools of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries are counted as well. In France as in Germany, non-classical and semi-classical secondary schooling played a role, at least from the 1860s on. A ‘special’ or (later) ‘modern’ curricular stream developed within the existing lycées and collèges. From the late 1880s on, there were sharp debates about whether modern secondary graduates ought to be admitted to higher education. Though they were in fact placed on a nominally equal footing in 1902, the rate of baccalaureate awards remained relatively steady until the inter-war period and even decreased a little in 1910–11. Nevertheless, an 242

Admission ‘academic proletariat’ was much decried in France as in Germany during the 1890s.15 Perhaps our data for France are simply not precise enough to reflect short-term enrolment fluctuations that may have helped to trigger these anxieties. Comparison between the French and German figures indicates that throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, rates of secondary graduation were somewhat higher in France than in Germany. A French advantage in university enrolments per age cohort too can be reliably observed from 1890 on, especially if non-university institutions of higher education are considered as well. The German technical institutes were not considered of university level before the turn of the century, and they were not quantitatively as significant as has sometimes been assumed. In France, the leading grandes e´ coles outranked the university faculties in academic and social prestige, and they were joined by less highly accredited technical schools from the late nineteenth century on. The traditional assumption that higher education did more in Germany than in France to stimulate industrial development is in urgent need of re-examination. Indeed, the most important conclusion to be drawn from Table 7.2, especially in view of unavoidable imprecisions in the data, is that rates of access to higher education in France and Germany during our period were really very similar, and even developed in roughly comparable stages, at least until the inter-war years. Secondary schooling in nineteenth-century England took place entirely at private or ‘independent’ secondary schools offering a classical curriculum, including the chartered ‘public’ schools, which typically boarded their students. The growth of ‘maintained’ grammar schools after the Education Act of 1902 affected a larger fraction of the age group. Yet ‘public’ and other independent boarding schools, while declining in numbers, continued to control access to the two ancient universities of Oxford and Cambridge. These were the only English universities until the foundation of the University of London as an examining and degree-granting institution in 1836. Beginning in 1851 and especially after 1870, a second tier of university-level institutions developed.16 The second column of Table 7.3 deals with entrants to Oxford and Cambridge. It may be considered a full measure of university access in England and Wales until the 1840s, and still a reasonably complete one around 1870. Thereafter, the rapid growth of the University of London network and of the ‘redbrick’ universities quickly doubled English university enrolments per age group. A degree of caution is indicated, since 15

16

The controversies over modern secondary education and over the ‘academic proletariat’ in France are analyzed in F. K. Ringer, Fields of Knowledge: French Academic Culture in Comparative Perspective, 1890–1920 (Cambridge, 1992), 52, 127–40. See chapter 2, 53–5.

243

Fritz Ringer Table 7.3 Access to English and French universities, 1700–1930 (in percentages of relevant age cohorts of both sexes)a Dates 1700s 1800s 1810s–40s 1850s–60s 1870s 1880s 1890s 1901 1911 1921 1931

Oxford and Cambridge 0.5 0.2 0.3 0.2 0.3 0.3 0.3

English universities

French Baccalaureate

0.2 0.3 0.6 0.8 0.7 1.0 1.4 1.3

0.8 0.8 1.0 1.2 1.1 1.4 2.3

French universities

0.5 0.6 0.9 1.2 1.7 2.0 2.9

a

Decennial average freshman entries per age group (both genders) at Oxford and Cambridge are calculated from estimates in L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. I: Oxford and Cambridge from the 14th to the Early 19th Century (Princeton, 1974), 91–2, 103, and from B. R. Mitchell (ed.), Abstract of British Historical Statistics (Cambridge, 1962); the age-group figures used were for England and Wales. Stone’s figures for the early seventeenth century suggest rates of entry to Oxford and Cambridge near 1 per cent of the age group. Enrolments at universities in England and Wales, including some part-time students, for the years 1861, 1871, etc. are taken from R. Lowe, ‘The Expansion of Higher Education in England’, in K. Jarausch (ed.), The Transformation of Higher Learning, 1860–1930: Expansion, Diversification, Social Opening, and Professionalization in England, Germany, Russia and the United States, Historisch – sozialwissenschaftliche Forschungen 13 (Stuttgart, 1983), 37–56, esp. 52; but Lowe’s figures have been adjusted (increased) to reflect an assumed four-year (not five-year) duration of study, which also makes for greater comparability with the French data. As late as 1961, 54 per cent of students from the UK entering Oxford and Cambridge came from ‘independent’ schools. See also Ringer, Education and Society, 220–30. For French figures, see note 16.

the tabulated ratios encompass a substantial share of part-time students, especially before 1900. Nonetheless, it is worth noting that total English university access came fairly close to French (and German) levels during the late nineteenth century. The further growth of the English university system after 1900 was apparently slower than the expansion of the French university faculties during the same period. If one includes teachertraining colleges and other (especially technical) institutions of further education, however, the indicators of inclusiveness for all of higher education in Great Britain come to 1.2 per cent of the age cohort in 1901 and 2.7 per cent in 1924–25.17 What primarily distinguished the English university system from its counterparts on the Continent, therefore, was 17

More on this in Ringer, Education and Society, 228–30, which draws on Great Britain, Committee on Higher Education, Higher Education: Report of the Committee . . . under the Chairmanship of Lord Robbins (‘Robbins Report’, London, 1961–3).

244

Admission Table 7.4 University enrolments per age cohort in European countries (in percentages of the five-year age group 20–24)a Country

1840

1870

1880

1890

1900

1910

Austria Belgium England Finland Italy Netherlands Norway Portugal Scotland Spain Sweden Switzerland

0.9 0.5

0.7 0.7 0.4 0.4 0.5 0.4 0.7 0.2 1.4 0.9 0.5

1.0 1.0 0.6 0.4 0.5 0.5 0.5 0.2 1.9 1.0 0.6 0.7

0.9 1.0 0.7 1.1 0.8 0.7 1.0 0.3 1.8

1.1 0.9 0.8 1.2 1.0 0.7 0.7 0.3 1.4

0.9 0.9

0.7 1.4

3.8 1.3 1.3 1.2 1.1 1.1 0.8 0.2 1.9 1.2 0.9 2.2

0.3 0.6

0.6

a

¨ und Chancengleichheit im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert H. Kaelble, Soziale Mobilitat ¨ (Gottingen, 1983), 200–2. Definitions of university-level education vary somewhat from country to country, and some figures listed pertain to years somewhat earlier or later than the headings. Austrian figures to 1900 are for the Empire, thereafter for the territory of the future Republic. England includes Wales.

the low rate of entry to the two older universities before 1850. With a joint access rate of 0.2–0.3 per cent of the age group, Oxford and Cambridge lagged far behind the French and German systems. Much of the difference may have been due to the fact that in England, professional training for future lawyers and doctors took place, respectively, at the Inns of Court and at the teaching hospitals. Studies at the two ancient universities during the nineteenth century were predominantly classical and literary, with the addition of mathematics at Cambridge. One has to remember that the French faculties of letters and of sciences also had very few real students before 1870. For most European countries other than France and Germany during the nineteenth century, finally, total enrolments in universities and, in some case, university-level institutions are related in Table 7.4 to the five-year age group 20–24 (both genders), which may or may not be realistic in the light of average duration of study. Since average duration of study probably came closer to four than to five years, the figures tabulated presumably understate university access rates by roughly 25 per cent. Probably no one knows enough about all of these educational systems to make the data in Table 7.4 fully meaningful. Nevertheless, two general conclusions do suggest themselves. First, with a few deviations that may or may not reflect peculiarities of classification, the measures cluster around certain typical values, which are not far from the more reliably estimated figures for Germany in Table 7.1. With rare 245

Fritz Ringer exceptions, one could say, university access rates in the European countries around 1870 stood at about 0.4–0.7 per cent of the five-year age group 20–24. Second, while there is no consistent evidence of growth between 1840 and 1870, levels of inclusiveness generally increased from 1870 on, reaching some 0.7–1.2 per cent of the five-year age group at the turn of the century, with further moderate growth following up to the First World War. Considering the complexities involved, these are remarkably welldefined and consistent patterns. Only the Portuguese figures fall far below these norms, and the English percentages through 1870 would of course look low as well. In compensation, the indicators for Scotland before 1900 document a remarkably precocious development of university access that clearly deserves further attention. preparation and distribution of students We will have to be content with a sense of overall patterns, too, as we turn to the secondary preparation of entering students, the number of foreigners and of women among them, and their choice of faculty or subject area within the university, though we have already encountered a few specifics. While ‘realistic’ or ‘modern’ forms of secondary schooling developed in France and Germany from the 1860s on, the graduates of these programmes and institutions were not generally admitted to the universities until the turn of the century. Until then, over 80 per cent of German university entrants held the Abitur from a classical Gymnasium. At Oxford during the 1890s, around 60 per cent of students entering from the United Kingdom came from the classical secondary institutions which by that time had been recognized as ‘public’ schools. The other endowed and/or fee-supported grammar schools of that period also offered a classical curriculum, as did the ‘maintained’ grammar schools after 1902. Thus curricular differences at the secondary level never became as crucial and divisive in England as in France and Germany. On the other hand, the elite independent secondary schools supplied almost two-third of entrants to Oxford and Cambridge in 1902–04, and as we noted, they still accounted for a majority of matriculates at these universities in the 1930s.18 In their own way, therefore, the independent boarding schools were the English counterparts of the German Gymnasium and the French lycées, especially those in Paris. Foreign students were quite numerous in England, France and Germany during the late nineteenth century, and again during the inter-war period. They made up the following percentages of all students (Table 7.5). 18

History of Oxford, VIII, 53, Table 3.2.

246

Admission Table 7.5 Foreign students in Germany, France and England (in percentages of all students)

Germany France Oxford

c. 1900

c. 1920

c. 1930

7 6 6

13

4 22 12

The Swiss universities also attracted high proportions of foreign students, including talented women, who around the turn of the century found this one of the few ways to reach higher education.19 The crucial developments in secondary and university education for women in France, Germany and England took place between 1890 and 1920. In France, girls’ lycées and collèges replaced the older ‘secondary courses for girls’ during the 1890s, and as early as 1901, women comprised 3 per cent of students at French university faculties. In Germany, the ‘higher girls’ schools’ of earlier decades were supplemented during the 1890s by courses preparing for the Abitur, even while a few women began to reach the universities, usually as auditors or special students. The establishment of fully accredited girls’ secondary schools (Lyzeen) and unqualified university admission for women followed in the first decade of the twentieth century (in 1908 for Prussia). In England, change at least began somewhat earlier. Eight women’s colleges were founded at Cambridge and Oxford between 1869 and 1893.20 At Oxford, women were admitted to university examinations in 1884, which encouraged the development of women’s colleges; but admission to Oxford and Cambridge degrees did not follow until after the First World War. The percentages of women among university students in some of the European countries between 1900 and 1930 are charted in Table 7.6. The very high figures for Switzerland before the First World War reflect the early importance of the Swiss universities for well-to-do women from a variety of European countries, especially from Russia. Thus women made up some 35 per cent of the student body at the University of Bern in 1903–04; but only about one in ten of these women were natives of Switzerland. The percentages for the British universities are more consistently remarkable, especially given the slow rate of change at Oxford and Cambridge. The French figures look strong as well, whereas significant progress for women in Germany did not come until around 1930, only to be retarded by the National Socialists shortly thereafter. The decline in 19 20

See chapter 2, 69 and chapter 14, 585. University of Cambridge, IV, 301–30.

247

Fritz Ringer Table 7.6 Women among university students, 1900–1930 in selected European countries (in percentages of all students)a Countries Austria France Germany Great Britain Italy Netherlands Spain Sweden Switzerland

c. 1900

c. 1910

c. 1920

c. 1930

7

8 9 4 19 17 14

3 20

8 22

14 13 9 27 20 15 4 10 12

17 26 18 26 15 18 7 15 12

3 17

a

¨ (note to Table 7.4), 222–4; but figures for Great Britain From Kaelble, Soziale Mobilitat c. 1900–1910 in fact pertain to England and Wales and are taken from J. Howarth and M. Curthoys, ‘The Political Economy of Women’s Higher Education in Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth-Century Britain’, Historical Research, 60 (1987), 208–31, esp. 210–11. German and French figures are virtually identical with data in Titze, ‘Hochschulstudium’ (note 1), and Ringer, Education and Society. A few dates vary up to two years around those listed. Some non-university institutions of higher education are included for Austria and for the Netherlands, in both cases from 1910 on.

the proportion of women among Italian students between 1920 and 1930, too, was presumably a consequence of Fascist policies. Beyond that, the indicators for Spain are particularly abnormal on the low side.21 The long-term trends in the distribution of students over the major faculties and subject areas in France and Germany are summarized in Table 7.7. For Germany, the most important developments were the relative decline of both Catholic and Protestant theology, and the rise of the humanities and natural sciences, or more simply of the faculty of ‘philosophy’. Both trends were almost certainly characteristic of other university systems as well. For France, one should note the absence of students in the state faculties of Catholic theology which led to their dissolution in 1885,22 the replacement of the arts faculty by faculties of letters and of sciences and especially the dominant position held by the faculties of law throughout the nineteenth and into the twentieth century. In the absence 21

22

See J. C. Albisetti, Schooling German Girls and Women: Secondary and Higher Education in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton, 1988), 204–305, esp. 297–301; S. Ulivieri, ‘Women and the University Studies in Italy’, in Higher Education and Society in Historical Perspectives [7th International Standing Conference for the History of Education] (Salamanca, 1985), vol. I, 658–67; Alma Mater Studiorum. La presenza femminile dal XVII al XX Secolo. Ricerche sul rapporto Donne/Cultura Universitaria nell’Ateneo Bolognese (Bologna, ` professioni: un percorso difficile’, in S. Soldani 1988); M. Raicich, ‘Liceo, universita, and F. Angeli (eds.), L’educazione delle donne (Milan, 1989), 147–81; J. Stephenson, ‘Girls’ Higher Education in Germany in the 1930s’, Journal of Contemporary History, 10 (1975), 41–69. See chapter 10, 396.

248

Admission Table 7.7 The distribution of French and German university students over the faculties and subject areas, 1830–1914 (in rounded percentages by column)a German universities

1830–60

1860–90

c. 1911

Theology Law, Government Medicine Humanities Sciences Minor fields

30 30 15 15 5 5

20 25 20 15 10 10

10 20 20 25 15 10

French Univ. Fac.

1850–70

1870–90

c. 1911

Law, Government Medicine Letters Sciences Minor fields

50 25 5 5 15

40 35 10 5 10

40 25 15 15 5

a From Ringer, Education and Society, 60, 149, based on app. tables V, XI. All percentages are approximate, intended to represent long-term trends only. For Germany, no distinction is made between Catholic and Protestant theological faculties; Law and Government encompasses the cameral sciences or Staatswissenschaften; Humanities refers to the Geisteswissenschaften, which were typically grouped with the natural sciences in the faculties of philosophy; Minor fields includes pharmacy and agriculture. For France, the faculties of law in fact offered some of the specialties called Staatswissenschaften in Germany; Minor fields really means pharmacy; the figures for 1850–70 are based on degree awards, not on student enrolments.

of strong faculties of arts and sciences, the French law faculties apparently took on a generalist function as well. Perhaps the traditions of the old judicial nobility contributed to this pattern. As late as the 1860s, only about half of French law students intended to pursue legal careers.23 From the late nineteenth century on, the French law faculties also offered courses in economic, political and social studies, trying to broaden the training of future civil servants. In any case, no greater contrast can be imagined than that between the strength of the professional faculties in the French university of the nineteenth century and the curricular emphasis characteristic of Oxford and Cambridge at that time. Despite the emergence of new degree subjects, especially after 1870, the Oxford curriculum long remained predominantly classical, literary and philosophical. Mathematics and the sciences were stronger at Cambridge, and the London system offered a variety of 23

G. Weisz, ‘The Politics of Medical Professionalization in France 1845–1848’, Journal of Social History, 12 (1978–9), 3–30, esp. 28. See also Weisz, Emergence, 188–9, for what follows.

249

Fritz Ringer specialization in science, technology and medicine. Yet it was at Oxford and Cambridge, not at the German universities, that something like the Humboldtian preference for generalist studies survived into the twentieth century. That surely helps to explain why levels of inclusiveness in English higher education during the early nineteenth century lagged so far behind their French and German counterparts. costs of university studies Having thus roughly charted the inflow of students and their distribution over the fields of study, at least in a few European systems, we must come back to some of the questions asked at the beginning of this chapter: what were the main causes of short-term and long-term changes in the pattern of university enrolments; what factors played a role in channelling students towards higher education or in keeping them away? Catholics and religious dissenters were not admitted to matriculation at Oxford and Cambridge until the 1850s, and they could not take the higher degrees until 1871. But this is the only absolute exclusion known to me. Of course the European universities generally charged tuition or fees, at least until the inter-war period; but one has the impression that the amounts were generally moderate, except where residential arrangements were involved, as in the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge. The direct costs of university study were reduced for many students from modest circumstances through ‘free tables’ and/or fee remission, through scholarships provided by religious and charitable endowments (especially in England), by individual patrons, or by the state (more likely on the Continent and after 1800). Patronage and aid to deserving poor students, especially candidates in theology, was an important social feature of European higher education during the early modern period and into the nineteenth century.24 As of 1899–1900, some 16 per cent of Prussian students at Prussian universities were on scholarships, 6 per cent had access to free tables, and 17 per cent had some sort of relief from fees; but the percentages should not be added up, since an indeterminate number of students received several forms of aid.25 24

25

For a vivid portrait of the circumstances and ethos of poor theology students in eighteenthcentury Germany, see A. J. LaVopa, Grace, Talent and Merit: Poor Students, Clerical Careers, and Professional Ideology in Eighteenth-Century Germany (Cambridge, 1988). Titze, ‘Hochschulstudium’ (note 1), 282; unfortunately, these detailed data are available only for the Prussian universities between 1886–87 and 1911–12. Therefore, it is not easy to assess either the costs or the opportunities for aid in a systematic way even for individual countries, not to mention cross-national comparisons. See also chapter 4, 108–9.

250

Admission Probably more important than university fees in their social effects were the direct costs of secondary schooling, which again were highest for such boarding institutions as the English ‘public’ schools and certain lycées and private or religious collèges in France. The expenses of secondary schooling for rural and small-town families was of course much affected by the distance to the nearest full-programme or lower secondary institution. The state scholarships established by Napoleon collectively provided less student support than the foundations and endowments of the pre-revolutionary period, even apart from the fact that nineteenthcentury French state scholarships often went to the offspring of deserving minor officials.26 The special courses offered at the great Parisian lycées to prepare candidates for the entrance examinations to the grandes e´ coles probably functioned as serious economic barriers, especially for youngsters from the provinces with less than outstanding academic records. Again, I know of no systematic or comparative studies of secondary costs and opportunities. Yet it is my impression that the average direct cost of secondary schooling was somewhat higher in England and France than in Germany, where a relatively dense network of non-residential schools, including lower secondary schools, probably made access comparatively inexpensive. At the same time, the direct costs of higher education and of secondary schooling may not have been the decisive factors in determining access to the universities. The indirect costs of withholding young people from the labour market for extended periods were probably more important. After completing their university studies, candidates for the academic professions, especially law and medicine, typically faced years of unpaid internship, even if a scarcity of openings did not further extend probationary periods. In Prussia and more generally in countries with strong meritocratic and state traditions from the eighteenth century on, efforts to control standards in the bureaucracy and in the learned professions gave rise to a complex system of formal qualifications that were generally more demanding in the juridical civil service and in the liberal professions than in theology and in secondary teaching.27 The indirect costs of obtaining these qualifications inevitably affected family strategies, and of course reports of overcrowding in the professions had to be taken seriously as well. In relation to the overall pattern of indirect costs, therefore, tuition and fees were probably not decisive. We know that the abolition of fees in French secondary education between 1928 and 1933, for 26 27

Palmer, ‘Free Secondary Education’ (note 14). ¨ See, for example, P. Lundgreen, ‘Zur Konstituierung des “Bildungsburgertums”: Berufs¨ und Bildungsauslese der Akademiker in Preussen’, in Bildungsburgertum, esp. vol. I, 79–89.

251

Fritz Ringer example, did not occasion an immediate increase in first-year secondary enrolments.28 Very significant, on the other hand, were the institutional and curricular barriers that separated primary and post-primary schooling from fully accredited secondary education, and from such crucial qualifying examinations as the German Abitur and the French baccalaureate. More than anything else, it was the structure and curriculum of the secondary systems that truly regulated access to the universities. I have repeatedly called attention to the social importance of segmentation in late nineteenthcentury European secondary education. It can be empirically observed and even exactly measured where divergent ‘streams’ or ‘tracks’ within the secondary system catered to different social groups. The differences of accreditation between the fully classical Gymnasium and the less prestigious branches of German secondary schooling may serve as an example of segmentation, and so may the comparable divergences between the classical and ‘modern’ secondary streams in France after 1860. It seems that in England, such non-curricular differences among schools as distinctive modes of socialization played a similar role. Educational segmentation, especially at the secondary level, tended to perpetuate socio-cultural or status distances within the population. The status order they fostered and sustained was not necessarily congruent with the existing hierarchy of wealth and economic power, as Max Weber pointed out. In Pierre Bourdieu’s terminology, the distribution of ‘cultural capital’ was not simply identical with the distribution of ‘economic capital’. Nevertheless, the cumulative effect of educational segmentation was to legitimate and to enhance class differences.29 Without further developing this subject, I want here simply to indicate how the segmentation of secondary systems could affect family strategies with respect to higher education. As French educational reformers of the late nineteenth century liked to point out, an independent artisan, shopkeeper or small businessman might hesitate to risk the indirect costs of classical secondary schooling for his son, since what the youngster learned in a classical school would be of use to him only if he earned good grades and completed the course. If he fell short of that, he would bring back little that could help him in the family business. It was therefore economically rational to opt for a non-classical and practically orientated secondary programme, if it was available, especially if the focus upon the ancient languages in the classical stream was early and exclusive. At the 28 29

Ringer, Education and Society, 141–2, 327–8. ¨ Along with Ringer, Education and Society, esp. 12–22, 28–30; D. K. Muller, F. Ringer and B. Simon (eds.), Rise of the Modern Educational System: Structural Change and Social Reproduction 1870–1920 (Cambridge, 1987), esp. the Introduction (F. Ringer), chapter 2 (F. Ringer), and chapter 4 (H. Steedman).

252

Admission same time, more purely emotional barriers also tended to keep pupils from modest backgrounds out of the most highly accredited secondary schools. The esoteric culture they represented might seem vaguely forbidding; to enter them was to risk the psychic costs of moving upward into a partly alien world. To some degree, at least, the less favoured social groups thus tended ‘voluntarily’ to exclude themselves from the surest paths to the universities. On the other hand, once pupils actually reached the secondary system, for whatever reasons, a new set of forces could begin to act upon them. Thus teachers might encourage promising students from modest backgrounds to imagine possibilities not initially envisaged by their parents. With every year that pupils spent in school, moreover, it made more sense for them to stay until graduation. The result was a gradual but recurrent upward extension of initially lower secondary courses and a consequent increase in the share of secondary graduates. In such curricular streams as the French ‘special’ or (later) ‘modern’ secondary programme, moreover, an originally ‘practical’ orientation tended progressively to give way to a more ‘generalist’ and academic emphasis (‘generalist shift’). Against the explicit intentions of educational planners, the programme took on many of the characteristics of the most prestigious secondary stream. In the meantime, teachers and parents ever more urgently demanded fully equal accreditation and access to the universities, which the clients of the more established schools or programmes of course opposed. Thus it is possible to identify both exclusionary and inclusionary pressures within the segmented European secondary systems of the nineteenth century, and hence also to understand the educational conflicts that took place, at least in France and Germany, during the decades after 1870. The other main influence upon the flow of secondary students into the universities that has to be considered is the social ‘demand’ for university graduates. The concept of demand itself is problematic in some respects. We usually know only the ‘supply’ of university students, and our sense of the ‘demand’ tends to be indirect and even speculative. It would obviously be circular to infer the demand from the supply, and then cite the demand to ‘explain’ the supply. Yet we have already discussed instances in which a short-term, cyclical deficit in the demand for graduates can be either documented or reasonably assumed, if only because a sudden increase in enrolments presumably confronted a relatively stable demand for educated professionals. When the ‘special’ secondary programme was created in France during the 1860s, moreover, the response in increased secondary enrolments was so immediate and pronounced that the prior existence of a social demand can fairly be posited. But the analytical problems become much more difficult where long-term secular changes in university access are at issue. Can our understanding of short-term imbalances between 253

Fritz Ringer the supply and the demand for university education be extended to these cases? We have come back in fact to some of the questions that were posed at the beginning of this chapter, and that also have to do with the major phases in the development of access to the European universities. Are we now in a position to address these questions in a conclusive way? the development of university access The development of university access between 1800 and 1870 needs only a brief review. In Germany, enrolments first climbed to a peak in 1830–31, then declined for a decade, to reach a low plateau of constant inclusiveness, in relation to the age group, that lasted until 1870. The high point in 1830–31 coincided with complaints about an ‘excess’ of educated men that was heard in several other countries as well. It perfectly fits the pattern of a short-term deficit in demand, particularly in light of the modest and stable access rates that followed. As Table 7.4 indicates, relatively stable indicators of inclusiveness, ranging from 0.4 to 0.7 per cent of a five-year age group, actually obtained in most European countries during the decades around the mid-century. An interesting recent study of inscriptions (not enrolments) at Belgian universities by Jan Art also points to a short peak in 1828–31, a setback thereafter, and a period of very modest increases until about 1870.30 I have proposed the hypothesis of an early industrial equilibrium in the supply and the demand for graduates, which reflected stable access to the traditionally learned professions, rather than to positions directly associated with the developing economies. I have also noted that during the nineteenth century, university access rates seem to have varied inversely with economic cycles.31 The Belgian study has seconded this tentative observation, which suggests that university study served to some degree as an alternative to business careers. One really has to imagine two distinctive arenas of middle-class opportunity. One of them was linked to industrialization and to the accumulation of economic capital, which often took place without benefit of university education. The other was associated with the minor and major educated professions, including the civil service in Prussia and elsewhere on the Continent, and thus with the pursuit of educational qualifications or of ‘cultural capital’. After 1870, the situation became very much more complicated. On the one hand, a further short-term cycle of academic ‘overproduction’ 30

31

J. Art, ‘Les Rapports triennaux sur l’état de l’enseignement supérieur: un arrière-fond pour des recherches ultérieures sur l’histoire des e´ lites belges entre 1814 et 1914’, Revue belge d’histoire contemporaine, 17 (1986), 187–224. Ringer, Education and Society, 50–51.

254

Admission has been most concretely documented for Germany by Titze, but it apparently occurred in France as well. Perhaps it was aggravated by the ‘great depression’. On the other hand, more long-term structural changes were taking place as well. Focusing particularly upon German secondary ¨ education, Detlef Muller has characterized these changes as a process of ‘systematization’. In early nineteenth-century Prussia, he argues, the Gymnasium enrolled a good many pupils who were not preparing for university entry, but left school early to pursue a variety of non-graduate occupations. This brought pupils from modest backgrounds into the secondary schools, where some of them were ultimately encouraged to complete their studies and continue on to the universities. The potentially progressive effects of this pattern were undercut, however, as various curricular options were more sharply defined and separated from each other. From the 1860s on and especially late in the century, in fact, the boundaries between different types of secondary schools were ever more rigorously defined; curricula and graduate qualifications were meticulously specified, and the functional relationships among the different parts of the total system were fully articulated. Systematization was partly a form of bureaucratic rationalization, but it was also a conflict-ridden exercise in social demarcation. The former early leavers were in effect channelled away from the Gymnasium, into the Realgymnasium and the Oberrealschule, which long remained incompletely accredited. In France and England too, a process of systematization can be detected, as an essentially binary pattern of elite secondary and popular primary schooling was replaced by a more complex hierarchical structure of elite university-preparatory, nonelite secondary and higher primary schooling.32 In my terms, the segmentation of French and German secondary education became particularly marked after 1870, not before then. During fierce debates over the accreditation of classical and ‘modern’ curricular streams, educational conservatives became quite explicit about their socially exclusionary intentions. Yet along with an exclusionary dynamic, inclusionary pressures were at work as well. Most visibly in France, the emergence and growth of a non-classical secondary curriculum also brought new social groups into the secondary system. As the non-classical option underwent a generalist shift and took on a more academic character, its sponsors sought university access for its graduates, and they could not be put off for ever. Around the turn of the century, the graduates of all full-length secondary programmes were admitted to university study on largely equal terms, not only in republican France, but in monarchical Germany as well. Rates of secondary graduation and of university entry,

32

¨ ¨ Muller, Ringer and Simon, Rise (note 29), esp. chapters 1 (Muller) and 3 (Simon).

255

Fritz Ringer though temporarily checked, eventually increased until the First World War and beyond. In higher education after 1870, while access rates increased at the universities themselves, newly created universities (in England) were joined by certain non-university institutions of higher education, many of them technical and professional schools, that gradually achieved equality of accreditation with the universities. One way to describe the expansionary developments of this period is to point out that they brought secondary and higher education into closer interaction with the occupational system of the high industrial era. Primarily involved on the side of the occupational system were certain younger professions, especially in science and technology, that came to be more educated than their early industrial precursors, yet arguably more relevant to commerce and industry than the older liberal and learned professions. The changes taking place should not simply be regarded as educational adjustments to the ‘needs’ of the economy. Social and political issues were at least as important as economic considerations in the education debates of the time. Moreover, the elaborate hierarchy of educational qualifications that defined civil service ranks in late nineteenth-century Prussia almost certainly did more to shape the wider occupational system than the reverse. Thus the sectoral convergence between the educational and occupational systems was a genuinely interactive one. With little exaggeration, one could speak of an educationalization of the economy, rather than an industrialization of education. In any case, there can be no question that short-term disequilibria were accompanied during this period by structural changes that led to long-term increases in the demand for university graduates. There is no other way to account for the increases in inclusiveness that actually took place, and that in most European countries brought university access rates to around 0.7–1.2 per cent of a five-year age group before 1914. At some point, one has to recognize, a continuing increase in rates of graduation, and even an ‘oversupply’ of graduates, will tend to create an expanded ‘demand’ for them, in that new occupations will seem to ‘require’ university-level education. Something like that has certainly happened in most European systems since the Second World War. Increasingly, higher education has become a necessary but not necessarily sufficient condition of employment in the higher regions of the late industrial white-collar hierarchy. There has been an ‘inflationary’ devaluation of academic credentials as social assets. But it is possible that this new phase in the history of university access, this further convergence between the educational and the occupational systems, really began during the interwar period, as women entered the secondary schools and universities in significant numbers, as middle-class reformists and moderate socialist parties gradually reduced the barriers between primary and secondary 256

Admission schooling, and as short-term enrolment booms helped to undermine the established expectations about the educational levels appropriate for various occupations. Hartmut Kaelble has suggested a long-term and not precisely datable evolution of European educational opportunities between the late eighteenth and early twentieth centuries from a ‘charitable’ to a ‘competitive’ period, and from there to the epoch of the ‘welfare state’.33 There is a rough parallel between his three stages and what I have called the ‘early industrial’, the ‘high industrial’ and the ‘late industrial’ phases in the history of higher education, especially with respect to the changing relationship between the educational system and the economy. But Kaelble also points to something else, and something very important. During the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, a pervasive expectation of status persistence was nevertheless accompanied by an acceptance, even an active sponsorship, of individual mobility through education for talented poor students seeking to enter the clerical and teaching professions. Somehow, during the course of the nineteenth century, this pattern was replaced not only by sharp competition for education places, but also by a popular pursuit of educational opportunities on the one hand, and a conservative determination to limit university access, on the other. Vaguely to sense so broad a shift is of course not to explain it; but then we are still some distance away from fully understanding the main stages and dynamics involved in the evolution of access to nineteenth-century European higher education. the social origins of university students We still have much to learn, too, about the social origins of university students and about the whole issue of progressiveness. A system of higher education may be considered progressive if it recruits a high proportion of its students from the lower middle and lower classes. Progressiveness in education is a necessary but not a sufficient condition of social mobility through education. Measures of progressiveness are relative in principle. For example, if 10 per cent of students in a university system and 20 per cent of the total population were from the working class, then the relative access chance or access ratio for working-class students in the system would be 1:2, which would be very progressive indeed. The same ratio could be reached if 5 per cent of working-class youths and 10 per cent of a total age cohort were known to have reached universities. In practice, because of limitations in the available data, I shall here focus mainly upon percentages of students from various occupational groups. 33

¨ (note to Table 7.4), 172–6. Kaelble, Soziale Mobilitat

257

Fritz Ringer Table 7.8 Social origins of German university students, 1820–1930 (percentages of fathers in various social groups)a

Father’s social group Nobility Learned Professions Econ. up.-mid. class Small Independents Lesser Employees Lower Officials Farmers Lower/working

Halle/ Halle, from Leipzig, from Prussian Prussian German ¨ ¨ Wurttemberg Five Univ. Wurttemb. Univ. Univ. Univ. 1821–37 1777–1867 1874–76 1887–91 1911–12 1931 3 44 33 23

12 44 15 14

4 38 9 19

20 7 1

8

16 10 5

1

2 25 16 19 3 20 12 1

5 21 12 23 3 27 6 2

1 25 11 18 6 32 4 3

a

Data other than that for five universities 1777–1867 are from Ringer, Education and Society, app. tables VI–VIII, though the last three columns could now be drawn from Titze, ‘Hochschulstudium’ (note 1). The early columns are recalculated from absolute numbers for (a) the University of Halle in 1821 and in 1834, plus students from the state ¨ of Wurttemberg at German universities in 1837, and (b) the University of Halle in 1874, ¨ students from Wurttemberg at German universities in 1875, and the University of Leipzig in 1876. The ‘learned professions’ encompass high officials (defined narrowly as those with university education for 1887–91 and 1911–12), including university professors and secondary teachers (or university-educated teachers), plus clergymen, plus lawyers, physicians and other members of the ‘liberal’ or ‘academic’ (university-educated) professions, plus a few military officers. The ‘economic upper middle class’ encompasses ‘industrialists’ ¨ (Halle, Leipzig), with the addition of other ‘large-scale businessmen’ (Wurttemberg) or of ‘independents in insurance’ (Prussia 1887–91); they are more consistently defined as owners, managers and executive-level employees of large business firms in the last two columns of the table. Before that point, the ‘smaller independents’ are largely merchants and shopkeepers of all levels. ‘Lower officials’ includes substantial contingents of lower-level teachers (or teachers without university education). The ‘lower/working class’ exceptionally includes a group of artisans for 1874–76. On the five universities, see note 43.

Table 7.8 is designed to provide a simplified sketch of social recruitment into the German universities from about 1820 to 1930. From 1886 on, unusually precise data are available for Prussia and, from 1928 to 1941, for all of Germany as well. For the earlier period, I have added composite figures calculated from published studies of selected universities around 1821–37 and 1874–76. If one ignores column 2 for the moment, one can arrive at a rough sketch of long-term changes that could be further supported from more detailed breakdowns and annotations.34 It is clear, above all, that the German universities of the early nineteenth century were dominated neither by the landed nobility nor by an entrepreneurial bourgeoisie, but by an educated upper middle class that encompassed all the university-educated 34

Ringer, Education and Society, esp. 81–5, 89–94, 97.

258

Admission or ‘academic’ professions. Particularly important were the higher officials, including the university professors, and the ‘liberal professions’, especially doctors and lawyers; but clergymen and secondary teachers made up significant contingents as well. This educated elite accounted for about 45 per cent of German university students during the early decades of the century; it reached a representation in excess of 50 per cent for some institutions and periods. Its decline from this dominant position began before the 1870s, but it became more rapid thereafter until the First World War. Despite a modest recovery during the Weimar period, the group fell to roughly half of its original size, or to some 20–25 per cent of university enrolments. Much of the space thus ‘left open’ was taken up by an almost equally important social group, namely the lower officials, including many primary teachers. In any cross-national comparison, this group stands out as a further hallmark of the modern German university system. It was quantitatively significant even during the early nineteenth century, at some 15–20 per cent of enrolments, and it reached a representation in excess of 30 per cent by about 1930. That much is safely established. Unfortunately, the situation is less clear with respect to the industrial and commercial occupations, or the economic upper and lower middle classes. The sources do not, before 1911, consistently distinguish the economic bourgeoisie of large-scale owners, managers and executive-level employees from the old ‘burgher stratum’ (Mittelstand) of small-scale independent producers and tradesmen on the one hand, and from the ‘new lower middle class’ (neuer Mittelstand) of lower-level employees and clerks. The percentages listed in the table for the ‘economic upper middle class’ in 1821–37, 1874–76 and 1887–91 encompass ‘industrialists’, along with a few large-scale businessmen and insurance agents. The ‘smaller independents’ listed for these periods consist primarily of merchants, shopkeepers and innkeepers. The lesser employees apparently did not become quantitatively significant until late in the century; the farmers made up a modest and declining contingent, and the working classes remained virtually excluded from the universities, except when grouped with artisans in 1874–76. The economic middle classes of early nineteenth-century Germany consisted predominantly of early industrial ‘burghers’, of small merchants, small producers and independent artisans. Therefore the increased representation of the economic occupations at the German universities after 1870 was not necessarily progressive. While workers and petty employees made up significantly increased portions of the work force, their offspring rarely reached the universities. The very small entrepreneurial upper middle class, by contrast, achieved a representation in excess of 10 per cent by the early twentieth century, adding a ‘plutocratic’ element to the reduced presence of the old educated elite. This is not to deny that German university recruitment became somewhat 259

Fritz Ringer Table 7.9 Social origins of students at selected German universities, 1800–1910 (estimated percentages of fathers in various occupational groups)a Fathers’ occupations

1797

1817

1837

1857

Nobility Learned professions Econ. up.-mid. class Lower middle class Lower/working Unknown

18 40 7 21 1 13

13 42 12 23 1 9

10 47 15 21 1 6

10 43 21 18 1 7

1870s

1890s

1910s

34 31

32 35

30 36

34

32

35

a

¨ und die burgerliche ¨ From K. H. Jarausch, ‘Die neuhumanistische Universitat Gesellschaft 1800–1870’, in C. Probst (ed.), Darstellungen und Quellen zur Geschichte der deutschen Einheitsbewegung, 11 (Heidelberg, 1981), 11–58, esp. 14–15, 32, 39, and Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 122–8. Jarausch drew on published matriculation records for the ¨ ¨ universities of Tubingen (1776–1817), Gottingen (1779–1837), Erlangen (1798–1843), Kiel (1827–64) and Heidelberg (1807–70). His numerical results for this whole sample, in the summary occupational categories he used, are reproduced under ‘5 Universities 1777–1867’ in Table 7.8, except for 8 per cent Unknowns. The first percentage in that column is for the nobility (use of von); ‘economic upper middle class’ encompasses landowners as well as businessmen. In Students (note 42), Jarausch presented a similar sample in a similar graph for the University of Bonn between 1840 and 1910. Finally, Jarausch combined his Bonn data with published surveys for the universities of Berlin and of Leipzig, and for ¨ students from Wurttemberg, from the 1860s to the 1910s, drawing upon the very rough occupational categories used by the author of the Berlin survey. The last three columns of Table 7.9 reproduce this portion of Jarausch’s numerical results for three selected decades; ‘economic upper middle class’ here encompasses industrialists and merchants of all sizes, while the ‘lower middle class’ covers lower officials (including teachers), artisans and farmers.

more progressive during the century after 1820, and especially between 1870 and 1930. It is to say only that the progressive shift was more modest than has been widely realized, and perhaps also that the German universities of the early nineteenth century were already more progressive than is commonly thought.35 In any case, there is nothing to suggest a more dramatic shift in a progressive direction at the German universities between 1800 and 1914. I have tried to show this in Table 7.9. Broken down into distributions for selected sample years, the results for five universities indicate no steady decrease in the representation of the educated upper middle class between 1797 and 1857, and they do document a steady increase in the percentages for the economic upper middle class. Thus, even if the declining share of the nobility is taken into account as well, the joint indicators for the upper and upper middle classes actually rose gradually from 65 in 1797 to 74 35

On p. 80 of Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, K. Jarausch reports my conclusions in a condensed but generally accurate way; his own formulations on pp. 122–6 are consistent with mine.

260

Admission Table 7.10 Social origins of German university students by field of study, 1874–1931 (percentages of fathers in indicative occupational groups)a Faculties or fields of study Law Medicine Protestant theology Catholic theology Humanities Sciences Technology All Fields

Leipzig, 1874–78 Learned prof./ Lower officials

Prussia, 1900 Learned prof./ Lower officials

Germany, 1931 Learned prof./ Lower officials

39/9 40/10 50/19

26/27 31/25

30/20 27/13

27/17 25/20 38/33 4/22 20/28 19/22

37/13

23/21

19/37 16/38 17/28 22/32

a From Ringer, Education and Society, 88, 101. ‘Humanities’ and ‘Sciences’ jointly cover students in the faculties of arts and sciences. ‘Lower officials’ includes lower teachers, as in Table 7.8. Some 26 per cent of students in Catholic theology at Prussian universities in 1900 had fathers who were farmers, whereas the corresponding figure for all fields was eleven. Some 18 per cent of students at the German technical institutes (‘Technology’) in 1931 had fathers who were owners, managers or executive-level employees of large firms, whereas the corresponding figure for all fields was eleven. Fields other than ‘Technology’ in 1931 cover only students at universities (not technical institutes).

in 1857. To be sure, the very summary percentages for the 1870s, 1890s and 1910s appear inconsistent with the pattern in evidence through 1857; but they too suggest a stable representation of the lower middle classes, rather than an increasing one. Table 7.10 deals with the social composition of the major faculties and fields at German universities between 1874 and 1931 by focusing upon the two most consistently significant and well-delimited occupational groups among students’ fathers. To read the table, one must compare the percentages for specific faculties or fields with those for all fields. Thus one can see fairly quickly that the faculty of Protestant theology and especially the humanities wing of the faculty of arts and sciences (‘philosophy’), which trained secondary teachers, served as channels of upward social mobility through education for the sons of lower officials and primary teachers. Protestant theology also recruited disproportionately from the learned professions; presumably it attracted many pastors’ sons. In Catholic theology, as the note to the table indicates, the offspring of farmers were unusually numerous. In the sciences division of ‘philosophy’, the learned professions were consistently underrepresented; but the lower officials and teachers were not markedly over-represented until after 1900, when the sciences came to occupy a secure place in the secondary curriculum. By 1931, in any case, the recruitment of science students was even more progressive than that of the humanists. 261

Fritz Ringer As we have already noted, the quantitative significance of civil servants and teachers among students’ fathers was a salient characteristic of the German universities during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Table 7.10 shows that this trait was associated particularly with the faculties of philosophy and theology, and with the training of future secondary teachers and clerics. The professional faculties, by contrast, attracted disproportionate shares of students from upper middle-class backgrounds. Around 1900, law clearly outstripped medicine in this respect; but the roles had been reversed by 1931. The direct and indirect costs of access to the medical and legal professions, including the legally trained portion of the high civil service, tended to discourage aspirants from modest circumstances. At the technical institutes in 1931, finally, the economic upper and lower middle classes must have been more strongly represented than either of the groups treated in the table. Indeed, as the note indicates, the entrepreneurial elite was particularly interested in this sector of German higher education. One could speak of a mild form of segmentation. The French distributions charted in Table 7.11 provide a sharp contrast with German patterns. To be sure, the available data do not pertain to the French system of higher education as a whole, but only to selected portions of it. To focus upon three provincial law faculties before the French Revolution is to neglect their academically and socially more distinguished rival in Paris. The columns for the 1860s really reflect the educational plans of secondary graduates, not all of whom ultimately realized their academic ambitions. Moreover, these data pertain to the two main professional faculties during an era when the faculties of letters and of sciences were of only marginal importance. The particularly prestigious faculties of law at that time attracted significant numbers of students who did not to intend to enter the legal professions. The figures on the two most famous grandes e´ coles, by contrast, stem from a period when the expansion and stepwise accreditation of non-classical secondary schooling produced a progressive shift in the social origins of students even at these elite institutions. This is documented more fully by the authors whose findings are summarized in these columns. There is no information, unfortunately, for the reformed faculties of letters and of sciences, which were undoubtedly more progressive in their recruitment than any of the major grandes e´ coles. Thus the most obvious case of segmentation in French higher education, the divide between the grandes e´ coles and the university faculties, particularly those of letters and of sciences, is not visible in Table 7.11. Even so, the table leaves no doubt at all that the French professional faculties from the late eighteenth century to around 1880 and the Ecole Polytechnique even thereafter were overwhelmingly dominated by the upper middle class. Thoroughly disproportionate over-representations 262

Admission Table 7.11 Social origins of French university-level students, 1773–1914 (percentages of fathers in various occupational groups)a Fathers’ occupational groups

4 Provincial Law Fac. 1773–89

Prospective students 1864 Law, Medicine

Ecole Polytechnique 1880–1914

Ecole Normale 1880–1909

Landed nobility Learned professions and officers Econ. upper middle Lower middle class Lower working class

3–4 65–77

37

37

20

38

39

33

24

30

38 30 11

20 36 6

2–9 10–25 1–5

a

The data on the provincial law faculties of Douai 1773–75, Nancy 1782–89 and Dijon 1785–89 are from Chartier, Julia and Compère, L’Education (note 10), 277–8. ‘Learned professions’ here comprises two groups of about equal size; (1) the ‘higher liberal professions’ and ‘holders/owners of major offices’ (grands officiers), and (2) the ‘lower liberal professions’ and ‘minor officiers’; the ‘Economic upper middle class’ consists of ‘bourgeois’, and the rubric ‘Lower middle class’ is somewhat arbitrarily assigned to ‘merchants’ (marchands). Data on secondary school leavers planning to study law or medicine as of 1864 are from P. Harrigan and V. Negila, Lycéens et collégiens sous le Second Empire: Etude statistique sur les fonctions sociales de l’enseignement secondaire publique d’après l’enquête de Victor Duruy (1864–65) (Paris, 1979), table 15. The ‘Economic upper middle class’ here also includes 29 per cent and 22 per cent ‘property-owners’ (propriétaires), respectively, under law and medicine. The figures on the Ecole Polytechnique and the Ecole Normale Supérieure are, respectively, from T. Shinn, Savoir scientifique et pouvoir social: L’Ecole polytechnique, 1794–1914 (Paris, 1980), and R. J. Smith, The Ecole Normale Supérieure and the Third Republic (Albany, 1982); but are here taken directly from Ringer, Education and Society, 175–8. At Polytechnique, the ‘Economic upper middle class’ also includes 13 per cent propriétaires and rentiers; the ‘Lower middle class’ encompasses 10 per cent shopkeepers, 10 per cent middle and 10 per cent lower officials; the ‘Lower/working class’ is broadly defined as classes populaires. At Normale, the ‘Learned professions’ include 18 per cent secondary and university teachers; ‘Economic upper middle class’ includes 8 per cent propriétaires and large farmers; ‘Lower middle class’ encompasses 14 per cent middle and lower officials, 10 per cent lower teachers, and 13 per cent shopkeepers, artisans and lower white-collar employees; the ‘Lower/working class’ is made up of skilled workers.

were achieved not only by the liberal and learned professions, as in Germany, but also by the rich and powerful office-holders of the old regime, by the propriétaires, the only occasionally aristocratic owners of land and other forms of capital during the nineteenth century, and by the entrepreneurial elite that did not enter German higher education in force until the late nineteenth century. If one uses the term bourgeoisie as it has come to be used in France, to designate all sectors of a propertied and educated upper middle class, then some 75–80 per cent of French law students through 1864, along with nearly 60 per cent of students at the Ecole Polytechnique between 1880 and 1914 came from bourgeois families. The corresponding figure for the Prussian universities in 1911–12 (from Table 7.8) was less than 40 per cent for landowners, the learned 263

Fritz Ringer professions, and the economic upper middle class of large commercial and industrial owners, managers and executive employees.36 If we had data on the French faculties of letters and of sciences after 1880, they would certainly resemble their German equivalents more closely. More generally, the reforms in the French universities during the late nineteenth century must have brought the French and German universities closer together in their social make-up. As it is, one must look at the Ecole Normale Supérieure to find anything like German patterns of recruitment in nineteenth-century French higher education. For this distinctive institution drew principally upon the educated, rather than the propertied, portion of the French middle-class spectrum. As of 1880– 1909, among fathers of students at this meritocratic training ground for the elite of secondary and university teachers, well over a third were in lower middle-class occupations, including 24 per cent (as against 32 per cent in Prussia as of 1911–12) who were middle and lower officials and teachers. If one adds the figure for university faculty and secondary teachers to that for primary teachers, one arrives at a remarkable 28 per cent for fathers in education. Within the French system, at any rate, the Ecole Normale stood out as a relatively progressive and emphatically academic institution. For nineteenth-century English higher education, we only have the figures for the two ancient universities of Oxford and Cambridge in Table 7.12. The social categories are a little vague; but they are used consistently enough to permit a look at changes over time. A greater proportion of unknowns probably accounts for the apparently smaller percentages for the major groups at Oxford during the early nineteenth century. If the unknowns were distributed roughly like the knowns, then the landed gentry and the Anglican clergy each could be seen to have accounted for roughly a third of enrolments at the two English universities of the early nineteenth century. The lay professions at that time reached a representation of around 20 per cent, with the middle-class business occupations ranking in fourth place, and the artisan classes scarcely present at all. Thus the secular middle classes were undoubtedly much weaker in the English than in the French and German universities at that time. Change away from this pattern was slow and possibly unsteady until the mid-century; but then the professions and, to a lesser extent, the business groups expanded their portion of enrolments to some 50–60 per cent by the end of the century. We cannot be sure, but even by that time, neither the lower middle classes in general nor the lower civil servants and teachers in particular appear to have been as well represented at Oxford and Cambridge as at the continental universities, and especially in Germany. 36

See also Ringer, Education and Society, 170–80.

264

Admission Table 7.12 Social origins of English university students 1800–1900 (percentages of fathers in various occupational groups)a Fathers’ occupation Landowners Clergy Professions Business Tradesmen, clerks, working class Unknown Total N

Cambridge

Oxford

1800–49 31 32 21 6

1850–99 19 31 26 15

1818/19 23 25 15 12 1

1848/9 23 23 27 9 2

1878/9 18 25 29 18 4

1897/8 12 16 37 27 5

10 100

9 100

24 100 378

16 100 444

6 100 740

3 100 795

a Data on Cambridge University are from H. Jenkins and D. Caradog Jones, ‘Social Class of Cambridge University Alumni of the 18th and 19th Centuries’, British Journal of Sociology, 1 (1950), 93–116, esp. 99 (based on J. and J. Venn, Alumni Cantabrigienses. A Biographical List of All Known Students, Graduates and Holders of Office at the University of Cambridge, From the Earliest Times to 1900. Part II: From 1752 to 1900, 10 vols. (Cambridge, 1940–54)). Data on Oxford are from History of Oxford, VII, Part 2, 578, Table 24.1. ‘Landowners no Professions’. ‘Professions’ encompass law, medicine, teaching, and public service (civil, colonial and diplomatic). ‘Unknown’ for Cambridge includes only ‘miscellaneous’.

Thus this sector of English higher education was almost certainly the least progressive in Europe until the present century. In Table 7.13, finally, we get a glimpse of the Swedish and Danish universities on the eve of the First World War. The Swedish system by that time rather closely approximated German levels of progressiveness, with slightly higher representations for the learned professions, but also for farmers and workers. Students at the University of Copenhagen, however, came a good deal more often than their German colleagues from upper middle-class backgrounds. All sectors of the lower middle class were notably more poorly represented at Copenhagen than at German institutions, although a strong contingent of farmers at Copenhagen partly compensated for this shortfall. In any case, the divergences of social recruitment were no longer as great by around 1911 as the differences between the English, French and German universities had been during the early nineteenth century. We spoke earlier of a convergence between the educational and the occupational systems in Germany from the late nineteenth century on; but perhaps we should have referred to a double convergence. For it seems increasingly clear that during the late industrial phase in their history, the European university systems shed some of the special characteristics that had distinguished them from each other a century earlier. Levels of 265

Fritz Ringer Table 7.13 Social origins of German, Danish and Swedish university students about 1910 (percentages of fathers in various occupational groups)a Fathers’ occupations

Prussia 1911–12

Sweden 1910

Denmark 1913

Landowners Learned professions Econ. upper-middle class Smaller independents Lesser employees Lower officials Farmers Working class Other, unknown

5 21 12 23 3 27 6 2

2 24 10 19

2 33 14 12 7 13 12 4 3

29 9 5 2

a

¨ (note 21), 204–5, based on F. T. B. Friis, ‘De studerende From Kaelble, Soziale Mobilitat ved Kobenhavns universitet’, Nationalokonomisk Tidsskrift, 57 (1919); S. Moberg, Verm ¨ 1951), except for the Prussian data, which blev Student och vad blev Studenten? (Malmo, is from Table 7.8. The absolute totals of samples are 2,692 for Denmark (the University of Copenhagen), and 1,285 for Sweden. A few teachers at private and municipal schools are included among ‘Lower officials’, which generally includes teachers in state schools.

progressiveness probably increased everywhere, perhaps less rapidly in Germany than in systems that began less auspiciously. It is hard to say whether higher levels of progressiveness also engendered increased social mobility through education; but on the whole I doubt it. For as higher education became even a little more generally available, it lost some of the ‘market’ advantages of rarity. As the entrepreneurial middle classes began to patronize higher education, moreover, upward mobility through education to some extent replaced earlier patterns of social ascent without or around the universities. But we are far from understanding all the complexities involved. My aim here has been only to sketch the flow of students into the European universities of the nineteenth century in a preliminary way. select bibliography Albisetti, J. C. Schooling German Girls and Women: Secondary and Higher Education in the Nineteenth Century, Princeton, 1988. ¨ Conze, W. and Kocka, J. Bildungsburgertum im 19. Jahrhundert. Bildungssystem und Professionalisierung in internationalen Vergleichen, Stuttgart, 1985. Jarausch, K. H. Students, Society, and Politics in Imperial Germany: The Rise of Academic Illiberalism, Princeton, 1982. Jarausch, K. H. (ed.) The Transformation of Higher Learning, 1860–1930: Expansion, Diversification, Social Opening, and Professionalization in England,

266

Admission Germany, Russia and the United States, Historisch-sozialwissenschaftliche Forschungen 13, Stuttgart, 1983. ¨ und Chancengleichheit im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Kaelble, H. Soziale Mobilitat ¨ Gottingen, 1983. ¨ Muller, D. K. Sozialstruktur und Schulsystem: Aspekte zur Theorie und Praxis ¨ der Schulorganisation im 19. Jahrhundert, W. Ruegg and O. Neuloh (eds.), ¨ Studien zum Wandel von Gesellschaft und Bildung 9, Gottingen, 1977. ¨ Muller, D. K., Ringer, F. and Simon, B. (eds.) The Rise of the Modern Educational System: Structural Change and Social Reproduction 1870–1920, Cambridge, 1987. Ringer, F. K. Education and Society in Modern Europe, Bloomington and London, 1979. Fields of Knowledge: French Academic Culture in Comparative Perspective, 1890–1920, Cambridge, 1992. Toward a Social History of Knowledge, New York, 2000, esp. Ch. 3. Titze, H. (ed.) Das Hochschulstudium in Preussen und Deutschland 1820–1944, Datenhandbuch zur deutschen Bildungsgeschichte I: Hochschulen, Teil 1, ¨ Gottingen, 1987. Weisz, G. The Emergence of Modern Universities in France (1863–1914), Princeton, 1983.

267

CHAPTER 8

STUDENT MOVEMENTS

LIEVE GEVERS AND LOUIS VOS

In the previous volumes of this History of the University in Europe, under the title ‘Student education, student life’, a picture of the student’s social life was sketched out, focusing on the material and educational aspects of daily life. An approach of this kind is in agreement with the first two core topics of the history of student life.1 The third core topic, that of political engagement, is entirely different in character. Political engagement does not take place exclusively in the small world of the university but views this world as an extension of broader society. For the history of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the topic of student movements is more significant than the history of everyday student life alternating between student rooms, pubs and lecture theatres. Although the apolitical spending of free time, the mores (student traditions) and the gulf between ‘town and gown’ continued to exist in the nineteenth century to a far greater extent than hitherto, at the same time students felt they heard a call from the broader society. They sensed this calling both in their direct political engagement and in their preparation for later life. The effort made to attain that great goal even became the principal task and reason to exist at a given moment in time and for particular students. Analyzing and describing these developments means paying attention to the chronological interaction of events and ideologies, the formation and alternation of generations, the effects of student action in broader history, and the evolving self-image of the movement. In its ‘classical’ manifestation, i.e. from its origins at the beginning of the nineteenth century to the ‘new’ student movement of 1968, the student movement had the following characteristics.2 It was a – more or 1 2

Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 9–12. L. Vos, ‘Rebelse generaties. Het studentenprotest van de jaren zestig’, in L. Vos, M. Derez, I. Depraeterre and W. Van der Steen, Studentenprotest in de jaren zestig. De stoute

269

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos less organized – collective action by students under their own leadership to influence society. It generally tied in with a broader political current or emancipation movement, in which it often played a radical spearhead role, and for which it also served as a mobilizing channel. While the student movement adopted the ideals and motives for fighting from the broader movement, it also influenced the broader movement. On the one hand it affected society at large, and on the other it trained and prepared its members for a later task. This training always had an action component: through action the conviction and idealism of future leaders were strengthened. A precondition for any movement is the existence of communication and mobilization channels, such as meetings, periodicals and publications. Particular associations may struggle with each other for dominance, or form the core of the movement. But membership of this association does not, in fact, mark the boundary of the movement.3 Activists in student movements develop an image of themselves and their movement, as a result of which they acquire a role of their own in history and society at large.4 This ‘narrative of consciousness’ changes over the course of time, yet each period brings new generations and individuals to commit themselves to the movement.5 In modern – urban – society, as it has been emerging since the nineteenth century, the student had three specific characteristics that made him susceptible to a cause. First, the student enjoyed an atypical social position in which he almost exclusively came into contact with fellow students in his daily life, thereby escaping the multiplicity of roles typical of modern society. Being a student was playing (or living) a total role,6 so that role

3

4

5

6

jaren (Tielt, 1978), 43–52; L. Vos, ‘Student Movements: Some Theoretical Aspects’, in B. Henkens et al. (eds.), Student Protest in Contemporary Europe. ISHA Journal, 3 (Louvain, 1995), 3–18; L. Vos, ‘Nationalism and Student Movements: Conceptual Framework and a Flemish Case-Study’, in M. Norrback and K. Ranki (eds.), University and Nation: The University and the Making of the Nation in Northern Europe in the 19th and 20th Centuries (Helsinki, 1996), 77–87. G. Langguth, Die Protestbewegung in der Bundesrepublik Deutschlands, 1968–1976 (Cologne, 1976), 23–4; K. R. Allerbeck, Soziologie radikaler Studentenbewegungen. Eine vergleichende Untersuchung in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland und den Vereinigten Staaten (Munich and Vienna, 1973), 37. S. K. Morrissey, Heralds of the Revolution: Russian Students and the Mythology of Radicalism (Oxford, 1998), 5. Allerbeck, Soziologie (note 3), 40–4. See also J. R. Gillis, Youth and History: Tradition and Change in European Age Relations. 1770 to the Present (New York, 1974). Morrissey, Heralds (note 4), who analyzed the ‘narrative of consciousness’ of the Russian student movement, regards the student movement as ‘a phenomenon analogous both to class and nation’, because, like ‘those two other categories of identity’, it principally exists ‘through the consciousness of its members’. ¨ K. R. Allerbeck, ‘Eine strukturelle Erklarung von Studentenbewegungen in entwick¨ ¨ Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, elten Industriegesellschaften’, Kolner Zeitschrift fur 23 (1971), 482–90.

270

Student movements conflicts no longer occurred; an insider feeling easily arose with respect to non-student outsiders; and a rebellious attitude could be adopted without having to pay a high social price. This is why students, more readily than workers or young working people, opt for the pure principle that they defend in an expressive or ‘testifying’ way, rather than the half-hearted compromise called for by an instrumental and pragmatic approach.7 Second, there was the student’s intellectual habit, by which he could easily observe and analyze problems in society, examine the current values and truths in a critical manner, and handle ideological concepts with no difficulty. Third, a student movement is sustained by a particular generation. A layering effect ensues from generation-forming events experienced by adjacent years or age cohorts during their period of socialization.8 Each generation meets the culture handed over to it with new eyes, and from this fresh contact there arises a style that differs from the one expressed by previous generations. Consequently, a student movement cannot be studied as a category in its own right, but rather as an historical moment of reproduction and transformation in society.9 Student movements, viewed as the organized participation of students under their own leadership in a broader emancipation current, emerged in some European countries and at particular times more than others, sustained by specific generations of students. An additional problem dating from the nineteenth century was the growing importance of national context. This led to different developments in different European countries, making a genuine synthesis all the more difficult. This chapter therefore focuses on certain countries rather than others.10 s t u d e n t s f i g h t i n g f o r f r e e d o m (1800–1830) The first modern student movements developed against the backdrop of Enlightenment and Romanticism at the end of the eighteenth century. 7 8

9

10

C. Verhoeven, ‘Dubieus idealisme’, Jeugd en samenleving, 3 (1973), 307–15. ¨ ¨ Soziologie, K. Mannheim, ‘Das Problem der Generationen’, Kolner Viertelsjahresheft fur 7 (1928), 157–85, 309–30; E. Pfeil, ‘Der Kohortansatz in der Soziologie. Ein Zugang ¨ ¨ Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, 19, zur Generationsproblem?’, Kolner Zeitschrift fur 4 (1967), 645–57; A. B. Spitzer, ‘The Historical Problem of Generations’, American Historical Review, 57, 5 (1973), 1353–85; R. G. Braungart, ‘The Sociology of Generations and Student Politics: A Comparison of the Functionalist and Generational Unit Models’, Journal of Social Issues, 30, 2 (1974), 31–54. ¨ L. Rosenmayr, ‘Jugend’, in R. Konig (ed.), Handbuch der empirischen Sozialforschung (Stuttgart, 1976), vol. VI; see also K. R. Allerbeck and L. Rosenmayr (eds.), Aufstand der Jugend? Neue Aspekte der Jugendsoziologie (Munich, 1971). We have dealt more or less systematically with movements in Germany, France, Russia, England, Scotland, Sweden, Finland, Belgium, the Netherlands and the Danube Monarchy, with its Polish, Czech, Slovak, Slovenian, Croatian and Serbian student movements. We have also given some attention to Romania, Greece, Italy and Spain. For the latter Prof. Maria Fernanda Mancebo sent us a paper, entitled ‘Estudiantes’.

271

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos New ideals of freedom and fraternity appealed to students throughout Europe in such a way that they felt called, both literally and figuratively, to man the barricades in order to point the way to a new future for their own community, thereby appearing as a fighting vanguard and as idealistic prophets. A little-known early example of a student movement – which did not survive – was the revolt that arose in Cambridge in the 1780s. Inspired by the radical liberalism of the English Enlightenment, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) and his friends committed themselves to ‘Liberty and Equality’ and succeeded in building up a broad base within the student community. But when the French Revolution broke out, the established intellectuals almost as a matter of principle became anti-revolutionary. And yet England afterwards became the motherland of European Romanticism, with figures such as William Blake (1757–1827), William Wordsworth (1770–1850), Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822), John Keats (1795–1821) as well as Coleridge. They looked to the Revolution with admiration and gathered on the side of ‘the people’ against the forces of reaction which, following the fall of Napoleon, had come to power again. But the English student generations of the early nineteenth century were little moved by this.11 Poland in 1793, after the second Polish partition, provided the first example of students as a group putting themselves at the service of the national community, and whose calling was adopted by following generations.12 A wave of Polish nationalism culminated in the 1794 uprising led by Tadeusz Koˇsciusko (1746–1817). Students enthusiastically supported the uprising, in which they fought in their own military units. Of the 387 students who had been enrolled at the University of Cracow in 1791, around 200 had entered service. But the revolution misfired. Poland disappeared from the map, and it was not until the Polish legion, commanded by Jan Hendrik Da¸browski (1755–1818), joined up with Napoleon’s army that independence was, to some extent, restored in the Grand Duchy of Warsaw created by the French emperor. While the Polish students pinned all their hopes on Napoleon, German students regarded him as someone who threatened the very existence of the German nation. The defeat of Prussia in 1806 was an event that gave 11

12

B. Simon, ‘The Student Movement in England and Wales During the 1930s’, History of Education, 16, 3 (1987), 189–203. The following generations forgot about the student movement of 1780, so that it did not become part of the collective memory. It was not ‘discovered’ again until 150 years later through historical research: p. 203, based on B. R. Schneider, Wordsworth’s Cambridge Education (Cambridge, 1957) and F. Knight, University Rebel: The life of William Frend. 1757–1841 (London, 1971). L. Révész, Jugendbewegungen im Ostblock (Vienna, 1985), 63, which is mainly based ´ krakowskich (Od Oswiecenia do powstania on M. Francic, ‘Cztery pokolenia studentow ´ mlodzie˙zy Uniwersytetu Krakowskiego ´ 1848 r.)’, in C. Bobinska (ed.), Studia z dziejow od o´swiecenia do polowy XX wieku, vol. I (Cracow, 1964), 19–106.

272

Student movements direction and had a generation-forming effect for the student youth of the time. It had the effect that, in the resistance to French suppression, the striving for freedom and emancipation of the citizens finally shifted from the individual level to one of the German people as a community. The dream arose that the liberation of the fatherland would result in a spiritual revival and territorial unification of the German people. Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762–1814) provided the intellectual legitimacy for this cultural nationalism with political consequences in the winter of 1807–8, in his Reden an die Deutsche Nation (Speeches to the German Nation). And Ernst Moritz Arndt (1769–1860) continued the emotional tone in 1813 in the song he composed with the question ‘Where is my German Fatherland?’, with the reply ‘as far as the German tongue rings’. His article ¨ Uber den deutschen Studentenstaat, in which he pinned great hopes on the student generation of that time, also found great resonance in the academic world.13 Under the influence of this new spirit, student movements emerged in many cities. In Berlin, Friedrich Ludwig Jahn (1778–1852) – the founder of the gymnastics movement – together with his friend, the philosophy professor much admired in student circles, Jakob Friedrich Fries (1773– 1843), started in 1811 the secret student association Deutscher Bund which would prepare them for the coming war of liberation. Two years later, students from Jena with the support of some professors founded a first Urburschenschaft under the motto ‘Ehre, Freiheit, Vaterland’. It was a fighting German national association, which aimed to promote the establishment of a liberal constitutional state for the whole of the fatherland. Those who took the initiative wanted to displace the existing apolitical Landsmannschaften which were supported by regional recruitment and breathed a particularistic spirit. They also opposed academic privileges and aristocratic student clothing, and prompted a ‘moral regeneration of student life’ that would emancipate ‘schoolboys’, thereby allowing them to become ‘citizens of the academic community’.14 They nevertheless adopted certain rituals and functions from the existing student customs, as well as a certain Teutonic and anti-Semitic Romanticism. Many German students were prepared to fight as volunteers for the liberation of the fatherland. They joined the student Freischar of Major ¨ Ludwig Adolf Wilhelm von Lutzow (1782–1834), which at one time numbered 2,800 members,15 and the colours of which – blackened civil cloth 13 14

15

¨ eure und unsere Freiheit.’ Studentenschaft und junge Intelligenz in M. Wawrykowa, ‘Fur ¨ Ost-und Mitteleuropa in der ersten Halfte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart, 1985), 42, 49. K. H. Jarausch, ‘The Sources of German Student Unrest. 1815–1848’, in L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol II: Europe, Scotland and the United States from the 16th to the 20th Century (London, 1975), 533–67, here 536–8. ¨ Von der mittelalterlichen Universitas zur ¨ R. A. Muller, Geschichte der Universitat. deutschen Hochschule (Hamburg, 1996), 74ff.

273

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos as uniform, red cuffs and brassy buttons – were the origin of the German national colours of black, red and gold. The volunteers hoped that after the war the unity and freedom of the nation would be attained through a constitution based on the sovereignty of the people. The war experience caused the prestige and self-confidence of the students to increase, and when they returned from the battlefields former volunteers formed the backbone of new student associations.16 Jena belonged to the state of Sachsen-Weimar, where in 1816 a constitution was introduced ensuring a climate of relative freedom. It was located in the geographical heartland of Germany and drew students from almost every German state. Jena was therefore a suitable operating base for spreading new initiatives. The students of Jena took the lead again.17 The Burschenschaft now began working at full strength and became a framework for student democracy, in which each student acquired the right to contribute to any decision on important matters facing the student community. The group of 143 initial members grew in the winter term of 1815–16 to 500 out of a total of 650 students. The example proved infectious and ushered in the first phase of the ¨ movement, that of the Schwarmer (visionary enthusiasts).18 Burschen¨ schaften soon also came into being in Heidelberg, Freiburg, Tubingen and Giessen. In Halle, students founded the Teutonia association, with the aim of strengthening the German language, culture and love of the ¨ fatherland. At the northern German universities of Kiel and Gottingen, and at the smaller Greifswald and Rostock universities, it took a while before the students were won over to these Burschenschaften. In the newly founded University of Berlin, the Landsmannschaften continued to dominate until the end of the 1810s. On 18 October 1817, the 300th anniversary of the start of the Reformation, the students of Jena organized in Eisenach a Wartburgfest, which became the first highpoint in the new student movement. Some 450 to 500 students demonstrated for a liberal German national unity, ritually burnt reactionary books and symbols, and chose the black, red and gold tricolour as the symbol of the ‘equality and freedom’ of the German people. Half of them came from Jena, the others from ¨ Berlin, Erlangen, Giessen, Gottingen, Halle, Heidelberg, Kiel and Leipzig. One year later an Allgemeine Deutsche Burschenschaft was set up in Jena. It was a federation, uniting departments from fourteen German 16

17 18

G. Bartol, Ideologie und studentischer Protest. Untersuchungen zur Entstehung deutscher Studentenbewegungen im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1978), 56–8, 60–1; Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 52. Bartol, Ideologie (note 16), 82; W. Klose, Freiheit schreibt auf eure Fahnen. 800 Jahre Deutsche Studenten (Oldenburg and Hamburg, 1967), 142. Bartol, Ideologie (note 16), 63; Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 42–4.

274

Student movements universities. They already represented about 30 per cent of all students at that time.19 The ideological orientation of the German student movement was strongly influenced by a book published in 1819 by Jahn entitled Deutsches Volkstum, a book with strong Messianic elements that was ¨ read almost like a gospel. Henceforth the words volkstumlich and ¨ Volkstumlichkeit became established in the vocabulary of Romanticism. ¨ This quickly led to Volkstumelei of an extremely xenophobic and antiSemitic nature. Against this backdrop, Jewish students in 1819 were excluded from the Burschenschaften, a measure that was reversed at the Burschentage in Nuremberg in 1830 and Frankfurt in 1831 (but one that would be reintroduced in the mid-1890s).20 Varying political strategies nevertheless continued to exist above the common denominator of Romantic nationalism.21 Within the liberal-national wing of the student movement, quite quickly the Giessener Schwarzen or Unbedingten stood out as a radical group. Their society was set up by the charismatic lecturer Karl Follen (1795– 1840), who developed an original ideology in which he reconciled impulses from the French Revolution with Romantic ideas. The radical ‘Blacks’, more than the main current in the movement, championed the welfare and uplifting of the popular masses and wanted to do away with the oppression by the ruling class, through a popular uprising led by the intelligentsia. They were therefore strongly committed to waging systematic propaganda among ordinary people.22 The authorities naturally viewed this with some disquiet. The assassination of the German-born Russian diplomat and writer August von Kotzebue (1761–1819) by the Heidelberg theology student Karl Ludwig Sand (1795–1820), who belonged to the circle of the Giessener Schwarzen,23 was the opportunity Metternich (1773–1859) had dreamt 19

20

21 22 23

J. Bauer, ‘Die Wartburg und die Studenten – Festerlebnisse’, Aurora, 59 (1999), 225–36; ¨ ¨ Muller, Geschichte (note 15), 75; D. Duding, ‘The Nineteenth-Century German Nationalist Movement as a Movement of Societies’, in H. Schulze (ed.), Nation-Building in Central ¨ Europe (Leamington Spa, 1987), 19–49, 28; R. Muth, ‘Bekenntnis zu Schwarz-Rot-Gold. ¨ Die freiheitlich nationale Idee in der Tubinger Studentenschaft von 1813 bis 1848’, in H. M. Decker, H. G. Richter and K. Schreiner (eds.), 500 Jahre Eberhard Karls Univer¨ Tubingen. ¨ ¨ zur Geschichte des Universitat ¨ Tubingen, ¨ ¨ sitat Beitrage 1477–1977 (Tubingen, 1977), 251–84. D. Grieswelle, ‘Antisemitismus in deutschen Studentenverbindungen des 19. Jahrhun¨ derts’, in O. Neuloh and W. Ruegg (eds.), Student und Hochschule im 19. Jahrhundert. Studien und Materialien, Studien zum Wandel von Gesellschaft und Bildung im Neun¨ zehnten Jahrhundert 12 (Gottingen, 1975), 366–79, here 367. Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 49–50; D. F. Burg, Encyclopedia of Student and Youth Movements (New York, 1998), 36. Bartol, Ideologie (note 16), 70; Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 45–6. Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 46–8. The first ‘foreign’ poem devoted to him was written by the Russian poet Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin (1799–1837), see J.-C. Caron,

275

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos of for dealing with the student movement. He organized a meeting of representatives of German states in Carlsbad in Bohemia, and persuaded them to agree to a series of decrees that were approved by the Bundestag of the German Federation on 1 September 1819. They placed the universities under the supervision of government commissioners. The Burschenschaften were prohibited and student associations were only allowed to exist if special permission was obtained. Throughout Europe, the autonomy and influence of the universities were restricted.24 These repressive measures remained in force in the German Confederation for the next thirty years, and they partly paralysed the liberal movement, at least the legal one.25 Prosecution drove the Burschenschaften into hiding, with inevitable resulting radicalization. The German student movement also affected Finland, a region that had been governed by the Russian Tsar as a grand duchy since 1809. ˚ At the University of Abo (Turku), students founded in the autumn of 1816 an independent student fraternity along the lines of the Burschenschaft model. However, the academic authorities could not keep pace with it, preferring a general academic association. But the deeper basis of the difference of opinion was the rapturous devotion of the students to Romanticism on the one hand and the adherence of the academics to Classicism on the other. The tense relationship reached a climax in April 1817 with a petition and demonstrations by the students for more academic freedom. The students’ demands were largely met, so that cooperation was restored.26 In 1826–27, incidents between students and ˚ Russian soldiers in Abo (Turku), as well as a three-day fire in the same year that reduced a large part of the city to ashes, prompted the authorities to move the university to Helsingfors (Helsinki), the new de facto capital of the Grand Duchy of Finland. In 1828 there came new statutes providing for stricter control of student life. The Landsmannschaften were allowed to continue to exist, but only if they were more closely supervised by the professors.27 In Spain, law students in particular opted predominantly for the liberal camp, as is apparent from the part they played in the revolution of 1820,

24

25 26 27

Générations romantiques. Les e´ tudiants de Paris et le Quartier Latin (Paris, 1991), 245. On Sand see also chapter 10. R. Dudkowa, ‘Les e´ tudes des jeunes Polonais dans les universités e´ trangères au XIXe siècle. Une esquisse de problème’, in M. Kulczykowski (ed.), Pérégrinations Académiques. IVième session scientifique internationale. Cracovie 19–21 mai 1983. Prace Historyczne, Zeszyt 88 (Cracow, 1989), 131–60. L. W. Cowie and R. Wolfson, Years of Nationalism: European History 1815–1890 ¨ (London, 1985), 48–9; Nipperdey, Burgerwelt, 281–5. See also chapters 2 and 3. ¨ Helsinki, 239, 246–51, 253, 263–4. Klinge, Universitat Ibid., 279, 283, 295, 298, 301.

276

Student movements which aimed to reintroduce the abolished constitution of 1812.28 When, in Greece, the revolution for national independence erupted in March 1821, almost all Greek students and academics studying abroad returned to their homeland to take part.29 They brought enlightened European notions with them and developed a plan in 1824 for the establishment of a Greek university in Athens. This came into being in 1837, following the country’s independence. In Poland, unlike in Germany where most of the students and the intel¨ ligentsia came from the urban bourgeoisie (the Bildungsburgertum), students largely came from the very numerous szlachta or gentry. This section of society had regarded itself until the end of the eighteenth century as the sole carrier of the nation, but then, under the influence of the Enlightenment, it had transformed itself into a more open ‘intelligentsia’.30 Polish academic activity was sustained by the conviction that the university had its own mission in the continued existence of the nation, at the very moment of losing its independence. Polish students in Warsaw, ´ Vilnius, Cracow and Lemberg (Lwow), and also at other universities in the partitioning countries, consequently became spokesmen for the liberal and patriotic current that was focused on reviving the nation, a term gradually referring to the whole Polish people.31 Representative of this current was the Vilnius circle Towarzystwo Filo´ or ‘Fellowship of Philomaths’ (from the Greek: ‘friends of scimatow ence’), founded in 1817 by six students, including Adam Mickiewicz (1798–1855), along the lines of German student associations.32 From 1819 it displayed political conspiratorial activity, and even became the most widely branched Polish organization of its type, although at that time it was a strictly secret and closed circle.33 As in Finland, the Polish Philomaths rejected the rigidity of Classicism and opted for Romanticism as the spirit and ideal of the young generation. As Mickiewicz put it in his Oda dlo mlodo´sci (‘Ode to Youth’) and Romantyczno´sc´ ,34 which made a great impression on both students and 28

29

30 31 32 33 34

´ Mancebo, ‘Estudiantes’ (note 10); see also E. Hernandez Sandoica, ‘De la Universidad complutense a la universidad central’, in J. L. Peset (ed.), Historia y actualidad de la ˜ universidad espanola, 6 vols. (Madrid, 1985), vol. II, 466–502. ¨ ¨ A. N. Tsirpanles, ‘Die Ausbildung der Griechen an europaischen Universitaten und ¨ deren Rolle im Universitatsleben des modernen Griechenland’, in R. G. Plaschka and ¨ ¨ K. Mack (eds.), Wegenetz Europaischen Geistes, vol. II: Universitaten und Studenten. ¨ Die Bedeutung studentischer Migrationen in Mittel- und Sudosteuropa vom 18. Bis zum 20. Jahrhundert (Vienna, 1987), 250–72. Wawrykowka, Freiheit (note 13), 13. B. Klimaszewski (ed.), An Outline History of Polish Culture (Warsaw, 1984), 163. J. Tazbir (ed.), Zarys Historii Polski (Warsaw, 1980), 401. Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 84. The poem ‘Ode to Youth’ was written between 1818 and 1824. It was not published ´ A first translation into French (because of censorship?) until 1827 in (Austrian) Lwow.

277

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos other young people, faith and love were more important than research and study.35 Between 1817 and 1823, on former Polish territory and in other places where Poles were studying, some 50 student associations came into being. A number of them were small and only existed for a short time, but a few others comprised several hundred members and had an active existence for several years. The secret societies built up European networks. In 1820 former students set up a revolutionary committee in Switzerland, which was the most important centre of political migrants at the time, where all the paths of European conspiracy crossed. The committee founded a society made up ¨ of cells known as the Mannerbund, which hoped to turn Germany into a free republic through Volksaufstand und Volksrevolution.36 One of the exiled activists was Follen, the former leader of the ‘Blacks’ from Giessen, who had also fled to Switzerland, whence he maintained contact with the conspiratorial network until it was rounded up in 1823. He then moved permanently to the United States. The most important role model for the conspiratorial student radicals was the secret society of the Carbonari, which first appeared in 1807 in Calabria and was very active again in 1820–21 in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, especially in Naples and Salerno. It was a secret military society with legions, cohorts, centuries and maniples. Each carbonaro knew hardly any other carbonari, but all followed the leadership in blind obedience. Its leader, Filippo Buonarotti (1761–1837), was by then living in Switzerland and had built up a network of like-minded people throughout Europe. German, Polish and French students in exile joined his movement. In all European countries, therefore, the police were shadowing foreign students, and everywhere some of them were arrested for alleged conspiracy. This pointed to both the internationalization of the liberal network and the cross-border co-operation of the police services.37 The police also tried to infiltrate these networks through secret agents pretending to be revolutionaries. The most sensational figure in this context was Johann ¨ Wit-von Dorring (1800–63). He was a former member of the Giessener Schwarzen, who afterwards became an agent provocateur in the service of the Prussian, Austrian, French and Polish police. In 1824 the majority ¨ ¨ of the members of the Junglingsbund and Mannerbund were arrested.

35

36 37

was published in 1841, Z. Makowiecka, Mickiewicz w Collège de France. Pa´zdziernik 1840-maj 1844 (Warsaw, 1968), 213. Both texts in A. Mickiewicz, Dziela – Tom 1 Wiersze (Warsaw, 1949), 9–11, 102–4, 436–7. With thanks for this information to Dr Idesbald Goddeeris, Catholic University of Louvain. Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 58–65; L. Vos, with assistance of I. Goddeeris, De strijd van de witte adelaar. Geschiedenis van Polen (Louvain, 2000), 152–3. See also Klimaszewski (ed.), History (note 31), 169–70. Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 75–8. Caron, Générations (note 23), 271–2; Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 77–8.

278

Student movements In France – both Paris and Montpellier – there were strikes and demonstrations in the spring of 1819 against book censorship in the libraries, compulsory religious worship, and the sanctioning of a professor who had dared to express criticism of the existing situation.38 In November 1819, the French Government came up with a plan to amend the existing electoral system in a conservative direction. This again caused student protests directly after the reopening of the 1819–20 academic year, by coincidence also just after the Carlsbad decrees. Students launched a petition in Paris, Tours and Rennes. Les Amis de la Vérité secretly began forming an armed student company to prepare an uprising. When the heir to the throne was murdered in February 1820, this led to stronger repression by the government as well as to new student protests. In April 1820, the protest movement spread, first to the Sorbonne and then also to Aix-en-Provence, Rennes, Toulouse, Dijon, Strasburg and Grenoble. On 3 June 1820 the demonstrating crowd in Paris was attacked by plain-clothes police and, among the fleeing demonstrators, the law student Nicolas Lallemand was shot dead. His ‘martyrdom’ caused the unrest to spread to the working-class districts, as a result of which socio-economic grievances became more prominent. There were demonstrations of solidarity by students in Grenoble, Caen, Toulouse, Strasburg, Rennes, and soon also by workers and the bourgeoisie in Brest, Nantes, Lorient, Vitré, or by students and the population together in Poitiers, Lyon and Dijon. The ‘martyrdom’ also had a long-term impact: it gave rise to an ‘awareness of mission’ among French students, which marked the beginning of a genuine student movement. A minority of Royalist students who had opted for the side of the established order also demonstrated repeatedly. The government acted forcefully. At the beginning of July 1820 it imposed a strict disciplinary regime and brought the student population – both inside and outside the institution – entirely under control, which passed all the more easily because examinations were approaching. Sometimes, as in Grenoble, whole faculties were abolished. A last vestige of the June movement was the failed coup d’état of 19 August 1820. It was mainly prepared by Bonapartist army officers, but the armed branch of Les Amis de la Vérité, at that time around 600 men strong, also took part under the command of Saint-Amand Bazard (1791–1832) and the professor of philosophy, Victor Cousin (1792–1867). As was to be expected, the vast majority of the students remained outside this conspiratorial movement, but they gave vent to their mood of opposition through anti-clericalism, manifested increasingly from 1821–22. This was

38

Caron, Générations (note 23), 239–69.

279

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos expressed, for example, by disrupting services and by treating religious worship as absurd. In May 1821, the first French Carbonari branch was established in Paris by two students who had fought alongside the Neapolitan liberals and who had learnt the principles of the movement there.39 The movement spread rapidly across the Parisian faculties and out to the provinces. Among its supporters, servicemen formed the largest group with around 40 per cent, while the students, especially former members of the Amis de la Vérité lodge, came far behind with 11.5 per cent. The emphasis was on patriotism and national sovereignty, now that the Bourbons, who were involved in the Metternich system, had converted France into a third-rate power. The political orientation of the Carbonari movement was liberal, yet Bonapartist rather than republican. Its activities consisted of setting up conspiracies, all of which failed.40 King Charles X (1757–1836), who came to the throne in 1824, systematically continued the policy of control and to this end specially set up the Ministère des Affaires Ecclésiastiques et de l’Instruction Publique, a significant combination. The ever stronger presence of the Church through the proliferation of processions, the increase in monastic orders, and the wayside shrines built all over the countryside strengthened the anticlericalism of the opposition. It appeared that the Church wanted to sweep away la société la¨ıque (lay society). However, despite the censorship, the press in France remained predominantly liberal in orientation during the 1820s.41 A periodical such as Le Globe – which from 1824 was edited by young people, including students – exercised considerable influence, while publishing political poetry and exalting the Greek struggle for freedom in the context of the philhellenism that was appealing to young people throughout Europe. At the end of the 1820s new historical studies were published on the French Revolution, written and taught by figures such as Adolphe Thiers (1797–1877), Auguste Mignet (1796–1884), and Paul Matthieu Laurent de l’Ardèche (1799–1877). As a result, a younger generation was able to learn about the political culture of the revolutionary years of 1778–99. The ideals of the French Revolution received attention again, and the contrast with the existing situation was felt poignantly. Perhaps all this caused the students to protest again in May 1827. At that time the appointment of a ‘clerical’ professor was the final straw, leading to open demonstrations of protest. The subsequent court trial, in which the students were convicted, helped bring about a revival of political interest among a younger generation of students. It ensured that in 1830 they were ready for revolution. 39 41

40 Wawrykowa, Freiheit (note 13), 84. Ibid., 258. Caron, Générations (note 23), 270–3, 296.

280

Student movements r e v o l u t i o n a n d r e s t o r a t i o n (1830–1845) In the liberal and national revolutionary wave of 1830, the Revolution occurred at various places owing to the initiative of the students.42 In the French July Revolution – the renowned ‘three glorious days’ (27, 28 and ´ 29 July) – the students of the Ecole polytechnique were most noticeably present because they fought in uniform. They were quite quickly regarded by public opinion as ‘the July heroes’. But students of law, medicine and commerce also stood on the barricades, although they were less visible because they did not fight school-by-school and did not wear uniform. Students played a decisive role in launching the uprising and were numerically just as heavily involved as other social groups. Medical students provided care and assistance to the wounded of both camps.43 There were various opinions on the nature of the new regime to be established. A large proportion of students, like the majority of French public opinion, had been won over for a constitutional monarchy a` l’anglaise, for which Louis Philippe of Orléans (1773–1850) was the pretender. The latter hastened to ally himself with the students by collectively awarding a number of badges of honour of the Légion d’Honneur to the schools of medicine and law on 6 August, and by receiving student delegates on 10 August. But the Republicans were also active in all kinds of clubs as well as in the violent demonstrations of 17–20 October prompted by the trial of ministers of the former regime. They received support from some units of the Garde Nationale and from a number of students, but they remained in the minority. On the reopening of the academic year in November 1830, the students came to the political fore again in Paris with their demand for the right to freedom of association. The new student leader promoting this was Jules Théophile Sambuc (1804–34). He had studied at several German universities, was affected by the German student movement, continued his education in Lausanne, and returned to Paris where he enrolled as a law student in September 1830. He was the driving force in the creation of a separate student organization with a democratically elected administration, and of an independent journal. He also promoted the creation of a student international in which the European student movements would meet and bring about a young Europe of the intelligentsia through a network of correspondents. Revolution had meanwhile erupted elsewhere in Europe as well. Firstly in the southern part of the (united) Kingdom of the Netherlands, where early on there were liberal opposition voices to be heard among the 42 43

L. S. Feuer, The Conflict of Generations: The Character and Significance of Student Movements (New York, 1969), 264. Caron, Générations (note 23), 299, 310–19.

281

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos students, encouraged in their views by some young German professors. In Louvain, a first political student association was set up in 1821 on the model of the German Burschenschaft, which idolized philhellenism.44 From 1827, when the union of Catholic and liberal opposition had come about, rapid politicization was noticeable in the university context. It was striking that opposition occurred principally in the Liège and Louvain student milieu, while Ghent remained relatively calm.45 In the Belgian Revolution which erupted in the summer of 1830, the students accounted for a large proportion of the protesters, for which they later gained reward in new positions which were to be filled in the independent Belgium – de facto from November 1830. After 1830, the growing differences between the Catholic Church and the liberal Freemasons led to the abolition of the state university in Louvain and to the establishment – alongside the existing state universities of Ghent and Liège – of two ideologically coloured universities: a Free(-thinking) one in Brussels in 1834, and a Catholic one in Louvain in 1835.46 In the north of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, student life resumed the old traditions whereby students consciously put themselves outside social reality by cherishing companionship and friendship in their own circles, with ragging senates and debating societies. There was a single upsurge of social unrest in 1823, when in Leiden the city administration tried to suspend the traditional distribution of ‘herring and white bread’ to the poor, and the students then – and in subsequent years – organized it themselves. There also was a great deal of interest in Romantic writers such as Byron, Scott, Hugo and Heine. A first student corps was set up in 1815 in Groningen. Other places soon followed.47 The Belgian uprising sent a wave of patriotism and Orange sentiment through the universities of the (northern) Netherlands.48 Separate corps of volunteer riflemen were formed in Amsterdam, Groningen, Leiden and Utrecht. However, the first few months brought great disappointment to the student volunteers: military drill, keeping guard and boredom were their lot. It was not until the ‘ten-day campaign’ began in August 1831 that ‘heroic deeds’ could be performed. But the student volunteers did not have more than a few 44 45 46 47

48

E. Lamberts and J. Roegiers, De universiteit te Leuven. 1425–1985 (Louvain, 1988), 182. R. L. Plancke (ed.), Rijksuniversiteit Gent. 1817–1967 (Ghent, 1967), 15. See chapter 2, 40, chapter 10, 347; Chronological List 684. See an extensive depiction of this on the basis of literary sources: G. Brom, De omkeer in’t studentenleven (Delft, 1923), particularly Part I: ‘Het geslacht van Klikspaan’, 5–80. L. D. Frank and H. B. Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis van het Leidsche Studentencorps (Leiden, 1927), 12, 22; A. C. J. de Vrankrijker, Vier eeuwen Nederlandsch studentenleven ([Voorburg], 1939). F. Santegoets, ‘Togae cedant armis: een generatie getekend door de Belgische opstand’, in W. van den Broeke and P. van Hees (eds.), Studenten en nationaal gevoel in Nederland. Utrechtse Historische Cahiers, 19, 3 (1988), 21–33; R. Hagendijk. Het studentenleven. Opkomst en verval van de traditionele studentencultuur (Amsterdam, 1980), 44–6.

282

Student movements skirmishes to put on their roll of honour. When the French Army came to the assistance of the Belgians, the campaign was called off. The student volunteers were nevertheless welcomed as heroes on their return: the start of the new academic year was deferred for them, and they received academic recognition through a bronze badge of honour. The celebrations were completed on 22 June 1832 with the presentation of a metal cross cast from two canons captured from the Belgians. By taking part in the campaign – albeit on the side of the established order – the Dutch students had become full members of the nation.49 When the Russian Tsar prepared to come to the assistance of the Dutch prince against the Belgian rebels, an uprising against Russia broke out in Warsaw in November 1830. The cadets of the military school under the command of Piotr Wysocki (1797–1874) took the initiative, but they were assisted by a broad group of rebels, in which the students of the University of Warsaw were particularly prominent. They received support from Cracow, whence, in the first few days of 1831, 210 volunteers, more than half the Cracow student community, came to reinforce the ranks. The fighting lasted for ten months. Several students ended up in Russian prisons, where some were held until 1834.50 Others became part of the wielka emigracja (the great emigration) and went into exile abroad, chiefly to France (around half the students from Warsaw and most of the students from Vilnius, where almost the entire student population joined the uprising).51 After the Polish defeat the universities of Warsaw and Vilnius were closed. The Polish uprising strengthened enthusiasm for the Polish cause and aversion to Russia throughout Europe. This was especially the case in France, where the economic crisis in the winter of 1830 had hit the common people above all. Riots broke out in Paris on 20 December 1830. Radical republican students such as Jules Sambuc, Auguste Blanqui (1805–81) and the later Communard Charles Delescluzes (1809–71) joined in. After Christmas the authorities easily restored order, but the republican students continued the action and persisted in arguing for freedom of association. The government refused to make any concessions to the right of association, and the academic authorities took measures against the radical students. They gave the consilium abeundi (exclusion from university studies) to Sambuc and Blanqui among others. A violent protest against this on 22 January 1831 led to radical student leaders being arrested, and this signified the end of the movement for the right of association. When, 49 50 51

Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 12–13. Révész, Jugendbewegungen (note 12), 63. B. Konarska, ‘Les e´ tudiants d’universités polonaises dans les universités de France après l’Insurrection de novembre (1832–1848)’, in Kulczykowski (ed.), Pérégrinations (note 24), 161–80, here 163.

283

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos on 15 September 1831, the news of the capitulation of Warsaw became known, there were displays of solidarity in Paris, and again in December, towards the Polish generals in exile, who had previously also been welcomed by the students of Strasburg.52 In December 1831 the social unrest in Paris increased once again as a result of the economic crisis and a threatening cholera epidemic. The government immediately acted vigorously against the press, thought to be too critical, and against radical republicans by putting them on trial.53 This led to abrupt radicalization among the younger generation, who now opted for a social republic, with Robespierre’s Déclaration des droits de l’homme et du citoyen of 1793 as a source of inspiration, while seeking contact with the workers. The cholera epidemic actually broke out in March 1832, and hundreds of students volunteered to give first-aid assistance. The pent-up tension was released on 5 June 1832, when the interment of a general two years earlier became the signal for an uprising aimed at establishing a republic. The uprising consisted mainly of workers, although students accompanied them on the barricades, and it was put down in two days. Its failure pushed the republicans even further into clandestine activity. Workers and students met in the secret society entitled La Société des Droits de l’Homme, and membership increased as the third anniversary of the 1830 Revolution approached. When, on 13–14 April 1834, the republican uprising feared by the authorities erupted in Paris, it was nipped in the bud almost the same day by the arrest of suspects and successful house-searches for weapons in the Latin Quarter. The disillusionment that followed ensured a lull in French political life that persisted for almost ten years. Student activity in those years was largely restricted to the defence of ‘corporatist’ interests, in so far as the interest of student youth was not completely taken up by fashion, dancing and women. The legitimacy of Louis Philippe was no longer questioned. The change of regime in Paris, the independence gained in Brussels and Athens, and the defeat in Warsaw, naturally ensured radicalization of the students elsewhere. In Spain, King Ferdinand VII (1784–1833), fearing student unrest, decided to close the universities in 1830, and they were not reopened until two years later.54 In Finland, the Polish uprising tested the tie with Russia. Small incidents like a toast in honour of Poland by a student in a Helsingfors café, or the disruption in April 1831 of 52

53 54

A considerable number of Polish student rebels continued their studies in France, although only after they had received permission to do so from the authorities after 1832. Once this permission had been granted, a great many Polish students continued their studies in France: between 1832 and 1848 there were 89 in Paris, 31 in Poitiers, nineteen in Toulouse and about ten in Aix-en-Provence, Dijon and Strasburg. Caron, Générations (note 23), 333, 337–8, 340. Also for what follows on France: see Caron, Générations (note 23), 338–57. Mancebo, ‘Estudiantes’ (note 10).

284

Student movements the Orthodox Easter Saturday night service by drunken Finnish students, were interpreted as anti-Russian deeds. The government threatened to close the university. The cholera epidemic, which affected Finland in the summer of 1831, provided a welcome excuse for closing the university during the autumn term of 1831–32. In the spring of 1832 the government decided to introduce a student uniform. Somewhat surprisingly this met with the approval of the students. Tacit understanding between students and government appeared to have been restored. Then the Tsar decided to make concessions to the Finns. In February 1833 he founded a centre for the study of Finnish language, literature and history, and the promotion of Finnish culture. The visit by the Tsar to Helsingfors in the summer of 1833 was one display of student loyalty.55 In 1840 the Russian Government appointed a first professor of Finnish language and literature. The arrival in 1842 of the new rector, the Russian Grand Duke Alexander Nikolayevich, was greeted with enthusiasm on the part of the academic community in Helsingfors. This prompted bitter comments among Finnish emigrants in Sweden on the servility which, to them, had taken on grotesque forms in Helsingfors.56 In Germany, from about 1827, a second phase began for the Burschenschaften, that of the ‘Demagogues’.57 On the initiative of a particularly active group of the ‘Teutons,’ illegal student days took place in 1830 and 1831. The foreign revolutionaries were revered as champions of the ideal of freedom and plans were forged for the formation of ‘academic legions’ to come to the aid of the Greeks and the Poles in their struggle and to stand by in readiness for a possible German revolution. In 1831, ¨ Gottingen and Heidelberg were declared ‘liberated territory’ by the local students.58 On the Burschentag of 1832 in Stuttgart, it was proclaimed that the freedom and unification of Germany should be realized through revolution.59 Propagating the idea of unification was also the goal of the Hambachfest of 27 May 1832, which brought together 25,000 participants, mostly adults but also a large number of students, mainly from the ‘Teutons’. The Hambachfest led to repressive measures against the ‘Presse- und Vaterlandsverein’, which had organized the meeting. As a result, the opposition gradually began to adopt a different strategy, that of underground conspiracy and preparation for uprising.60 On 3 April 1833, around 50 radical students responded positively to the call of the Vaterlandsverein to storm the police headquarters in Frankfurt together 55 57 58 59 60

56 Ibid., 326, 340. ¨ Helsinki, 305–20. Klinge, Universitat Jarausch, ‘Sources’ (note 14), 540. M. E. Boren, Student Resistance: A History of the Unruly Subject (New York, 2001), 32. The aim was: ‘die Erregung einer Revolution, um durch diese die Freiheit und Einheit Deutschlands zu erreichen’, Bartol, Ideologie (note 16), 73–4. ¨ Duding, ‘Nineteenth-Century’ (note 19), 35.

285

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos with intellectuals and artisans, in an attempt to instigate a popular uprising. This Wachensturm – the first armed revolt in Germany – failed and ¨ led to even stronger repression of the Burschenschaftler, known as the Zweite Demagogenverfolgung. From 1832 to 1838, legal proceedings were instigated in 23 German federal states against more than 1,800 people, including at least 1,200 students and academics.61 In 1837, King Ernst Georg August of Hanover (1771–1851) dismissed ¨ seven professors in Gottingen because they had criticized his decision to abolish the constitution. This immediately unleashed student protests, which were put down with the deployment of troops.62 Both the ‘Teutons’ and the ‘Armins’, who were mostly focused on self-education, consequently had to stop their activities almost completely. The Burschenschaften thus ceased to play a central role in German unification.63 The repression of the Burschenschaften gave the traditional apolitical Landsmannschaften more scope. The most exclusive of these now developed into a ‘corps’, which codified a number of old customs from student subculture. The ‘corps’ were farbentragend (distinguished by the wearing of colours) because they wore cap, ribbon and dress in specific colours; they were also schlagend because they retained the ritual of duelling with the sword, the Mensur, in which the body was protected but the face was not. Scars on the face sustained in duels were regarded as proof of bravery. ¨ (foxes, firstEach ‘corps’, directed by a Seniorenconvent, included Fuxe year members) and Burschen (lads, older years), but it could also count on the support of the Alte Herren (former students). They gained a dominant position in the student world, not least because they were considered to be folkloristic and politically less dangerous. From the 1840s they were tacitly tolerated by the civil and academic authorities, and from 1848 they were even officially recognized.64 In 1844 the Wingolfbund, the first Protestant Christian Burschenschaft, was founded in Erlangen. Under the motto Sittlichkeit, Wissenschaft¨ lichkeit und Geselligkeit auf religioser Basis (Morality, scholarship and good company on a religious basis), similar Protestant Burschenschaften also arose elsewhere, for example in Halle (1843), Berlin (1845–46), ¨ Bonn (1846) and Gottingen (1851). After 1848 Catholic students associations were only formed as a result of the freedom of association, mostly emerging from Lesevereine (reading clubs), in Munich (Aenania, 1851), Bonn (Bavaria, 1853), Berlin (Katholischer Leseverein, 1853), and Breslau 61

62 63 64

¨ L. Elm, ‘Von der Urburschenschaft zur burgerlichen Revolution’, in L. Elm, D. Heither ¨ ¨ and G. Schafer (eds.), Fuxe, Burschen, Alte Herren. Studentische Korporationen vom Wartburg bis Heute (Cologne, 1992/1993), 38. Boren, Resistance (note 58), 33. See also chapter 5, 152. Jarausch, ‘Sources’ (note 14), 542; Bartol, Ideologie (note 16), 74. ¨ Muller, Geschichte (note 15), 77–80.

286

Student movements (Winfridia, 1856). More devout was the Catholic student association Unitas, set up in 1853 and (until 1887) limited to students of theology.65 The competing radical democratic line in the student world was given a fresh start at the beginning of the forties with the Progressbewegung (progress movement). It was the third phase of the Burschenschaften in which the emphasis was on social equality.66 It began in 1839–40 in ¨ Gottingen and rapidly gained support both among the Burschenschaften and among the non-incorporated students (the Finken or Wilden). Its goal was to eliminate what difference there remained between students and the citizens. They therefore opposed the ‘corps’ with its student traditions and rituals, especially the Mensur. They founded reading clubs, which became centres for political debate. Over the period 1844–46 ¨ Deutschlands Hochschulen, the first they published the Zeitschrift fur significant student journal in Germany. They reproached the university for being an instrument of government and for not fostering the Humboldtian fertile tension between Bildung and Wissenschaft. They were supported in this criticism by a number of young critical lecturers, but it encountered opposition from both the authorities and the ‘corps’. In the Habsburg Empire, particularly among the Polish, Czech, Slovak and Slav students at the University of Vienna, 1830 led to an increase in conspiratorial activities. Secret societies such as Nowa Polska (New Poland), which in 1837 joined up with the Mloda Sarmacja (Young Sarmatia) and its propaganda association Synowie Oczyny (Sons of the Homeland), maintained contacts with the political exiles from the wielka emigracja in Paris. They also made contact with the Slovak students around ˇ ur, ´ originating from the Evangelical Lyceum of Poszonyi Vrchovsky´ and St (Bratislava) and gave them organizational and ideological guidelines on how to expand their movement ‘Young Slovakia’. After reading the publications given to them by the left democratic Polish political exile Joachim Lelewel, the Slovak young nationalists came to the conclusion that they had to turn against feudalism and open up to the broader popular masses.67 In August 1834, this Czech–Slovak–Polish co¨ operation was formalized with the establishment in Brunn (Brno) of a secret association on the initiative of the medical student Frantiˇsek Cyril 65

66 67

¨ F. Schulze and P. Ssymank, Das deutsche Studententum von den altesten Zeiten bis zur Gegenwart (Munich, 1931), 305–6; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 203. ‘Unitas’ was the last Catholic student association able to hold its own under the Nazi regime, until July 1938. Jarausch, ‘Sources’ (note 14), 542. ¨ die V. Matula, ‘Die politische Kreise Slawischer Studenten in Wien. Ihre Bedeutung fur Weltanschaulich politische Heranbildung junger Ideologen der Slowakischen Nationalen Befreiungsbewegung in den dreissiger Jahren des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Plaschka and Mach (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 155–61.

287

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos Kampel´ık, who subsequently turned out to be the pivotal figure in the Slavic circle in Vienna. When the authorities banned all student associations in Poszonyi (Bratislava) in 1837, the Slovak student Alexander Boleslav´ın Vrchovsky´ (1812–43), founded the secret organization ´ Vzajomnost (Mutuality), which remained at the heart of the Slovak national revival until it was discovered in 1840 and its members were arrested. In the 1840s, a more moderate political line emerged under the ˇ ur ´ (1812–56), which laid the principal emphasis leadership of L’udov´ıt St on Slovak national revival, and less on social emancipation. s t u d e n t s i n r e v o l t (1845–1850) In the mid-forties, a wave of social criticism swept through Europe that was not directed solely against the Metternich system but also against interior relationships of power and ownership. It appeared to the authorities to be an international plot, principally because the critical groups such as ‘Young Italy’, ‘Young Germany’, ‘Young Poland’ and also ‘Young Finland’ found each other despite political opposition.68 They discovered ‘the social issue’, not just by reading and discussing left-wing publications, but above all because they saw with their own eyes the consequences of the economic crisis with failed harvests, winters of starvation and endemic cholera. Some then set up associations to provide social assistance to those in need, while others expressed radical criticism of the capitalist system. Most radicals dreamt of a national and socialist revolution, which would bring freedom and justice. In fact, the views of the students became more differentiated, and varying political tendencies became apparent, from left to right, reflecting the contrasts existing in society at large. In France, this change in student mentality was revealed during a ‘revolutionary funeral’.69 On 30 May 1844, Jacques Lafitte (1767–1844), the leader of the democratic movement in the 1830 Revolution, was interred. In the great crowd of the funeral procession there marched around 1,000 students and at the graveside – together with a spokesman for the workers – a student made a speech pleading for more democracy. It was the first time since the 1830s that workers and students had taken part in a demonstration together, and this happened again on 7 May 1845 at the funeral of Godefroy Cavaignac (1801–45), one of the republican leaders of the 1830 Revolution. On 8 June the first issue of the short-lived periodical ´ Les Ecoles was published, which adopted a distinct republican tone and dreamt of reorganizing the students ‘who had lost all influence’. Momentum increased as a result of the authorities’ attack on three professors 68

¨ Helsinki, 357–77. Klinge, Universitat

69

Caron, Générations (note 23), 369–73.

288

Student movements of the Collège de France highly regarded in student circles, Mickiewicz, Edgar Quinet (1803–75) and Jules Michelet (1798–1874). A first demonstration of support by the students for the threatened professors came in August 1845. Quinet’s dismissal, prompted by a new Minister of Education in December 1845, led to a show of solidarity in which at least 3,000 students participated, and which culminated in a brutal confrontation with the Paris police and the arrest of eleven students. Michelet observed with satisfaction what he called la jeune démocratie (young democracy) stir again and expressed the hope that this would change everything. The demand for modernization was also evident in Finland in the mid1840s. In Helsinki, the 1844 graduation ceremony was the last one to take place in the traditional way in Latin. The ceremonial poem that was declaimed pleaded for a future which must above all be national. It referred both to the Scandinavianism that had arisen the previous year and to Greater Finnish solidarity. At the same time it was inspired by the revolutionary ideal of liberty, which urged action. The rejection of Latin as an academic language ensued from national and social stirrings. Greater love of one’s own language was also apparent from the growing literary activity of the students and the increase in publications in Finnish. Many students became convinced that both Russian and Swedish culture held Finland in shameful slavery, and that they had to work on the liberation of ‘People, Language and Country’. In the spring of 1846, there followed a movement for the reform of student associations. If it was to turn to the people as a whole, the student community had to form a general student federation and an academic reading society, which implied the establishment of a student house with a restaurant and reading room. This would give students and intellectuals the opportunity of educating themselves by reading foreign newspapers and periodicals. These plans were put into effect both in Helsinki and in Uppsala, in Sweden. In the 1840s a new ‘student identity’ also arose in Sweden (which at that time still included Norway) and in Denmark, with an ‘external’ and an ‘internal’ face. On the ‘external’ level the influence of Scandinavianism grew. It became ‘the great vision’ of a generation of radical students. This vision contained the striving for ‘a united Scandinavia with a “modern” liberal constitution’.70 As a result, the differences of opinion between students in the Scandinavian countries that had existed up to that time disappeared and a certain mutual understanding emerged. The new vision was dubbed student radicalism and opposed by the Danish and Swedish governments. When a student congress was arranged in Uppsala in 1843, it was stopped through the arrest of the Danish participants. The second 70

¨ ¨ ¨ C. Skoglund, Vita Mossor under Roda Fanor. Vansterstudenter kulturradikalism och bildningsideal i Sverige 1880–1940 (Stockholm, 1991), 263.

289

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos congress in Copenhagen in 1845 gave rise to opposition from the Russian authorities as well as the Danish and Swedish ones. Two decades later, the opposite tendency would receive support from the Swedish King Oscar (1799–1859) and from his Danish counterpart, Frederik VII (1808–63). The latter offered a banquet to the Scandinavian students’ congress of 1862 because he wanted to evoke sympathy among the students now that a conflict with the German Confederation was looming over SchleswigHolstein (which would nonetheless be lost to Denmark in 1864). The Scandinavian students’ congresses of 1869 and 1875 were offshoots of this. The Scandinavianism movement then appeared to come to a halt.71 On the ‘internal’ level students rejected their position as passive recipients of knowledge dispensed by the professors and the authorities. Nor did they want to be enclosed any longer in a social life of their own and be kept entirely outside society. In the new Swedish university statutes of 1852, a compromise was reached between the older vision of higher education as the transfer of knowledge and the new vision as a process of Bildung, where more space was given to scientific research at the university.72 But that was after the year 1848, which brought revolution almost everywhere in Europe. In the Free City of Cracow this revolution erupted already by 1846. In the uprising ‘red’ Polish students opposed both the state and the university authorities.73 Its failure led to Cracow being incorporated into Austria, but it also caused an upsurge of enthusiasm for the Polish cause in other European countries, and a strengthening of the left-orientated, anti-Russian and anti-Austrian attitude. The first anniversary of the Cracovian uprising, in March 1847, brought 1,200 students on to the streets of Paris in a show of solidarity. Their social involvement was heightened by the economic crisis, which had struck in the winter of 1846–47.74 When, in January 1848, Michelet was prohibited from lecturing, this prompted student demonstrations which made a great impression, with between 1,000 and 3,000 participants. A wave of protest came in the student publications La Lanterne du Quartier Latin, which had first ´ appeared in May 1847, and L’Avant-garde, Journal des Ecoles, which was launched in January 1848. The ‘reformists’, who pressed for revolution, dominated the demonstration of 22 February 1848; when the students marched to the Place de la Madeleine singing le chant des Girondins, 71 72 73

74

H. D. Baars, Scandinavië. Verwant cultuurgebied (Meppel, 1951), 170–2. ¨ Skoglund, Vita Mossor (note 70), 264. ´ C. Bobinska, ‘Les générations d’étudiants en tant que groupes sociaux’, in M. Kulˆ jusqu’au XIXe czykowski, Les e´ tudiants – liens sociaux, culture, moeurs du moyen-age siècle. Vème session scientifique internationale. Cracovie 28–30 mai 1987. Prace Historyczne, Zeszyt 93 (Warsaw, 1991), 134–45, 143. Caron, Générations (note 23), 368–70.

290

Student movements they were spontaneously followed by a mass of workers and citizens who had been waiting for them.75 The demonstration swept on to the Palais Bourbon and entered the Parliament. Further demonstrations the following day ended in the evening with the demonstrators being fired upon in the Boulevard des Capucines. On 24 February, barricades were set up. Students – fewer in number than in 1830 – were the organizers and mediators between workers, citizens and the National Guard; it was to them that the king had to tender his abdication. A provisional government proclaimed the republic, made an appeal for public order and prevented the change of regime from resulting in social upheaval.76 The enthusiasm over the revolution, which spread across the whole of Europe in March, had a contagious effect in the student world.77 Belgium already enjoyed a regime which, in principle, had been liberal since independence, but the right to vote was limited to a very small minority of the population. In 1847, a purely liberal government took over the leadership of the country for the first time with a liberal programme in which expansion of the right to vote – constituting a doubling of the electorate – was particularly spectacular. Partly for this reason, no revolutionary outburst was forthcoming in Belgium in 1848. Furthermore, anxiety over social upheaval and fear of annexation by France caused the Flemish movement to reject revolution. The Louvain student society ‘Met Tijd en Vlijt’ (With Time and Devotion) condemned the February upheaval in France, and in response to the brief rattling of weapons by French revolutionaries on the Belgian border, it sent a patriotic declaration of devotion to the Belgian prince.78 But the Belgian universities did not remain insensitive to the revolutionary atmosphere. This was most clearly noticeable in the spring of 1848 in Louvain, where out of solidarity with students elsewhere – in Vienna, Jena and Berlin – a revolt broke out for more freedom and social justice inspired by Saint-Simonism. Action to prevent this by the Louvain rector led to a petition movement opposed to the rigid authoritarian structure of the university. When this had no effect, a number of student leaders left Louvain, which they depicted as a bastion 75 76 77

78

This is how Gustave Flaubert in a ‘récit sobre’ described what happened, summarized in Caron, Générations (note 23), 375–6. Caron, Générations (note 23), 381–3. As was illustrated by the ‘Chant des Etudiants’ published by Pierre Dupont in 1849, quoted in Caron, Générations (note 23), 385; Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 265. On the students and the ateliers nationaux: E. Thomas, Histoire des ateliers nationaux (Paris, 1848) summarized in H. P. G. Quack, De socialisten. Personen en stelsels (Amsterdam, 1911), vol. III, 400–1; A. Prost, Histoire de l’enseignement en France. 1800–1967 (Paris, 1968), 80–2. The moderate position of ‘Time and Devotion’ was due to its president from 1841 till 1866, Professor J. B. David. On his political views see his address to the society c. 1840 in T. Hermans, L. Vos and L.Wils (eds.), The Flemish Movement: A Documentary History. 1780–1990 (London, 1992), 96–7.

291

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos of conservatism, and continued their studies elsewhere. In their view, this meant the more openly anti-clerical Brussels or Ghent, where there was a circle gathered around the progressive Professor François Huet (1804– 69) that organized solidarity actions to assist the victims of the workers’ uprising in France.79 In the Netherlands, the European wave of revolution brought about a hasty liberalization of the regime imposed from above, in an attempt to take the wind out of the sails of a grassroots movement. When some unrest nevertheless arose here and there under the influence of developments abroad, students gathered behind the established order and formed militias to help maintain order; in Leiden this even occurred at the behest of the rector magnificus.80 Brief opposition to the tradition of ragging the first-year students and the setting up in other university towns of an umbrella ‘corps’ with a democratic action programme – in most cases recognized in subsequent years by the academic authorities – were the most significant expressions of a liberal spirit in the student world.81 The revolutionary wave reached Germany and the Habsburg Empire in March 1848. At various German universities such as Munich, Berlin, Heidelberg and Bonn, progressive students joined in working on the propaganda for the parliaments in Berlin and Frankfurt, sought to establish contact between the intelligentsia and the masses, and tried to increase democratic awareness, particularly in the universities themselves. The news of the uprising in Vienna also turned Berlin into a hotbed of unrest. On 18 March, demonstrations for freedom and a constitution turned into street battles, with workers and students mounting the barricades. Around 300 people died. After one day, the Prussian King Frederik Wilhelm IV (1795–1861) withdrew all his troops and promised to implement the reforms demanded.82 In the circle of politically active, democratic and liberal intellectuals, who from March had taken over the flame of revolution, there were many former members of the student movement. The Vorparlement, which met in March and April in Frankfurt comprised 118 professors, of whom more than a third had a Burschenschaft past. In May 1848 the parliament in Frankfurt proclaimed the fundamental principle of the modern university, that die Wissenschaft und ihre Lehre ist frei (‘scientific and scholarly research as well as teaching are free’),83 a formula that was 79 80 81 82 83

L. Gevers, Bewogen Jeugd.Ontstaan en ontwikkeling van de katholieke Vlaamse studentenbeweging. 1830–1894 (Louvain, 1987), 26–8. Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 210; Brom, Omkeer (note 47), 57. Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 35–47; Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 46–50. Cowie and Wolfson, Nationalism (note 25), 171–2; Boren, Resistance (note 58), 38–41. ¨ Muller, Geschichte (note 15), 80.

292

Student movements adopted in the Prussian Constitution of 1850 and the Austrian Constitution of 1867. At Whitsun 1848 (11–14 June), 1,200 to 1,500 students gathered in Eisenach on the second Wartburgfest, where resolutions were passed demanding self-governing universities with student participation, the freedom of teaching and research, and the abolition of the Carlsbad decrees.84 This orientation was confirmed at a student parliament held on the Wartburg from 25 September to 3 October, when a democratic general association of German students was also set up and soon given the name of Allgemeine Studentenschaft.85 The liberal-democratic dominant tone of the ‘Progress Movement’ soon gave rise to a response by right-wing and denominational students. In May 1848, corps students came together in Jena and formed a type of federation. In July the Protestant Wingolf called its own student convention at a Zweites Schwarzburger Konzil, which distanced itself from the resolutions of the second Wartburgfest. Within the Habsburg Empire, the first response to the French February Revolution came from Hungary.86 Immediately following the plea made by Lajos Kossuth (1802–94) on 3 March for liberal-democratic and national reforms, students marched on the street in Budapest. Farmers who happened to be in town to visit the traditional annual market spontaneously joined them. Hungary, Transylvania and Croatia (‘the country of the crown of St Stephen’) were transformed into an independent unified state, which was recognized as such by the Emperor in mid-March. The energetic attitude of the Hungarian modernizers also brought the students and progressive citizens of Vienna into action. On 12 March they demanded from the Emperor a new government, democratic elections, the lifting of press censorship and the formation of a National Guard. On 13 March a student demonstration against Metternich was forced out by rifle fire, after which the unrest spread to the working-class districts. From 15 March there were joint demonstrations by students and workers and the Emperor conceded: Metternich was dismissed, press censorship was lifted, a new constitution was promised and a National Guard was formed. The revolutionary phase made way for the liberal tendency, and modernizations had to be consolidated. But the students wanted more. They formed a students’ committee as a political body and an ‘Academic Legion’ as its armed element. They received support from the 600-strong ¨ student legion of Brunn (Brno), and also from a 250-strong student mili¨ (Olomouc). From the Prague student world there came tia in Olmutz

84 85 86

¨ Jarausch, ‘Sources’ (note 14), 559–60; for the resolutions’ texts: Muller, Geschichte (note 15), 78. ¨ Elm, ‘Urburschenschaft’ (note 61), 42–3; D. Grieswelle, ‘Zur Soziologie der Kosener ¨ Corps 1870–1914’, in Neuloh and Ruegg (eds.), Student (note 20), 346–7. Cowie and Wolfson, Nationalism (note 25), 154–7.

293

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos a delegation which summoned the Slav students in Vienna to join the uprising.87 Power in Vienna was taken over by a ‘Revolutionary Committee’ consisting of students and members of the ‘National Guard’, and in the suburbs workers formed socialist committees. The radicalization of the ‘Academic Legion’ increased, in April reform proposals by the new government were rejected as too moderate, and between May and August the Emperor and government established themselves in Innsbruck and then ¨ in Olomouc (Olmutz) in October. Vienna was recaptured on 31 October after three days of bombardment. Imperial power was restored, at least in Austria. In the summer of 1849 Austrian, Croatian and Russian troops finally defeated the Hungarian nationalists, and returned Hungary to the Habsburg Empire.88 The events in Budapest and Vienna also led to agitation in Prague, where liberal and national aspirations went hand in hand.89 On 15 March 1848, German and Czech students together formulated democratization demands for education and society, and on the Viennese model set up an ‘Academic Legion’ which, by the end of the month, already had 2,360 men (out of a total of 3,500 students). However, it remained under the leadership of professors, who were able to limit the radicalism of the students.90 The differences of opinion drove the German students largely into the Alldeutsch anti-Semitic camp, while Czech students opted for a revolution together with the workers, with the intention of bringing about a Czech republic. At Whitsun 1848, barricades were erected in Prague and there were demonstrations and riots in front of the palace ¨ of the Austrian Commanding General, Prince Alfred zu Windischgratz (1787–1862), during which his wife was shot dead at the window by a stray bullet.91 The governor left the city and bombarded it from the hills around without interruption for twelve hours. Then came the assault. In the fighting that ensued, the barricades were defended by fewer than 1,200 rebels (out of a total population of 100,000), and 800 of these, or two-thirds, were students. The leaders of the uprising were arrested, and the university resumed its usual activities. The ‘Academic Legion’ remained in existence for the time being under the leadership of professors, but when its Viennese counterpart was abolished on 1 November, the Prague students emphasized its student character. In order to strengthen the authority of student committees at the 87 88 89 90 91

Révész, Jugendbewegungen (note 12), 39. G. Stimmer, ‘Die Mythologisierung der Revolution von 1848 als Modell einer Studen¨ tenrevolution’, in Neuloh and Ruegg (eds.), Student (note 20), 243–302. ¨ J. Koˇci, ‘Die Zusammenarbeit der Prager und Wiener Studenten wahrend der Revolution von 1848’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 214–24. Révész, Jugendbewegungen (note 12). Cowie and Wolfson, Nationalism (note 25), 158.

294

Student movements university they held elections for student representatives.92 The results showed the growing influence of the radical-democratic wing. In January 1849, the government therefore abolished the ‘Academic Legion’ and decided to call up all students for military service. When a petition, presented by a student delegation of three Czech and two German students, evoked no response, a newly established bilingual Brotherhood prepared an uprising that was to break out simultaneously in Saxony and in Prague in June 1849. But the conspiracy was discovered. In 1850 fourteen German and in 1851 fifteen Czech students were convicted, but a few years later they were released.93 In Vienna and Graz, Slovene student associations under the name of ‘Slovenia’ came into being in the mid-1840s and demanded the establishment in Laibach (Ljubljana) of a Slovene university. Even by the revolutionary wave of 1848 this demand could not be fulfilled,94 but in the 1850s and particularly the 1860s the thread was picked up once again by new generations of students.95 Finland did not learn about the news of the French February Revolution until 10 March, and it barely stirred the students. Some interest only arose when students at Uppsala in Sweden strongly opposed Russia at their Scandinavian banquet on 6 April 1848 in their glorification of the new French revolution. One week later the Russian authorities forbade foreign travel by Finnish professors and students.96 Nevertheless, at the May festival of 13 May 1848, in which the academic authorities, professors and students all took part, a Finnish flag was inaugurated and a new ˚ Land (‘Our Country’) was sung. Finnish national anthem entitled Vart At the same time, however, the students paid homage to the Russian Tsar as the head of state, to the government, the rector and the professors, something that did not occur in any other country in 1848. At least in the first round, because in the spring of 1849 the students increasingly turned away from the philosophical idealism of the previous generations and opted for a democratic left-wing ideology based on materialistic social analysis. This was also coupled with a change in their daily lifestyle and with all kinds of irregularities, when the authorities noted with concern increasing alcohol consumption and visits to brothels. In the autumn of 1849, the question arose about the formation of a joint student federation, 92 93 94

95

96

Koˇci, ‘Zusammenarbeit’ (note 89), 220–4. Révész, Jugendbewegungen (note 12), 40. ¨ V. Melik and P. Vodopivec, ‘Die slowenische Intelligenz und die osterreichischen Hochschulen. 1848–1918’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 134–54. ¨ ¨ H. Haselsteiner, ‘Die Bedeutung Wiens als Universitatsstadt in der zweiten Halfte des 19. Jahrhunderts am Modell der Slovenischen Studenten’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 294–302. ¨ Helsinki, 390–408. Klinge, Universitat

295

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos which would act independently of the academic authority. This did not materialize because of the opposition of several Landsmannschaften. As the reaction in Europe gained ground, the differences of opinion between French student supporters and opponents of the republic grew. This republic was stifled when President Louis Bonaparte carried out a coup d’état and proclaimed himself Emperor Napoleon III. After two days, student protests with demonstrations and barricades were once more suppressed. In the following months and years, the majority of students turned away from politics and resumed their traditional student activities. Despite the dominant de-politicization, small groups of students nevertheless continued to keep the revolutionary fire burning in secret cells. It was the time of ‘myth’: the role played by students in the revolutionary wave of 1848 was so significant that it stayed in the collective memory as a Modell einer Studentenrevolution.97 i n t e g r a t i o n o r i n s u r r e c t i o n (1850–1870) The Restoration of 1850 did not affect the right of freedom of association in Germany, and in the two decades that followed, the student world was characterized by the appearance of umbrella associations and federations and the codification of rules. The orientation was provided ¨ by the ‘Corps’, which in 1855 set up the Kosener-Senioren-ConventsVerband (KSCV), which the other ‘corps’ and many Landsmannschaften soon joined. They approved membership rules, agreed to keep each other informed about activities, and held a conference annually at Whitsun, the ¨ Kosener Congress. If several ‘corps’ existed at a single university, they would also have a local umbrella or Senioren-Konvent. The Mensur was made obligatory for all ‘corps’ members in 1859, by order of the KSCV. Although most Landsmannschaften adopted these customs and codifi¨ cation, some progressive groups – centred on Gottingen – rejected this tradition and formed nichtfarbentragende or what were known as ‘black’ associations. Groups that did not join the corps also formed a number of short-lived umbrella associations until finally, in 1868, the Allgemeine Landsmannschaft proved to be viable. It occupied an intermediate position between the ‘corps’ and the Burschenschaften.98 The Burschenschaften found it more difficult to bring their branches together in a general federation because of internal factional struggle. In 1850, some progressives succeeded in forming their own umbrella federation, but this only lasted for two years. In 1855, it was followed by 97 98

Stimmer, ‘Mythologisierung’ (note 88), 243–302. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 301–2; Grieswelle, ‘Soziologie’ (note 85), 346–7.

296

Student movements the progressive Norddeutsches Kartell, which in 1862 was joined by the related Rotes Kartell. Conservative Burschenschaften in 1861 formed the ¨ ¨ Suddeutsches Kartell, and the political centre then founded the Grunweiss-rotes Kartell. In 1852 the Christian Protestant Burschenschaften formed the Schwarzburger Verein, which only lasted for a year, but it was succeeded in 1858 by a more viable Schwarzburgbund. This was less distinctly denominational than the Wingolfbund from Erlangen, which fundamentally discarded everything considered to be in conflict with religious worship, and which from 1860 formed a federation with others of like mind. The Catholic student associations also expanded, and formed two umbrella bodies: the Cartell Verband (CV) and the Kartell Verband (KV). The participation of the three Catholic student associations from Munich, Breslau and Berlin in the General Catholic Day in 1863 signified recognition of those associations in the world of the German Catholics, but also pointed to their great integration into the Catholic network. Catholic student asso¨ ¨ ¨ ciations were also founded in Bonn, Munster, Tubingen and Wurzburg. From 1867, ‘Bonifatius associations’ for Catholic students were set up in a number of university towns. From about that time the threat from the Italian nationalists against the Papal State also led to the successful establishment of ‘Pius associations’. At the same time a new phenomenon appeared: a great many students decided to remain outside such associations. These were the Finken. Throughout these decades they made little use of the power granted by their sheer numbers, except in the Schiller year of 1859, when a true ¨ Finkenschaftsbewegung arose – especially in Gottingen, Jena and Leipzig – in which ‘black’ associations took part as well as genuine non-organized students. An attempt in 1863 to form an umbrella organization failed because of differences of opinion between the ‘black’ and ‘wild’ ones. Progressive students formed the Studentische Reformpartei, which opposed the ‘corps’, the duel and other ‘medieval’ institutions, and appeared first in Freiburg (1860–64), then in Halle (1865), Greifswald (1865), Heidelberg ¨ (1867) and Konigsberg (1867). A first attempt to give the non-organized students a voice was the establishment in 1868 of a ‘Permanent Student Committee’, first in Leipzig and later also in Berlin. This began to publish an Akademische Zeitschrift, but it did not survive 1870.99 The wave of national enthusiasm which swept through Germany in the Schiller Centenary Year, and which was boosted by the wars with Denmark (1864) and Austria (1866), fanned the commitment of students in a nationalistic direction. They put fresh wind into the sails of the Freikorps or Wehrschaften at universities.100 The face of German 99

Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 303.

297

100

Ibid., 301–2.

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos nationalism became more right wing, with the democratic progressive current steadily fading. As for students who spoke other languages – specifically Polish students – the atmosphere at German universities was more tolerant in Saxony and southern and western Germany, but more restrained in Prussia and northern Germany. They were permitted a social and associative life here but only under strict control, and their activities were often restricted.101 Under the Habsburg Empire in 1849 all student associations were explicitly forbidden. When in 1857 German-speaking Austrian students organized a petition to be allowed to form a Leseverein again, the authorities refused. Although an Akademischer Sangverein (academic choral society) was founded in 1858, it was not even allowed to sing the Gaudeamus because this was regarded as politically too dangerous. In Cracow, which in the meantime had been swallowed up by Austria, a new secret political student association emerged in 1858, and this also occurred at other Polish universities. From 1859, the centennial of Schiller’s birth, student activities were tolerated to some degree. This was coupled with a revival of criticism. Students complained about the lack of consistency between formal prohibition and the actual policy of tolerance, and they criticized the traditional and closed atmosphere of Vienna University under the considerable influence of the Catholic Church. On this point they obtained the support of liberal professors. The students now demanded recognition of their civil rights, the right to petition, and a new law on association.102 In 1863, patriotism and politicization increased sharply owing to the commemoration of the Battle of the Nations at Leipzig, 50 years earlier, as well as the Schleswig-Holstein question. Viennese students urged the formation of a student Freikorps and sent a message to the students at Kiel, in which they proposed the national unification of Germany as the great ideal, albeit a Greater Germany under Austrian leadership. Antipathy towards the imperialistic and militaristic Prussia under the authoritarian Bismarck even brought the students to express loyalty towards the Habsburg dynasty. Thus in 1863 Viennese students acclaimed the Austrian Emperor Franz-Joseph (1848–1916) when he returned from the ¨ Furstentage in Frankfurt. Yet the authorities did not dare to allow the celebration of 500 years of the university to be held on the anniversary date of 12 March, a date which also referred to 1848. The students nonetheless celebrated on 12 March and boycotted the later official ceremony. In 1867 a number of students sent an address to the Reichsrat, which at that time had just been re-established, in which they protested against the concordat 101 102

Révész, Jugendbewegungen (note 12), 64. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 313.

298

Student movements between the state and the Catholic Church. They regarded protest against the excessive influence of the Church as a continuation of the struggle of 1848, as well as their criticism of individual conservative – Catholic – professors. They in turn received the support of the Catholic student associations, which in the meantime had already expanded strongly in Germany.103 As a result of the ban on associations which was upheld until the 1860s, a consensus persisted longer in the German-speaking Austrian student world – unlike in Germany itself– over Greater Germany, and the differences between Landsmannschaften, Burschenschaften, and ‘corps’ remained minimal.104 Perhaps this consensus was also due to the emergence in the 1860s of a network of vacation groups throughout Austria that brought together during lecture-free periods students from different universities and high schools. It was not until the sixties that differences of opinion arose, firstly on the Mensur. Discussion on this began in Prague and Graz, and in 1863 also broke out in Vienna. The conservative students defended this tradition, while the progressives were against it. In 1864 a first farbentragend association – located in Innsbruck – explicitly issued a ban on the Mensur.105 In the 1860s the differences between the German-speaking students and those who spoke another language came even more clearly into the open.106 In Prague scuffles broke out for the first time between Czech and German-speaking students. The Czech students left the German federations from 1861, formed their own Czech student associations, and explicitly opposed German cultural hegemony in their periodicals. The tensions between German-speaking Hungarians and Austrians following the Austrian defeat by Prussia led to the ‘Ausgleich’ (Compromise) of 1867, which transformed the Habsburg Empire into an Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy. In the Austrian part a university reform completely legalized student associations. From this time on, there also emerged more differentiation with respect to the political orientation of student associations. In Vienna, the federation ‘Markomannia’ explicitly renounced the name Burschenschaft. The Viennese ‘Saxonia’ and two associations in Graz opted for an Austrian ‘corps’, which also accepted non-German-speaking students. Opposition to this came from those who aspired to the national unity 103

104 105 106

¨ Heither, ‘Zwischen burgerlicher Revolution und Erstem Weltkrieg’ in Elm, Heither and ¨ ¨ ¨ Schafer (eds.), Fuxe (note 61), 66–92; Muller, Geschichte (note 15), 80; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 309–12. Stimmer, ‘Mythologisierung’ (note 88), 271–7. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 314–15. S. Brzozowski, ‘Le problème d’études polonaises en Allemagne (1860–1918)’, in Kulczykowski (ed.), Pérégrinations (note 24), 215–28.

299

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos of all ethnic Germans, and these included the conservative Burschenschaften and the Akademische Lesevereine. Some of the Burschenschaften in Graz and Vienna cut themselves off from the majority, opted for the line of Bismarck, and regarded themselves – like the Viennese ‘Silesia’ – as vorgeschobene Posten der nationalliberalen Partei (vanguards of the national liberal party). On the other hand, there was also opposition from the left, from a group of Progressburschenschaften, which emphasized social-democratic reforms.107 From the time of the Austro-Prussian War of 1866, the good understanding between Austrian and German stu¨ dent associations also became a thing of the past. In 1867 the Kosener Corps explicitly rejected the admission of the Austrian corps, and the German Burschenschaften later did likewise. However, the FrancoPrussian War prompted some Austrian students to vow support for their German brothers, and some even to make a – failed – attempt to join the Prussian Army as volunteers. In the mid-nineteenth century there were still around 5.5 million Italian speakers living in the Habsburg Empire, mainly in Lombardy and the Veneto, but these regions were ceded by Austria to the newly formed Italy in 1859 and 1866, respectively, including the universities of Padua and Pavia. From then on, the approximately 530,000 Italian speakers who had remained in the Habsburg Empire no longer had the option of receiving academic education in their own language within the borders of the Empire. The government tried to resolve la questione dell’universita` italiana in Austria from 1864, in Innsbruck, by having a number of classes taught in Italian and by providing a state examination in that language before a central examination committee. But against the backdrop of Italian nationalism, the Italian-speaking students found these facilities unsatisfactory and demanded a separate Italian university, because of its symbolic value. Conversely, in 1859, German students in Innsbruck formed a Freikorps (volunteer corps), which set itself the task of acting as a Schutzwache (guard) of German culture. In France, the university system during the Second Empire remained largely the way it had been since Napoleon I: a collection of separate schools and faculties that were no longer linked to each other and focused mainly on vocational training.108 The authoritarian regime of Napoleon III was fatal to intellectual freedom. There was a last and only upsurge of student protest at the Sorbonne in 1855–56, when some classes were disrupted. The authorities took stringent measures, and two professors and around ten students were sent to prison.109 Although a more liberal 107 108 109

Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 314–15. R. D. Anderson, Education in France, 1848–1870 (Oxford, 1975), 225–39. R. H. Guerrand, Lycéens révoltés, e´ tudiants révolutionnaires au 19e siècle (Paris, 1969), 80–1.

300

Student movements phase followed in the sixties, in which plans were made for the reform of higher education,110 the repressive line towards student dissidence was maintained. In 1865 the French representative at the international student congress in Liège used black flags to complain that freedom had been lost in her fatherland.111 The students involved paid for the protest with the consilium abeundi.112 The 1870–71 Commune saw very few students on the barricades, unless they were there on an individual basis. The Second Empire had succeeded in breaking the revolutionary student tradition. In Belgium, a connection was made in the 1850s and 1860s between progressivism and pro-Flemish sentiment. The student association ‘t Zal wel Gaan’ was set up at the University of Ghent in 1854, and it was influenced by the radical liberal ideas of the Société Huet and by pro-Flemish sentiment combined with fervent anti-Catholicism.113 In the 1860s, by which time the liberals had gained political power, a powerful progressive student movement was again visible at Belgian universities. Socialism was the catalyst in Brussels, Ghent and Liège. At the Catholic University of Louvain the driving force was pro-Flemish commitment, which aimed at co-operation with non-Catholics and was associated with the emancipation of the Dutch-speaking middle and working classes. At international student congresses (Liège, 1865; Brussels, 1867; Ghent, 1868) students from Brussels, Ghent and Liège joined their French counterparts in setting up a socialist student international, which at that time eventually proved unsuccessful.114 The open-mindedness that had existed in the 1860s both on the Catholic and the liberal side towards co-operating on the defence of the Flemish language position barely survived the decade. In the Netherlands, the tenor in the third quarter of the nineteenth century remained one of pro-Orange sentiment, coupled with minimal social interest, at least among the majority of students. A typical comment was made by the minute-taker of the student corps in Leiden that the student congress in Liège in 1865 could be summed up as ‘a motion against the existence of God and the throwing of furniture’.115 There was nevertheless sympathy for socially aware writers such as Eduard Douwes Dekker (1820–87), who under the pseudonym Multatuli criticized in 1860 Dutch colonial policy in the novel Max Havelaar, and Jacob Jan Cremer 110 111 112 114

115

J. Minot, Histoire des universités françaises (Paris, 1991), 42–4. Anderson, Education (note 108), 236; Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 266. 113 Gevers, Bewogen jeugd (note 79), 40–9. Prost, Histoire (note 77), 80–2. J. Bartier ‘Etudiants et mouvement révolutionnaire au temps de la première internationale. Les congrès de Liège, Bruxelles et Gand’, in Mélanges offerts a` G. Jacquemijns (Brussels, 1968), 35–60. Minutes of ‘Leidsch Studenten Corps’ 1874 quoted by Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 96.

301

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos (1827–80), who stood up for the workers.116 Multatuli found a ready audience from 1862 in the debating society Vrije Studie in Delft, and in 1867 in Utrecht. This led occasionally to radical stirrings, as when the Utrecht student corps paid tribute to Zola. The Delft corps did the same with Multatuli and banished the Wilhelmus, the Dutch National Anthem; around 1870 there was enthusiasm for liberal principles in Leiden. This indicated evolution, even in Leiden. Whereas in 1856 honorary membership of the corps was offered to Prince Willem as a matter of course, the question of whether this should be repeated in 1870 on the arrival of his younger brother, Prince Alexander, led to heated discussion.117 This did not prevent the threatening international situation at the end of the sixties (as in 1830) from prompting the formation of military student-volunteer corps, first in Leiden in 1866 under the name ‘Pro Patria’, and afterwards also at other universities.118 In Spain, a thorough reform of the universities took place between 1845 and 1857, when the Minister for Education, Claudio Moyano (1809– 90), introduced new legislation including the discipline and control of ´ Sanz del R´ıo (1814–69), in his students.119 In 1857, the rector, Julian opening address at the Central University in Madrid, explicitly urged the students to commit themselves politically, now that the traditional obstacles to doing so had been removed. Sanz del R´ıo had become acquainted with the German university system in Heidelberg in the 1840s, as well as with the philosophy of Karl Christian Friedrich Kraus (1781–1832), which he brought back to Spain and where a chair was established to teach it. In 1865, Professor Emilio Castelar (1832–99), a republican politician who strongly emphasized ‘Krausism’ in his lectures, was dismissed from this post after having expressed sharp criticism of Queen Isabel II (1830–1904). Demonstrations of solidarity by a few other professors and students culminated in clashes with the police, ultimately leading to the exclusion of a number of protesting students and professors, among them Sanz del R´ıo and Fernando de Castro (1814–74). In September 1868 a revolution broke out that sent Queen Isabel II into exile and brought the proclamation of the (First) Republic. The dismissed professors were restored to their posts and Fernando de Castro was installed as rector of the university. In 1873 Emilio Castelar became President of the Republic. 116

117 118 119

A lecture by Cremer in a student circle in the University of Leiden (see Brom, De omkeer [note 47], 89), was published as a booklet entitled Fabriekskinderen een bede, doch niet om geld (Schoorl, 2nd edn, 1988). He also wrote Betuwsche Novellen en een reisgezelschap (Leiden s.d., several reprints) and Distels in’t weiland: Over-Betuwsche Novellen (Leiden, 1865). Brom, Omkeer (note 47), 92. Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 95. ˜ Mancebo, ‘Estudiantes’ (note 10); cf. Peset, Universidad Espanola, ch. xviii: 1857, la ley Moyano 461–90; ch. xviii: El Estudiante burgués 525–50.

302

Student movements These were the golden years of ‘Krausism’, in which students and professors became politically aware and drew up plans for a reform of the university, which came to nothing. The monarchy was restored in 1875. In Russia, the discovery in 1849 of a secret socialist circle in St Petersburg gave rise to a stricter disciplining of students.120 In Helsinki, as a result of a change in the terms of admission, the generation of students who had undergone the change from ‘idealistic’ to ‘materialistic’ was purged.121 The students would henceforth have to wear a uniform daily and were prohibited from growing a beard. A student-inspector, equated to the level of professor, had to supervise the behaviour of the students with the assistance of six beadles. Specifically for Finland, students from the law faculty who were to enter public service were obliged to follow Russian throughout their training. The new statutes came into effect in January 1853, and from that year the Landsmannschaften were prohibited as hotbeds of rebellion. However, they continued to exist de facto underground, and as a result they became more radical and developed illegally into groupings with a specific political hue. The death of Tsar Nicholas I and the accession to the throne of his successor Alexander II in 1855 signified the beginning of a decade of liberal transformation in all spheres of life in Russia. It made it possible for a genuine student movement to exist. Until that time only the Polish students at the Russian universities were politicized on the basis of their national stirrings, but they avoided any fraternization with their Russian fellow students and their associations remained almost completely illegal until the 1870s.122 The new Tsar lifted the restriction on the number of students, and in principle opened the universities in Russia to students from all social classes, resulting in an increase in the number of students from 5,000 in 1859 to 8,045 in 1880. He also made it possible to go abroad to study again and relaxed the censorship on the purchase of foreign books. Military discipline and the obligation for students to wear a uniform were abolished.123 At the same time, student association life expanded. The lowest structural framework for this was offered by the Zemliachestva, associations which brought together students of the same regional origin and which aimed at mutual material and moral support; to some extent these were comparable to the German Landsmannschaften. In addition, students of the same ideological inspiration found one another in krushki, circles with ten to twenty members. Unique to St Petersburg among these was 120 121 122 123

Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 155. ¨ Helsinki, 399–404, 414, 423–5, 537. Klinge, Universitat Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 3; Brzozowski, ‘Problème d’études’ (note 106); figures on the nineteenth century in Dudkowa, ‘Etudes’ (note 24), 229–46, 242. Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 113; Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 16.

303

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos the Kassa Vzaimopomoshchi, an association for self-help and mutual support that aimed to supply cheap meals and accommodation, eventually growing into a central umbrella organization with representatives from all kinds of circles. A formal and informal student infrastructure also grew at other universities, with libraries, reading clubs, institutions for financial assistance, co-operatives and labour offices, and all kinds of self-help associations.124 Polish students formed comparable Bratniaki or Bratnie ´ (‘Student Pomocy (officially: Towarzystwa Bratniej Pomocy Studentow Societies of Brotherly Assistance’)), which devoted themselves to student interests but which, after the revival of academic life in Poland, adopted a political stance as time went on.125 A new tradition was the skhodka, a general student meeting where common questions and interests were discussed and the style of which appeared to refer to the egalitarianism of the free peasant communities. The skhodki became the starting point for a whole network of representative umbrella bodies, discussion groups and student periodicals, in which the atmosphere of direct democracy prevailed. The notion of a specific mission for the studentchestvo or student community grew, together with the rejection of self-centred ‘philistinism’ and a bourgeois-mentality.126 This new student self-image and awareness of a student mission was enhanced by a new literary intelligentsia. It was called raznochinnia (literally ‘people of different classes’), and it believed in rational research by the natural sciences, in simple and sincere human relations, and in a society based on reason instead of exploitation and oppression.127 At the end of the 1850s, in Kazan, students demanded the dismissal of incompetent professors and, in Moscow in 1857, the punishment of police officers who had beaten up some students.128 Students also took part in the discussion on the abolition of serfdom, which had in fact been lifted in 1861. In this area they maintained a good understanding with Polish and Finnish students. After the secret police had murdered a Polish student in Warsaw on 15 February 1861, students from St Petersburg, Moscow and Kiev organized mourning for the murdered student in March 1861, followed by demonstrations.129 The alarmed Russian Government tried to get a grip on the university again. New university statutes provoked student protests, first in St Petersburg in September and October 1861, leading to hundreds of arrests and to the closure of the university. When it reopened two years 124 125 126 128

Morrissey, Heralds (note 4), 30; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 232; Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 77–87. C. Wankel, Anti-Communist Student Organizations and the Polish Renewal (Houndmills, 1992), 7. 127 Ibid., 22. Morrissey, Heralds (note 4), 20–3. 129 Révész, Jugendbewegungen (note 12), 14–16. Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 127–9.

304

Student movements later, it numbered 265 students instead of the 1,442 it had in 1861.130 Also in September and October 1861, Moscow was in turmoil with a petition signed by 500 students, arrests and even a clash with the police, whereby several students were killed, 340 arrested and 29 received prison sentences. The same pattern applied in Kazan and Kharkov.131 To remove the dissatisfaction prevailing at the universities, the government issued new university statutes on 30 June 1863, thereby restoring the autonomy that the universities had enjoyed between 1804 and 1861.132 The professors received more power again and were allowed to choose the rector, nominate colleagues, and supervise the students, who continued to be prohibited from forming skhodki or organizing themselves. However, these measures did not bring back the hope for calm in the student world. Also in the part of Poland controlled by Russia, the accession of the new Tsar Alexander II in 1855 meant a change in climate.133 From 1857 Poles were allowed to become civil servants again, in 1858 secondary education could use Polish as the language of instruction, and a Polish medical academy was opened in Warsaw. In this new climate there was a revival of secret Polish circles at the Russian universities, which established contacts with the e´ migrés. In Kiev Polish students made up four-fifths of the total student population; they tried to introduce the Polish language into the university, but this met with opposition from the Ukrainian students.134 In Warsaw, in March 1861, demonstrations against the insufficiently farreaching regulations on the abolition of serfdom were broken up by the use of firearms, leaving five dead. This led to a united Polish front of soldiers, peasants, workers, aristocrats and clerics against the Russian authorities. It met with further repression until, in the spring of 1862, the Tsar relaxed his position again and reopened Warsaw university under the ´ name of Szkola Glowna (Main School). But new suppression afterwards resulted in further radicalization. The government’s decision to call up all young men for army service by conscription was the proverbial last straw. The uprising broke out in Warsaw on 22 January 1863. Students of the new medical academy and of the academy of fine arts were among the first conspirators. Their leader was the student Stefan Bobrowski (1841–3) and his committee initially also acted as a provisional government.135 The revolution, the largest Polish uprising in the nineteenth century in terms of the number of people involved and its duration, spread to Lithuania and the Ukraine. Cracovian left-wing students formed the breeding ground 130 131 133 134 135

Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 128; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 169–70. 132 Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 27–8. Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 128–9. Vos, Strijd (note 35), 145–52; P. S. Wandycz, The Lands of Partitioned Poland. 1795– 1918 (Seattle, 1974), 155–79. Dudkowa, ‘Etudes’ (note 24), 236; Wandycz, Lands (note 133), 159–60. Wandycz, Lands (note 133), 171–3.

305

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos for the elaboration of a programme which was adopted in the last phase of the revolution, when the ‘red’ Romuald Traugutt (1826–64) became its leader from October 1863 until his arrest and execution in April 1864.136 Russian policy following the uprising was highly repressive against the Polish clergy and intelligentsia.137 At least 400 people were executed after being put on trial, thousands were deported to Siberia, and several thousand estates of Polish aristocrats were confiscated. All separately existing Polish institutions were eliminated, the name ‘Congress Poland’ was replaced by ‘Vistulaland’, and the province, divided into districts, was governed entirely in Russian by a Russian governor-general. Education ´ was also Russified. The Polish Szkola Glowna was abolished in 1869 and replaced by the Russian Imperial University of Warsaw. At all Russian universities the number of Polish students fell sharply. The failure marked the end of the Romantic Polish tradition of uprisings. The United Kingdom paved the way for the modernization that went hand in hand with the industrial revolution, while remaining a bulwark of traditionalism owing to the continuing existence of many medieval institutions, despite their gradual transformation. In the period covered so far, there was no student movement such as the one that took place on the Continent. This was primarily due to the university system of Oxford and Cambridge, which neither served as places for the education of a professional elite, nor as centres of scientific research. Until the 1870s ‘Oxbridge’ held on to a classical and purely scientific ‘liberal education’. This spared Great Britain ‘the overproduction of an underpaid and underemployed university graduate class which helped to fuel Continental revolutionary movements’.138 ‘Extra-curricular’ student life in the two old universities was strongly governed by the college system, around which a pattern of competitive sporting events (boat races and cricket matches) developed in the first half of the nineteenth century as an expression of the ‘college spirit’. There was little room in this milieu for social problems outside the university. The French attack on Prussia provoked by Bismarck in 1870 caused the German students to close ranks in a spirit of national enthusiasm. In all the university towns, students of the ‘corps’, the Burschenschaften, Landsmannschaften, ‘Wingolf’ or other denominational associations demonstrated together until deep into the night. In many places they volunteered, sometimes collectively, as in Halle where they reported to the local barracks, marching behind the banner, or in Braunschweig, where all the polytechnic students of the machine department served in the Kriegsmarine. 136 137 138

´ R. F. Leslie (ed.), The History of Poland since 1863 (Oxford, 1980), 11; Bobinska, ‘Générations’ (note 73), 143. Tazbir, Zaris Historii Polski (note 32), 491–2; Wandycz, Lands (note 133), 193–6. M. Sanderson, The Universities in the Nineteenth Century (London, 1975), 4.

306

Student movements In Heidelberg, the students asked Heinrich von Treitschke (1834–96) for a farewell message before marching on France. He obliged and ended his message with the sentence that Fichte had spoken in Berlin in 1813: ‘Nicht siegen oder sterben, sondern siegen schlechtweg!’ (‘Not victory or death, but only victory!’). In Leipzig the anti-Prussian feelings of public opinion were strongest and the newspapers asked scornfully whether the Saxons would now have to give their lives for the Prussian King. In reaction, the students marched in massive numbers through the streets and everywhere seized the critical newspapers from cafés and kiosks and burned them. They then sent an address signed by 800 students to the King of Prussia to prove their loyal devotion and dedication to the German fatherland. They also sent a call to the Austrian students to lend their support to the fight against France in the name of German culture.139 The war had a great impact on German student life. A remarkably high number of students fought, though not in separate ‘Freikorps’ as during the war of liberation against Napoleon. Of the 13,765 students registered for the summer term of 1870–71 in Germany, 4,510 or one-third were soldiers, of whom 248 perished. In a number of places close cooperation developed between the student-soldiers at the front and students on the ‘home front’. This was the case, for example, in the Berlin student association Motiv, which brought together students from the architecture academy, and in Leipzig, where in the winter of 1870–71 a new student association sent newspapers and periodicals to the 60 or 70 fellow students in the field.140 c o n s o l i d a t i o n a n d a n t i - l i b e r a l i s m (1870–1885) With the demise of the Paris Commune, the liberal tide abated in Europe and old and new nation states alike looked to install more rigid internal coherence. In the bourgeois democracies of Western Europe and in Germany, a calm period generally ensued from a political point of view with respect to the student movement. Students seemed to exhibit little social commitment, although a political option lay at the root of this attitude: they had gathered behind their nation and wanted to strengthen and secure the institutions and existence of their fatherland. This unity was nevertheless threatened by ideological and national differences in some countries. Conflict between nations occurred among students in the Danube Monarchy, while Russian students tried with difficulty to escape from the grip of autocracy. The university landscape perhaps underwent more thorough changes in France than in any other Western European country. The establishment 139

Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 317–19.

307

140

Ibid., 320–1.

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos of the Third Republic in 1875 did not just create a new political situation but also a new policy in relation to higher education. France at the end of the nineteenth century witnessed ‘the birth of the student in Arts and Sciences’ and the rebirth of the universities.141 The reform also contained an approach to the German university model, with its focus on Bildung and scientific research in seminaries and laboratories.142 The condition d’étudiant changed as a result of these reforms and the substantial rise in student numbers: university students now enjoyed a separate social status, alongside the jeunesse des e´ coles, and for the first time a specific student associative life in France developed. As a result, France caught up with countries such as Germany to some extent. After the consolidation of the Third Republic, the government considered it important to promote social integration and to bridge social differences through higher education. Student associations were now regarded as instruments of socialization. A first student association was set up in Nancy in 1876, and in 1888 there already existed fifteen such associations in France. The best known was the Association générale des e´ tudiants, set up in Paris in 1884 and soon known simply as the ‘A’. One year later it already had 400 members. The association was patronized and in the longer term also financially supported by the academic and political authorities. The ‘A’ seemed to them to be the ideal place where links could be forged between members of the elite who would govern the country in the future and who would be capable ‘d’achever dans la démocratie républicaine la patrie française’ (‘of completing the French fatherland through Republican democracy’).143 The association adopted a neutral stance: it carefully avoided discussions on politics and religion. It did, however, make an effort to look after the interests of the students by establishing a students’ house, and by organizing services and recreational activities. While students in previous decades had stood on the barricades, a period of unusual calm existed in the years following the establishment of the Third Republic.144 In England the rapidly expanding civic colleges and the emerging Welsh colleges became instruments of social change and upward mobility for the middle classes. At the same time, Oxford and Cambridge underwent significant reforms so that they acquired modern characteristics and could respond better to competition from the civic colleges. They were nevertheless characterized by a distinct aristocratic spirit, and the Oxbridge 141 142 143 144

F. Mayeur, ‘Naissance de l’étudiant en sciences et lettres a` la fin du XIXe siècle en France’, in Kulczykowski, Etudiants (note 73), 134–45; cf. chapter 2, 55–7. Weisz, Emergence, passim; Ringer, Education and Society, 113–31. Y. Cohen, ‘Avoir vingt ans en 1900: a` la recherche d’un nouveau socialisme’, Le mouvement social, 120 (July–September 1982), 11. G. Weisz, ‘Associations et manifestations: les e´ tudiants français de la Belle Epoque’, Le mouvement social, 120 (July–September 1982), 31–8; Weisz, Emergence, 302–6.

308

Student movements model set the norm for the civic colleges.145 A significant process of transformation also took place in student life from around 1870 due to far greater organization of the students’ leisure time.146 An extensive network of clubs and societies grew up. The ‘sporting revolution’ was particularly striking. The students had always practised sport, but it was not until around 1860 that organized sports began, following the example of the British public schools. Sport was now valued by schoolmasters and university authorities alike as a means to character building, discipline, morality, healthy competition and group solidarity. Clubs were established at the colleges for rugby, tennis, cricket, boating and other sporting activities, and from the last decades of the nineteenth century significant efforts were made to expand this sports infrastructure, which represented a further asset in attracting students.147 From the social point of view, students often still reflected the notions of the traditional prevailing elite. They invariably supported the policy of the Tories and condemned trades-union action, social measures for workers, and democratic access to the universities. They were distinctly patriotic and subscribed to the ambitions of the British nation.148 On the other hand, the universities and colleges displayed a stronger social awareness from the 1870s and 1880s. Cambridge and Oxford responded positively with the ‘University Extension’ programme, set up to cater for the demand for higher education of less privileged groups in society.149 At the Dutch universities, the corps continued to set the basic pattern for student life. They were still characterized by: ‘exclusivity, freshman years, a superior class consciousness, and a flamboyantly avowed nationalistic faith in Orange and legal authority’. Internally there was ‘a solid life of debating and young men’s clubs, in which “mores”, wanton mirth, rivalry between debating societies, and competition in the fields of sport, culture and consumption kept the group spirit alive’.150 Membership of the corps nevertheless began to crumble in the last few decades of the nineteenth century.151 This trend can be explained by a greater influx

145 146 147 148 149 150 151

Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 19, 75–84, 142–7; R. D. Anderson, Universities and Elites in Britain since 1800 (London, 1992), 17, 21. J. Twigg, A History of Queens’ College, Cambridge 1448–1986 (Woodbridge, 1987), 265. Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 19–22; Twigg, Queen’s (note 146), 252–61. Twigg, Queens’ (note 146), 242–52. B. Simon, Education and the Labour Movement 1870–1920 (Southampton, 1974), 86– 92; Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 146. Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 51; see also Vrankrijker, Vier eeuwen (note 47); Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47). See also P. A. J. Caljé, ‘De omkeer in ‘t studentenleven. de pogingen tot hervorming van het studentenleven rond 1920’, in Groniek. Historisch Tijdschrift. Studentenleven (Groningen, 1992), 75–82.

309

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos of young people from the middle classes, religious groups discriminated against until that time such as Catholics and members of the Reformed Church, and also women. The high financial burdens prevented these students from joining the corps. In addition, many of them opposed the aristocratic mentality prevalent among the corps members and the compulsory ragging procedure. They therefore began to set up associations for non-corps members. The corps haughtily dubbed these newcomers ‘nihilists’, ‘outsiders’ or ‘pigs’, and forced up the costs of corps membership in order to raise even further the barrier to entry for shabby ‘provincials’. Nor were the academic authorities prepared until the mid-nineties to recognize the non-corps organizations, because this would foster discord in the student ranks.152 In Belgian universities, too, student life in the 1870s and 1880s became better organized with the establishment of student circles, regional social clubs, religious groupings, faculty societies and general organizations that represented the students and looked after their interests; this was the case ´ of the Société Générale des Etudiants, set up in both Ghent and Louvain in 1872 and 1878, respectively. Particularly in the Catholic University of Louvain, the Flemish student movement was also powerful, and new proFlemish clubs were created. They reflected the Restoration-minded, antiliberal spirit of the rising student generations of the 1870s. They argued for the unity of language and Catholic belief and saw in preserving the former a means to preserving the latter. These ideas also spread throughout the Catholic colleges and led to the emergence of the ‘Catholic Flemish student movement’, in which Catholic pupils, seminarists and Catholic university students co-operated.153 Liberal students of pro-Flemish leanings at Ghent University adopted a more aggressive anti-clerical stance during this period.154 In Spain, following the return of the Bourbons in 1875, both the conservative government and the Church tried to subject education, including the universities, to ‘Crown and religion’. Liberal students and professors 152

153

154

Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 54; G. Jensma and H. De Vries, Veranderingen in het hoger onderwijs in Nederland tussen 1815 en 1940 (Hilversum, 1997), 129–51; J. Kingma, W. R. H. Koops and F. R. H. Smit, Universitair leven in Groningen 1614– 1989. Professoren en studenten. Boek en uitgeverij (Groningen, 1989), 55ff.; W. Otterspeer, De wiekslag van hun geest. De Leidse universiteit in de negentiende eeuw (The Hague and Leiden, 1992), 477ff.; Studenten van Haver tot gort (Delft, 1957), 11–63. L. Gevers, ‘De Vlaamse studentenbeweging te Leuven (1836–1914)’, Onze Alma Mater, 29 (1975), 113–15; Gevers, Bewogen Jeugd (note 79), 65–126; L. Gevers and L. Vos, ‘Studentenbeweging (Universitair onderwijs) Leuven’, in Nieuwe Encyclopedie van de Vlaamse beweging (Tielt, 1998), 2902–3; L. Gevers and L. Vos, ‘Le mouvement estudiantin Flamand et Wallon a` Louvain’, in J. Roegiers and I. Vandevivere (eds.), Leuven/Louvain-la-Neuve. Aller Retour (Louvain, 2001), 161–2. Gevers, Bewogen Jeugd (note 79), 49–50; K. Palinckx, ‘Studentenbeweging (Universitair Onderwijs) Gent’, in Nieuwe Encyclopedie (note 153), 2891–2.

310

Student movements were strongly opposed to this and provoked protest demonstrations. The unrest spread from the University of Madrid to other Spanish universities and persisted from October to December 1884. It was coupled with dismissals and the resignation of deans and rectors. Afterwards emotions calmed down but the tension remained.155 In Germany, after the unification and the establishment of the Empire in 1870, nationalism and anti-liberalism became the two most important pillars propping up the German student movement. At the same time, student corporations reached their zenith and served more than ever as a model for other countries. The Burschenschaften had to cede leadership in ¨ the hierarchy of students’ associations to the ‘corps’ (Kosener-SeniorenConvents-Verband). The latter did not pursue specific political or social aims, but rather stated that it gave students an opportunity to develop their personalities, thereby supplementing the scientific and professional education received at the university. The ‘corps’ training comprised three main components: imparting respect for order and authority through a hierarchical structure (Fuchsen, Burschen, Alte Herren) and admission rituals; the training of courage and self-discipline through the obligatory duel; and becoming accustomed to the consumption of alcohol through an obligation to drink. The ‘corps’ introduced into the academic world the officer’s ideal of unconditional atonement. Its action was characterized by distinct ritualism and formalism with external signs of recognition such as the cap and ribbon, uniform and sabre. Corporatism was also marked by a strong feudalism, which romanticized medieval feudal forms; its goal here was to give the appearance of an historical worthiness of respect through the student practices it propagated. A corps student went through life as a peculiar being who fought for his honour with weapons and bore the scar as a sign of his privileged position. He looked down with disdain on the ‘masses’ and rejected the equality of women. Such corporative ‘training’ produced students who willingly fitted into the authoritarian state and usually went on to belong to the right-wing elite. All this, combined with his apolitical and conservative patriotic character, made the corps student the ‘ideal image of the Wilhelmine period’.156 Many other student associations went on to imitate the model of the corps. They evolved over this period from farbentragende (colour-bearing) to schlagende Verbindung (fighting association) through the introduction of ‘unconditional atonement’ and the duel. This was the case for the old rival, the Burschenschaften, which joined together in 1881 as the Allgemeine Deputierten-Convent (ADC), as well as for the Landsmannschaften 155 156

Mancebo, ‘Estudiantes’ (note 10). Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 239–50; Heither, ‘Revolution’ (note 103), 66–8; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 327ff.

311

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos (reunited in 1882 in the Koburger Landsmannschafter-Convent, LC). The Protestant students’ association ‘Wingolf’ opposed the duel on the basis of its Christian principles and continued to bear colours. In 1895, however, it would accept the duel in exceptional circumstances in order to prevent a division in its own ranks. Corporative pressure led to a split between a duelling and non-duelling wing in the Turnerschaft and in the ¨ Sangerschaft. On the other hand, the Reformburschenschaft, the Catholic Cartell-Verband (CV), the smaller Protestant Schwarzburgbund, as well as the Jewish associations remained purely farbentragend.157 Even in the numerous informal associations which did not carry colours, such as the Catholic Kartell-Verband (KV), the likewise Catholic Unitasverband and the Protestant counterpart DCSV (Deutsch-Christliche StudentenVereinigung), scientific associations, gymnastics and singing associations, corporative tendencies generally penetrated; this led to the introduction of rituals, banners and uniforms, so that it was sometimes difficult to distinguish these groups from the formalized colour-bearing associations. More than 50 per cent of all students were attached to an association. From a political point of view, a change of allegiance took place in the German student movement from around 1880: nationally inspired liberalism gave way to anti-liberal nationalism, with the students standing faithfully behind the new state. The apolitical impression that the student movement aroused ensued from a general consensus, nurtured during the Empire, that the student should not be involved in active politics but must prepare instead for the leading role he would play later in life. He was not to identify for the time being with one of the parties, but as an academic should stand above politics. However, this requirement of political neutrality was linked to the assumption that students should be inspired by a loyal and ardent love of their fatherland. An exquisite form of patriotic socialization was considered to be a year of voluntary army service, which many students fulfilled.158 This growing nationalism in the first few decades of the Empire was chiefly aimed at enemies who were said to threaten German singularity. The Jews were targeted primarily, and in second place came Socialists, Catholics and other ethnic minorities such as the Poles. Nationalistic fervour was reflected in the establishment in Berlin on 9 December 1880 of the Verein Deutscher Studenten (VDSt), an association which soon spread to other universities. The local branches joined together in August 1881 in ¨ the Kyffhauser-Verband. By organizing all ‘truly German students’, they intended to bring together the powers needed to rejuvenate the national 157 158

Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 250–8; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 355–67, 404–21. Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 234–5, 258–62, 333–45.

312

Student movements spirit at the university. Jews were excluded from the organization. The many Vereine Deutscher Studenten were able to enlist the support of the majority of the students.159 In the Austrian part of the Habsburg Empire, the Slavic peoples gradually acquired more rights after 1867, including the organization of higher education.160 In Hungary, on the contrary, a strong magyarization tendency occurred at the universities. Non-Hungarian nationalist aspirations were given little opportunity to develop.161 The gradual relinquishing of their position of hegemony engendered a sense of threat among the German-speaking students in Austria and an aspiration for a stronger affirmation of their own identity. At the same time, the German unification of 1870 incited Austrian students to develop an extreme German national sentiment, characterized by anti-liberalism, and an aspiration to establish closer collaboration with the German Reich. These ideas were to be found in the Leseverein der Deutschen Studenten Wiens set up in 1871 at the University of Vienna. They gradually became prevalent in German-speaking student associations at other Austrian universities such as Graz, Prague, Innsbruck and Leoben.162 The first manifestations of racial anti-Semitism appeared earlier in Austrian student circles than in Germany. As early as 1867, the Viennese Burschenschaft ‘Olympia’ shed doubt on the German character of the Jews, and in 1878 the Viennese Burschenschaft ‘Libertas’ for the first time actually excluded Jewish students from the association, including those who had been baptized. From 1883 this practice spread to many other student associations: Landsmannschaften, Burschenschaften, weapon and social clubs – except for the corps in Vienna, Graz and Prague, which resisted this policy of exclusion until 1900.163 Stronger national awareness gradually developed at the Austrian universities among the Slavic students, understandably combined among the suppressed population groups with a liberal aspiration for reform. ‘Young Slovenians’ studying in Vienna and Graz called panslovenian student

159 160

161

162

163

Ibid., 348–53; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 342–54. ¨ Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 368; G. Otruba, ‘Die Universitaten ¨ in der Hochschulorganisation der Donau-Monarchie. Nationale Erziehungsstatten im ¨ ¨ Viervolkerreich 1850 bis 1914’, in Neuloh and Ruegg (eds.), Student (note 20), 93–104. ¨ ´ Otruba, ‘Universitaten’ (note 160), 78, 82, 104; P. Hanak, ‘Wandlungen der ¨ Osterreichisch-Ungarischen wissenschaftlichen Beziehungen im Laufe des 19. Jahrhun¨ derts’, in R. G. Plaschka and K. Mack, Wegenetz. Europaischen Geistes, vol. I: Wis¨ senschaftszentren und geistige Wechselbeziehungen zwischen Mittel-und Sudosteuropa vom Ende des 18. Jahhunderts bis zum Ersten Weltkrieg (Munich, 1983), 343–55. W. J. McGrath, ‘Student Radicalism in Vienna’, Journal of Contemporary History, 2, 3 (July 1967), 183–201; A. J. P. Taylor, The Habsburg Monarchy 1809–1918 (Harmondsworth, 1981), 169ff.; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 370. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 371.

313

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos meetings in 1868 and 1869 in Ljubljana (Laibach), where the demands for a united Slovenia and a Slovene university in Laibach were put forward.164 The Slovak students also joined forces with the establishment of Tatran (end of the 1860s, Vienna) and Detvan (1882, Prague). From the outset, the Slovak students in Prague met with a friendlier reception among their Czech fellow students than came the way of their counterparts in Tatran. They were also more open to Czecho-Slovak co-operation than the sister association in Vienna, which adhered more firmly to the affirmation of a separate identity.165 Poland, divided up between Russia, Prussia and Austria, on the other hand, had the best opportunities for the development of a university system of its own in the Austrian region. At the Galician universities of ´ Cracow and Lemberg (Lwow), which in 1870 and 1871, respectively, became completely Polish institutions, the students no longer sought salvation in a romantic struggle for freedom but rather in a programme of ‘organic work’, aimed at the scientific, cultural and economic development of Poland. At the Russian Imperial University of Warsaw, a wave of protest and resistance developed among the Polish student population against the terror, the police system and the espionage that prevailed everywhere. Many young people in Congress Poland went instead to the Polish universities of Galicia and boosted both the student numbers and the radical progressive mood there.166 The protest was channelled into the ‘Zwiazek Mlodzie˙zy Polskiej’ (Federation of Polish Youth, known by the name of ‘Zet’), a secret organization at university level which was set up in 1886 by Zygmunt Balicki (1858–1916).167 The student movement existing at the other Russian universities was likewise confronted with government repression. Committed students started devoting themselves to organic work, the cultural and material elevation and political awareness-raising of the peasants. From 1872 on, hundreds of students moved to the countryside as social workers, teachers and doctors. The government regarded the action as a threat and arrested almost 1,600 narodniki (populists), 525 of them were brought before the courts, and 79 condemned to exile.168 The total lack of response from the peasants to this populist crusade, however, pushed the students in the second half of the 1870s in a revolutionary direction. 164 165 166

167

Melik and Vodopivec, ‘Intelligenz’ (note 94), 145–7; Haselsteiner, ‘Bedeutung’ (note 95), 298–300. ´ ‘Slowakische Studentenorganisationen in Wien, Prag und Budapest und ihre E. Bosak, Zusammenarbeit’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 164, 173–8. ¨ J. Buszko, ‘Organisatorische und geistig-politische Umwandlungen der Universitaten auf ¨ Polnischem Boden in der zweiten Halfte des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz I (note 161), 132–45; Klimaszewski (ed.), History (note 31), 195. 168 Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 135. Vos, Strijd (note 35), 172–3.

314

Student movements The secret association ‘Land and Freedom’ formed in 1876 in St Petersburg, broke up in two directions three years later: the ‘Black Partition’ or ‘Total Land Repartition’, which opted for gradual reforms, and the revolutionary Narodnaya Volya (‘People’s Will’), which launched a terrorist offensive against the government, with the Tsar as the main target.169 After a failed assassination attempt on the police chief in St Petersburg, in 1879, the government appointed inspectors for the universities, who were given almost complete jurisdiction over the students.170 But the attempts on the life of the Tsar continued. Just when Alexander II declared himself willing to consider reform proposals, he became the victim of the umpteenth assassination attempt by members of Narodnaya Volya. The assassination brought student unrest to all the universities, which lasted until 1882. s o c i a l a n d n a t i o n a l e m a n c i p a t i o n (1885–1900) The Scottish universities, characterized by a strong democratic tradition among the British universities, set up between 1884 (Edinburgh, Aberdeen) and 1886 (Glasgow) ‘Student Representative Councils’ (SRCs), which aimed to represent the interests of the students and foster contact between the students and the academic authorities. In 1888, they came together in a consortium of Scottish SRCs (renamed the ‘Scottish National Union of Students’ in 1935), and in 1890 they organized a first Scottish Inter-Universities Conference. A couple of English civic colleges followed hesitantly: Leeds in 1891 and Liverpool in 1892.171 A new phenomenon observable at the Dutch universities was the creation of religiously inspired student associations. In Leiden the Protestant student organizations, Societas Studiosorum Reformatorum (SSR, 1886) and the Nederlandsche Christen Studenten Vereeniging (NCSV, 1896), were set up. Catholic student organizations also emerged around the same time: Teneamus Confessionem (Leiden, 1874), Veritas (Utrecht, 1890), Sanctus Augustinus (Leiden, 1893), Sanctus Thomas Aquinas (Amsterdam, 1896), Albertus Magnus (Groningen, 1896), and R. K. Studenten-Vereeniging (Delft, 1898, renamed Sanctus Virgilius in 1903). Prior to 1900, these associations principally had an apologetic purpose:

169

170 171

Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 131; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 68–9, 121; Boren, Student Resistance (note 58), 50–2; N. V. Riasanovsky, A History of Russia (New York and Oxford, 1984), 382–4. Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 131–2; Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 28. Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 187, 193; A. Marwick, ‘Youth in Britain, 1920–1960: Detachment and Commitment’, in Generations in Conflict, Journal of Contemporary History, 5, 1 (1970), 41.

315

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos the deepening of faith and the defence of Christian principles that the rationalistic and agnostic university world regarded as hostile.172 In Belgium, the pro-Flemish struggle for emancipation remained a governing factor in the emergence of new student associations. Students from the University of Louvain, assisted by scholars and students from the universities of Ghent, Brussels and Liège, set in train a powerful and militant Flemish agitation throughout the country. This led in the short term to a series of language measures and laws that contributed to making public life in Flanders bilingual. The students during those years endowed the Flemish movement with democratic inspiration, with the aim of breaking the political power of the aristocracy and emancipating the middle classes and the people.173 In Sweden, a new wave of student radicalism occurred at the start of the 1880s, which would persist until around 1910. First it reacted against the ambivalent educational tenor of the university statutes of 1852, which still did not grant the students complete freedom in their independent search for knowledge. But it also attributed to students and intellectuals a new role: they should act in the community as independent critics, only heeding their own conscience. In particular, they turned against the idealistic philosophy that had dominated the academic world for more than five decades. They had been inspired in their fundamental anti-metaphysical and anti-clerical attitude by the empirical scientific model of the natural sciences. Following Herbert Spencer, they had a strong evolutionist vision of the world and society and believed no less in the fundamental goodness of human nature and the ability through independent study and reflection to develop into a higher being. These ideas were expounded by new student circles like the Verdandi (1882) in Uppsala and the DUG in Lund (1885, from the periodical Den Unge Gubben, The Young Old Man), resumed in 1896 by the DYG (Den Yngre Gubben, The Younger Old Man). This radical student movement linked up with the emerging workers’ movement and the Social Democratic Party set up in 1889, because of the joint fight they were waging against the conservative, idealistic and paternalistic establishment.174 In Uppsala, in 1891, conservative students – as a counter to Verdandi – set up the Heimdal association, 172

173

174

J. Janssen and P. Voestermans, Studenten in beweging. Politiek, Universiteit en student (Nijmegen and Baarn, 1984), 43–6. For a survey on the Catholic students association in the Netherlands: T. Reul, ‘Het ontstaan der katholieke studentenverenigingen in Nederland, ca. 1870-ca. 1900’, Archief voor de geschiedenis van de Katholieke Kerk in Nederland, 17, 1 (1975), 10–42. For a view on a Protestant student association: De eeuwigheid nabij. Lustrumalmanak 1996 SSR Leiden (Leiden, 1996). Gevers, ‘Vlaamse studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 115–20; Gevers, Bewogen Jeugd (note 79), 136–68; Gevers and Vos, ‘Studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 2903–6; Gevers and Vos, ‘Mouvement’ (note 153), 162–3. ¨ Skoglund, Vita Mossor (note 70), 62, 80, 83, 265–7.

316

Student movements with the aim of defending traditional Swedish values and the role of the established church.175 In France, social problems stirred a number of students out of the general political passivity that prevailed in university circles. From 1891 the ´ Etudiants Socialistes Révoulutionnaires Internationalistes (ESRI) came into being in Paris; they initially tended towards anarchism, but over the following years they evolved more towards the Marxist Parti Ouvrier of Jules Guesde (1845–1922). They found a voice in the Paris periodical ` nouvelle (1893–95), and afterwards in the Jeunesse socialiste (1895) L’Ere set up by students in Toulouse. For the time being, views on the precise place and role of students and intellectuals in the workers’ movement remained unclear. At the international student congress of Zurich held in August 1894, the concept of the ‘intellectual proletariat’ was retained, in agreement with orthodox Marxism.176 In 1896 there arose within the ´ newly formed Parisian Groupe des Etudiants Collectivistes a third direction, separate from anarchism and Guesdism, aimed at the modernization of socialism in a social democratic and humanitarian sense. It also designated a separate role for students and intellectuals in the education of the proletariat, especially in the context of the socialist, popular universities. It played a stimulating role in the renewal of French socialism, which in 1901 would be put into effect in the reformist Parti Socialiste Français of Jean Jaurès (1859–1914).177 About the same time there arose a socially minded left-wing Catholic movement around the journal Le Sillon (1894), with Marc Sangnier as its figurehead. Although it was not a student movement in the strict sense of the word, it found strong support among young people who were studying. Their goal was co-operation between intellectuals and workers. To this end, study circles were set up in which intellectuals and workers discussed with each other on an equal footing. The movement wanted to compete with the socialist popular universities by setting up a number of instituts populaires. Le Sillon also encouraged the establishment of co-operatives and trades unions. From 1906 it entered politics as a pluralistically orientated left-wing Catholic formation with a progressive social programme. It consequently clashed with the ecclesiastical authorities: in 1910 it was condemned by Pope (1903–14) Pius X (1835–1914).178 Apart from this, a number of professors and students around 1900 also 175 176

177 178

Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 93. Cohen, Vingt ans (note 143), 13–23; J. Maitron, ‘Le groupe des e´ tudiants E.S.R.I. (1892– 1902). Contribution a` la connaissance des origines du syndicalisme révolutionnaire’, Le mouvement social, 46 (January–March 1946), 3–26. J. Verstraelen, Geschiedenis van de Westeuropese Arbeidersbeweging 1789–1914 (Brussels, 1954), 216; Cohen, Vingt ans (note 143), 23–6. Cohen, Vingt ans (note 143), 22; R. Aubert, ‘Die modernistische Krise’, in H. Jedin (ed.), Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte, vol. VI/2: Die Kirche der Gegenwart, 2nd edn

317

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos developed universités populaires based on the British model of ‘University Extension’ and the ‘settlement movement’, but support for this from the university world remained relatively limited.179 In England, alongside ‘University Extension’, a second movement developed in the 1880s that aimed to bridge the social gulf between academia and the working class, known as the ‘settlement movement’: members of the Church and university, including a good many students, went to live in impoverished districts of the towns and cities in order to develop social and cultural activities there. ‘Toynbee Hall’, set up in 1884 in the East End of London through an Oxford initiative, was the most striking initiative. The movement was not inspired by socialism: on the contrary, the members hoped through their input to promote social harmony and thus accomplish their dream of an organic society.180 The English model had an inspirational effect for other countries like the Netherlands. There a Studenten Toynbee Vereniging was set up in Amsterdam, Delft and Leiden around 1890. At the same time student magazines with a left-wing leaning began to appear, and socialist associations or study circles came into being at a number of universities. These initiatives usually lasted only a short time, however, and attracted a fairly limited number of student adherents.181 In Belgium professors and students of Louvain University set up social Catholic study circles (Conférence d’économie sociale, 1886, Sociale Studiekring en Sprekersbond der Leuvensche studenten, 1901) and played an important role in launching a Christian democratic current.182 Liberal professors and students from Ghent in 1892 began an expansion of high-school education under the name of Hooger onderwijs voor het volk (‘Higher education for the people’). The idea found support among the pro-Flemish students of the Université libre de Bruxelles and among the Catholic students in Louvain and Antwerp. Flemish and popular sentiment became even more closely entwined during that period: it was said that bridging the language gap between the rich and the poor in Flanders constituted an essential element in plugging the social gap. In addition, the students wanted to show through their own

179 180 181 182

(Freiburg, Basle and Vienna, 1985), 494–6; G. Cholvy and Y. M. Hilaire, Histoire religieuse de la France contemporaine, vol. II: 1880/1930 (Toulouse, 1986), 166–7; Marc Sangnier et les débuts du Sillon, 1894 (Paris, 1995). Weisz, Emergence, 308–14. Simon, Education (note 149), 78–85; Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 147. Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 62–8; Janssen and Voestermans, Studenten (note 172), 32–4. L. Gevers, ‘Studenten en sociale kwestie. De “Sociale Studiekring en Sprekersbond der Leuvensche Studenten” ten tijde van Leo XIII’, Onze Alma Mater, 30 (1976), 222– 4; Gevers, ‘Vlaamse studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 121–3; Gevers, Bewogen Jeugd (note 79), 201–7; Gevers and Vos, ‘Mouvement’ (note 153), 163.

318

Student movements initiative that Dutch was suitable as a language of instruction for higher education.183 French-speaking professors also set up an Extension universitaire at ´ the Free University of Brussels in 1893. In 1890, a Cercle des Etudiants Socialistes was founded there, and in December 1891 these young people organized an international socialist students’ congress. They also questioned their training at Brussels University and, in 1894, decided to set up what was known as the Université nouvelle. In this new institution the principles of free research, as well as their positivist, anarchist and atheist conviction had to be guaranteed and given more of a chance than was the case at the Université libre. The institution had a strong international character and attracted many foreign professors and students. It desired primarily to be a research institution and strongly emphasized personal research and the social calling of students and academics. A technical high school was also attached to this institution to offer workers opportunities in higher education.184 Nor did German students remain insensitive to social problems, but the conservative mentality left little prospect for the development of socialist radicalism. Initiatives in the 1870s in Berlin (Mohrenclub) and Leipzig (Birnbaum) succumbed to the right-wing mood in the 1880s or were relentlessly suppressed. After the rescinding of the anti-socialist laws in 1890, police persecution dwindled but it remained very difficult for students with socialist leanings to organize themselves openly or to join proletarian organizations, owing to the persistent opposition of the academic authorities. Around 1895, some socialist student initiatives took place in Berlin, however, with the holding of lectures and the publication of the periodical Der sozialistische Akademiker. But they found very little resonance. Corporations and nationalist student associations successfully countered these socialist influences among the student population.185 Student interest in social questions was therefore channelled in a ‘harmless’, antisocialist direction. Both Protestant and Catholic students set up groups to study the social issues on the basis of a Christian-inspired 183

184

185

Gevers, ‘Vlaamse studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 125–6; Gevers and Vos, ‘Studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 2906–7; M. de Vroede, ‘Hogeschooluitbreidingen en volksuniversiteiten’, Belgisch Tijdschrift voor Nieuwste Geschiedenis, 10, 1–2 (1979), 255–78; D. van Damme, ‘Hooger Onderwijs voor het volk’, in Nieuwe Encyclopedie (note 153), 1463; F. Scheelings, ‘Studentenbeweging (Universitair onderwijs) Brussel’, in Nieuwe Encyclopedie (note 153), 2885. W. Van Rooy, ‘L’agitation e´ tudiante et la fondation de l’Université Nouvelle en 1894’, Revue belge d’histoire contemporaine – Belgisch tijdschrift voor Nieuwste Geschiedenis, 7, 1–2 (1976), 197–241; E. Goblet d’Alviella, L’Université de Bruxelles pendant son troisième quart de siècle. 1884–1909 (Brussels, 1909). Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 353–62; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 333–7, 375ff., also for the following paragraphs on Germany.

319

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos model of harmony. Examples of such circles were the Evangelische Sozialwissenschaftliche Studentenvereinigung (Berlin, 1893) and the Catholic ¨ Sekretariat Sozialer Studentenarbeit in Monchen-Gladbach, led by Carl Sonnenschein (1876–1929). Courses were also set up for workers on the initiative of the Freistudenten. These formed a counterpart to the professional Volkshochschulkurse, the German version of ‘University Extension’ courses, which were also created during those years. The social and democratic response of German students was most successfully embodied in the Freistudentenschaft or Finkenschaft. In 1896 a Finkenschaft came into existence in Leipzig, an example that was quickly followed at other German universities. A general Deutsche Finkenschaft was set up to give a slightly more solid form to the action. The association regarded itself as representative of the totality of non-organized students and opened its ranks to everyone who wanted to join, irrespective of their political or religious convictions. The movement was organized on a democratic basis, with the general meeting as the decision-making body, and its goals were to organize educational and leisure activities and to provide social services for their largely petit-bourgeois supporters. The Finkenschaft thus joined battle with the dominant tendencies existing in the student world, namely, rigidly organized anti-democratic corporatism and anti-Semitic nationalism. All this could not prevent anti-Semitism from rapidly spreading still further among the organized student community of the German universities. A shift took place from cultural to racist anti-Semitism, so that baptized Jews were also excluded. Berlin took the lead in this process. The ‘corps’ accepted hardly any more Jews from 1880 on. In the Burschenschaft the process of exclusion took place between 1892 and 1896, against the opposition of a minority of members and former members, who regarded this as a betrayal of the liberal heritage of the movement. This conflict led to the establishment of the Reformburschenschaft in 1896. Landsmannschaften, Turnerschaft, Wissenschaftlicher Verband, Protestant and Catholic asso¨ ciations also became judenrein (free from Jews) during the course of the 1890s. The few associations that remained friendly to Jews were too weak to reverse the general trend. Self-confident Jews consequently withdrew into their own newly founded corporations or associations, and a number of them were driven to Zionism.186 In Austria around 1890, a critical generation – grouped around a literary circle of young Viennese, mainly Jewish authors – launched a wave of opposition against bourgeois liberalism. They withdrew from society and sought their salvation in aestheticism and individual artistic expression. 186

See also Grieswelle, ‘Antisemitismus’ (note 20); N. Hammerstein, Antisemitismus und ¨ deutsche Universitaten. 1871–1933 (Frankfurt, 1995).

320

Student movements They made Vienna the European capital of a fin-de-siècle culture with an international allure and aura.187 It was notable, however, that the centre of this rebellious movement was not to be found at the universities, but in literary and artistic circles.188 Meanwhile, university life in the Austro-Hungarian Empire became even more gripped by nationalism and anti-Semitism. In Prague and Vienna an umbrella Lese- und Redeverein ‘Germania’ came into being in 1892 and 1893, respectively, access to which was denied to Jews. In 1890, 22 weapons associations had additionally joined together in the Maidhofener Verband, which displayed extreme nationalism and cherished the ¨ volkisch anti-Semitic principle. The issue was clinched at a large student meeting on 11 March 1896 in Vienna, at which the honour of ‘obtaining satisfaction by duel’ was denied to Jews. Burschenschaften from Vienna and Graz concurred with this view. Already by 1882 Jewish students had gradually started to organize themselves separately, first in Vienna, where Kadimah was set up;189 and ¨ in 1893 the Lese- und Redehalle judischer Studenten was founded as a meeting point for other newly created Jewish student associations. Jews also represented the driving force in the social democratic student associations, which came into being at Austrian universities in the 1880s and 1890s. Their number was restricted, and they were sometimes destined quickly to disappear again owing to the repressive action of the government, but they nevertheless had better chances of survival than in Germany. The Sozialwissenschaftliche Bildungsverein, set up in 1895, proved durable.190 German nationalism was whipped up further in the 1890s by Slav awareness, which was now being strongly expressed. The centre of this moved to Prague. From 1889, Czech-speaking students from Moravia and Silesia, who came together in the Moravska´ beseda circle, demanded the ¨ establishment of a second Czech university in Brno (Brunn). This found strong resonance among Czech public opinion and other southern Slav fellow students, Croats, Serbs, Ukrainians and Slovenes. But the government in Vienna deferred a decision referring to the counter-demand of the 187

188

189

A. Janik and S.Toulmin, Wittgenstein’s Vienna (New York, 1973); Vienne, Début d’un siècle, Seize e´ tudes, par des e´ crivains d’aujourd’hui, sur quelques-uns des grands hommes qui ont vécu a` Vienne vers 1900, Critique 31 (1975), Nos. 339–340; W. Wucherpfennig, ‘The “Young Viennese” and Their Fathers: Decadence and the Generation Conflict Around 1900’, Journal of Contemporary History, 17 (1982), 21–49; J. W. Mason, The Dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire 1867–1918 (London and New York, 1985), 44–7. ¨ R. A. Kann, ‘Wien im Blickfeld von Mittel- und Sudosteuropa unter dem geistesgeschichtlichen Aspekt des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz I (note 161), 377–9. 190 Ibid., 372–3, 426. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 371–2.

321

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos German-speaking community in Moravia that a new German-speaking university should be set up as well. The Slovenes also made increased claims from 1898 for the establishment of a university of their own in Ljubljana.191 A new phase in Czech–southern Slav co-operation was ushered in by the Young Czechs, a generation of students who, in the 1890s, entered the University of Prague and who brought into being the progressive Fortschrittsbewegung/pokrokové hnut´ı, characterized by radical nationalistic and democratic ideas. Their activities found resonance among the ˇ southern Slav students, and their periodical Casopis cˇ eského studentsva (Journal of the Czech Students) was read at the universities of Vienna, Graz and Agnam (Zagreb). They called Slav conventions in Prague (1891) and Vienna (1892) where, as well as Czechs and Poles, Croats and Serbs were the most strongly represented, and where a wish was expressed for a federalization of the monarchy, a better understanding between Serbs and Croats, and the dissemination of progressive ideas among young southern Slavs.192 A new convention followed in 1894. ´ s Garrigue Masaryk (1850–1937), a proUnder the influence of Tomaˇ fessor in the faculty of law who had sat for some time on the Vienna Reichsrat as representative of the Young Czechs, the southern Slav students in Prague joined forces. The idea of joint Serbo-Croat opposition to Magyar dominion, to the benefit of the social and economic development of Croatia at the start of the 1890s, was expressed in the student organization ‘Progressive Youth’ (Napredna Omladin) and in the ‘United Croatian and Serbian Academic Youth’ (1896). The latter association, in co-operation with students from the Prague group, issued the almanac entitled Narodna misao (National Thought, 1897), jointly edited by Serbs and Croats.193 Masaryk also exerted strong influence on the Slovak student community in Prague, brought together in Detvan, especially during the period 1890–92. At the same time evolution occurred in the Vienna sister association Tatran in the direction of a popularly based and progressive Slovak nationalism, in line with the ideas of Masaryk. Slovak students who studied in Budapest were so strongly under Magyar influence that they knew very little about Masaryk. A Slovak club, ‘Slovensky´ spolok’, 191

192 193

¨ ¨ und um die F. Hejl, ‘Die Bestrebungen um die Erneuerung der aufgelosten Universitat ¨ ¨ in Mahren ¨ ¨ Grundung einer zweiten Universitat in der zweiten Halfte des 19. und am Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 128–31; Melik and Vodopivec, ‘Intelligenz’ (note 94), 136–7. A. Suppan, ‘Bildungspolitische Emanzipation und gesellschaftliche Modernisierung’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz I (note 161), 311. Ibid., 312–25.

322

Student movements was principally directed towards literary and leisure activities, but for a short time around 1897 the notable personality of Milan Hodˇza (1878– 1944) gave it a political orientation based on democratic principles such as universal suffrage and the fair distribution of agricultural land. Hodˇza also felt that the Slovaks would only be able to enforce their rights if they co-operated with non-Hungarian nationalities in Hungary. He played an important role in organizing a student congress of non-Magyar students on 16 November 1897.194 This strong expression of national grievances among Slav and other non-German peoples in Austria was watched closely by the Germanspeaking students. They were stubbornly opposed to a further undermining of their linguistic hegemony. In January 1897, at a convention of the German national students of Austria, a declaration was drawn up in which the preservation of the German character of the universities and similar institutions in Austria was demanded.195 That same year, these problems gave rise to violent student unrest in Graz and Vienna and to bloody clashes between Czech and German-speaking students in Prague.196 At the same time, the German national student associations accentuated their aggressive policy against Catholic students. Catholic associative life among Austrian students developed slowly. It only found favourable ground in which to grow at the University of Innsbruck, with Tirolia and Rhenania. In Vienna, where anti-clerical students in 1867 had demonstrated against what they called the oppressive concordat between their government and Rome, a Catholic student association (Austria) did not come into being until 1876. From 1883 there was further modest growth in the number of Catholic associations in Vienna (Norica), Prague (Ferdinandea), Graz (Carolina) and Czernowitz (Unitas). Incidents soon occurred between members of these associations and German national students belonging to the weapons associations, because the latter denied their Catholic fellow students the right to bear arms. The fact that Catholic students refused to take part in the student protest against the government’s language measures because they were based on a dynastic Austrian point of view pushed these tensions to a climax in 1897. At a meeting in Vienna the German nationals declared that they would not rest until they had freed the people from their Roman chains and had converted them to the more noble, free and national German Christian Protestant Church.197 194 195 196 197

´ ‘Studentenorganisationen’ (note 165), 164–81. Bosak, Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65). Taylor, Habsburg (note 162), 196–7; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 423. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 372, 424.

323

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos In Russia, in 1884, the new Tsar Alexander III (1845–94) issued university statutes that introduced strict state supervision of the universities. The professors lost their administrative rights, while the rector was appointed by the minister and also placed under the authority of a governor for each university designated by the minister.198 Student uniforms were once again made compulsory to make police supervision easier, and student activities were curtailed and prohibited. In 1887, a numerus clausus of 10 per cent was additionally imposed on Jewish students. All this led to a series of protest demonstrations, which reached a climax in 1887 with violent clashes between students, the academic authorities and the police in Moscow and Kazan, followed by demonstrations of solidarity at other universities. It was in Kazan that Vladimir Iljisch Ulyanov, who later became known as Lenin (1870–1924), actively took part in the student movement in 1887. In the same year his elder brother, Alexander Ulyanov, together with four other members of a terrorist student circle in St Petersburg, made a failed assassination attempt on the Tsar, leading to their execution. The new wave of student protest led to the temporary closure of five universities and to severe repression with sentencing ranging from penal battalions, imprisonment, exile or the exclusion of many students.199 Many students, on the other hand, abhorred terrorist attacks and violent demonstrations and held firmly to the idea of social reform and constructive work among the people. This attitude was present in the zemliachestva, councils that aimed to bring together students of differing political and social views and to represent their interests. In the early 1890s an umbrella General Council came into being in Moscow, consisting of one delegate per zemliachestvo at the various universities. In the 1890s student protests at the Russian universities became a continuous rather than occasional phenomenon. Between 1887 and 1893, on average 2.5 per cent of the students were thrown out of university or sent into exile. In 1899 the protest movement reached a climax when, for the first time, a joint successful student strike was organized throughout Russia against the brutal actions of the police at a student demonstration in St Petersburg. Clashes with the enforcers of law and order led once more to arrests and to the exclusion of many hundreds of students throughout Russia, but the national strike movement nevertheless reinforced the awareness of young people of their power as well as the feeling of mutual solidarity. It was the beginning of a new important phase in the Russian student movement, culminating in the 1905 revolution.200 198 199 200

Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 28; Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 133. Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 134. Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 81–2, 87; Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 135; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 6–7; Boren, Resistance (note 58), 54–5.

324

Student movements w o r l d p o l i t i c s a n d c o r p o r a t i s m (1900–1914) After 1900, world politics inevitably came to the fore in the European student movement. The European alliances and the impending threat of war generally fostered a lurch to the right in Western and Central Europe, in the direction of imperialism and integral nationalism. The emphasis on the individuality of peoples and racial characteristics strengthened nation-transcending movements such as pan-Slavism and pan-Germanism and quite commonly gave the social action of students the character of solidarity with a people rather than with democratic aspirations. The more strongly internationally organized socialism nevertheless continued to influence the student movement. In the Danube Monarchy, the nationality struggle reached a climax while the Russian student movement clashed head-on with Tsarism.201 Also notable during this period was the greatly increased self-confidence of the students, which was reflected in the further proliferation of associations and umbrella federations but also in increasing conflicts with the academic authorities on corporatism and study interests. This self-confidence also corresponded with a new youth feeling that pushed young people towards building their own culture and life patterns, thereby creating a profile for themselves in relation to the adult world. It was not by chance that it was during this period that the first known youth movements arose, such as the German Wandervogel or the English ‘Boy Scouts’.202 The British student world, in line with tradition, continued to be characterized by a relatively low degree of organization and a weak ideological profile. This phase in the development of the British universities has been characterized by the terms ‘vocationalism’ and ‘efficiency’, focusing on the delivery of competent staff for the British Empire.203 The training of elite sportsmen was regarded to be just as important by the university authorities as study and learning, notwithstanding the criticism expressed by some of what they viewed as ‘excessive sports mania’.204 The ‘Student Unions’ became firmly established at most English universities, including Oxford and Cambridge, but attempts to group them together nationally remained weak until 1914.205 Typical of the growing urge for emancipation among young students in the last few prewar years were conflicts which arose, for example, at Queens’ College Cambridge because of protests by the students against the drinks served in 201 202

203 204 205

Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 135; Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 29, 83, 85–7. ¨ Boren, Resistance (note 58), 58–9; W. Ruegg (ed.), Kulturkritik und Jugendkult (‘Neunzehnes Jahrhundert’, Forschungsunternehmen der Fritz Thyssen-Stiftung, Jahrhudertwende) (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1974). Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 207. Ibid., 21–2; Twigg, Queens’ (note 146), 259. Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 187; Marwick, ‘Youth’ (note 171), 41.

325

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos the refectory or the excessively early hour at which their college gates were closed.206 Students, certainly at the top universities, often continued to defend the conservative, imperialist view of the leading elite. The Boer War of 1902 rekindled the patriotic fire among the students at both Scottish and English universities.207 On the other hand, there were also signs of a growing leftwing and anti-militarist tendency. Cambridge cleared the way with the establishment of the ‘University Socialist Federation’ in 1912.208 Another initiative was launched from Oxford in 1903 to strengthen the tie between the universities and the lower classes through the establishment of the ‘Workers’ Educational Association’.209 In Sweden a new form of co-operation between students and workers emerged after 1900.210 The student association Laboremus, founded in Uppsala in 1902, explicitly allied itself with the Social Democratic Party. At first its members supported trades-union work, but they soon began to organize courses for the workers. Where the majority of conservative students regarded popular development as a way of bridging the differences between the classes and preventing revolution, radical students approached Bildung as an emancipating means for the suppressed groups in society. A reactionary and anti-democratic counter-wave came to dominate the student world until 1914, and this had an impact on the student movement in Finland. In the Netherlands inter-university action between socialist students came about with the establishment of the Algemeene Nederlandsche Vereeniging van Socialistische studenten in 1909.211 At various universities general student associations were founded, which promoted both study interests and the social life of non-corps members. The new associations gradually adopted the customs and mentality of the corps and continued to keep the students removed from the social world. Female student associations also emerged (e.g., the Amsterdamsche Vrouwelijke Studenten Vereeniging, 1902),212 while denominational student associations competed with the corps.213 Apart from activity having a religious slant the Christian students were committed to social action, usually based on

206 207 208 210 211 212 213

Twigg, Queens’ (note 146), 245–6. R. D. Anderson, The Student Community at Aberdeen: 1860–1939 (Aberdeen, 1988). 209 Sanderson, Universities (note 138), 213. Marwick, ‘Youth’ (note 171), 39. ¨ For what follows on Sweden: Skoglund, Vita Mossor (note 70), 267–9. Janssen and Voestermans, Studenten (note 172), 34–5; Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 75. Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 68–73; Caljé, ‘Studentenleven’ (note 151), 81–2. Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 74.

326

Student movements an anti-revolutionary and conservative mentality.214 Temperance and the movement for complete abstinence also found significant support among them. A nationalistic Greater Netherlands attitude, expressed since 1895 in the approach to Flanders, and fostered by the South African Boer War, led to the establishment in 1910 of an Algemeen Nederlandsch Studentenverbond (ANSV) to promote cultural contacts between Dutch, Flemish and South African students. Only in 1914 did these cultural contacts come to have any political significance.215 At the same time in Belgium, the student associations split into Flemishand French-speaking communities.216 Only in some respects, like the fight of the Catholic Church against modernism, did students of the two language groups work together.217 The Flemish students did not lose sight of the language struggle, which aimed primarily to ‘dutchify’ the state university of Ghent.218 Louvain students also took action to attain partial dutchification of their own Catholic university. This led in 1909 to clashes with Cardinal-Archbishop Mercier and with the academic authorities. The radicalization of these Flemish national sentiments would make some students ripe for collaboration with the German occupation during the war. From around 1908, Louvain students maintained contact with the German Sekretariat Sozialer Studentenarbeit. This gave fresh impetus to their Catholic social action. In the remaining pre-war years they also came under the influence of the clean-living movement. It was now said that students had to prepare for their future task as leaders of their people through self-study, character building, temperance and apologetics. This current was given shape in 1911–12 through the establishment of the Amicitia circle, which wanted to tie the struggle to joining battle with the ‘ideal-killing current of apathy and half-heartedness’ and against the clubs. But Flemish- and French-speaking students found each other in a common revolt, which they unleashed in March 1914 against what they termed the unreasonably strict disciplinary policy of the academic 214 215

216 217

218

Janssen and Voestermans, Studenten (note 172), 45, 49–51; Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 78–80. L. Vos, ‘De Dietse studentenbeweging 1919–1940’, in Acta Colloquium over de Geschiedenis van de Belgisch-Nederlandse betrekkingen tussen 1815 en 1945, Brussel 10–12/12/1980 (Ghent, 1982), 451–5; P. van Hees, ‘De Groot-Nederlandse studentenbeweging’, in Broeke and Hees (eds.), Studenten (note 48), 42–6. F. Scheelings, ‘Studentenbeweging (Universitair onderwijs) Brussel’, in Nieuwe Encyclopedie (note 153), 2886. Gevers, ‘Vlaamse studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 125–9; Gevers and Vos, ‘Studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 2906–7; Gevers and Vos, ‘Mouvement’ (note 153), 163–4. On the papal anti-modernism offensive see chapter 10, 395–404. K. de Clerck, Kroniek van de strijd voor de vernederlandsing van de Gentse universiteit, 2nd edn (Ghent, 1985), 37ff.; Palinckx, ‘Studentenbeweging’ (note 154), 2893.

327

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos authorities. Demonstrations and meetings took place to demand the rector’s dismissal and to gain a voice on the academic council, but without success.219 In France, the growing self-confidence of the students reached its pinnacle in 1907 through the establishment of the national umbrella organiza´ tion, the Union Nationale des Etudiants de France (UNEF).220 There was also a sharp increase in student agitation, partly due to dissatisfaction over problems and abuses in university education. Medical students in particular responded in 1902 and 1903 to the crisis situation in their training, such as the evident over-population of the facilities and the lack of practical training. But the student protest was also an expression of a deeper malaise among the French bourgeoisie towards the radical policy of the republic. It formed a favourable breeding-ground for the emergence of the extreme-right political movement of the Action Française and its student ´ organization, the Fédération des Etudiants (1905), which found support among university students, as well as the movement of the Camelots du Roi (1908), which recruited more from the technical schools.221 The royalist movement never found great support among the students, but it was able to exploit student unrest for its own ends and to steer demonstrations in a violent direction. Their protest actions reacted, for example, to a study trip by the socialist-minded professor and Germanist Charles Andler (1866–1933) to Germany, to the transfer of the mortal remains of Emile Zola to the Panthéon, and to the nomination of François Amédée Thalamas (1867–1953) as temporary lecturer at the Sorbonne, because he had cast doubt on the sanctity of Joan of Arc.222 Spanish students at the beginning of the twentieth century finally began to defend their university interests. While up to that time they had only combined their forces in particular crises or conflicts, they now started ´ escolar came to organize through permanent unions. In 1901 an Union ´ Nacional Escolar into being, while from 1909 to 1911 the Federacion predominated. These associations advocated improvements and reforms in university education, including medical studies and registration fees. This led to regular disturbances of academic life through uprisings, strikes and confrontations with the police.223 In Germany, the nationalist student associations aimed for a ‘spiritual rebirth’ of academic youth in the direction of pan-German activism and 219 220 221 222 223

Gevers, ‘Vlaamse studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 127–42; Gevers and Vos, ‘Studentenbeweging’ (note 153), 2908–10; Gevers and Vos, ‘Mouvement’ (note 153), 166. Cohen, ‘Vingt ans’ (note 143), 26–9; Weisz, ‘Associations’ (note 144), 36. E. Weber, L’Action française (Stanford, 1962; French translation Paris, 1985), 84. Weisz, Emergence, 304–7; Weisz, ‘Associations’ (note 144), 35–44; Mayeur, ‘Naissance’ (note 141), 162–3. Mancebo, ‘Estudiantes’ (note 10).

328

Student movements ‘national pride’. The Burschenschaften in 1897 joined the Alldeutscher Verband and related associations such as the Ostmarkverein and resolved to act even more vigorously against the internal enemies of the German people. The corporations competed with each other in expressions of this aggressive and intolerant nationalism and were able to drive most German students in this direction. The witch-hunt against ‘un-German elements’ was directed not just at Jews, socialists and foreigners but also against Catholics, to whom an ultramontane, anti-national spirit was ascribed. This led to the Akademischer Kulturkampf, in which a remarkable combination of nationalist intolerance towards Catholic students and a demand for greater autonomy and freedom for the students occurred. The struggle began in 1903 when Catholic associations in Jena were excluded from the general student council and prohibited from forming corporations. When the Prussian Government and academic authorities annulled these measures the anti-Catholic movement spread to other universities under the guise of a struggle for academic freedom and the right of self-determination for student councils. The movement failed owing to the constant objections of the authorities and the opposition of the Jews and the Freistudenten, leading to a sharp increase in the number of Catholic student associations. In the last few years before the war, the democratic self-administration of students by ‘general student councils’ was introduced by liberally minded students in Leipzig (1911), Breslau (1912) and Berlin (1913/14), among other places. The Akademische Freischar, established in 1907, aimed to attach the Wandervogel principles of an anti-bourgeois youth culture spirit to the ideal of self-training pursued by the Freistudenten. The influence of the youth movement was also noticeable in the establishment of Lebensreform federations promoting sexual abstinence and temperance.224 The Socialist Youth International was founded at a conference in Stuttgart in 1907. It already had 50,000 members in that year, mainly from German-speaking countries.225 Nevertheless, the majority of students on the eve of the First World War had a ‘monarchist, anti-Semitic, ¨ anti-socialist and imperialistic’ attitude.226 The Deutsch-Volkische Studentenverband, established in 1909 under Austrian influence, even surpassed the other nationalist associations in their right-wing nationalistic tendency. The large duelling clubs (‘corps’, Burschenschaften, Turnerschaften and Landsmannschaften) also successfully suppressed the 224 225 226

Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 363–84, 391. P. G. Altbach, ‘The International Student Movement’, Journal of Contemporary History, 5, 1 (1970), 159. Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 388.

329

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos emergence of new currents by forming an umbrella federation in Marburg in 1913.227 In Austria the ever louder call of non-German nationalities for university education in their own language met with stubborn resistance on the part of the German national students, as was made clear once more at a student conference in Vienna in March 1905. Bloody clashes between Czech- and German-speaking students persisted in Prague. Violent skirmishes between Italian- and German-speaking students took place in Innsbruck in 1904 (fatti di Innsbruck) and in Vienna in 1907 and 1908, prompted by government plans to set up an independent Italian faculty of law. Obstruction by German speakers also successfully continued to prevent the establishment of a southern Slav university in Ljubljana.228 The German sentiment of the students after 1900 was more than ever coupled with a rejection of Austrian dynastic thinking. For this reason, the Landsmannschaften disappeared from the stage almost completely, ¨ while the Durnsteiner Senioren Convents-Verband, the Burschenschaften ¨ and the Kyffhauser-Verband der wehrhaften Vereine deutscher Studenten in der Ostmark adopted a pure German position and made overtures to the German student associations. Jewish students, for their part, in the pervasive atmosphere of anti-Semitism, now turned their attention rather to the Zionist movement. This movement at least found support at the universities of Vienna, Czernowitz and Prague, while it was barely present in Graz and Innsbruck.229 In Czernowitz, in particular, which attracted many Jewish students because they regarded the Bukowina most as their own nation, Jewish associations flourished.230 The German-speaking Catholic associations concurred with the antiSemitism of the German national students, but continued to adhere to Austrian dynastic thinking. The relationship between the Catholic associations and the schlagende associations became very tense, because Catholic students joined together in the Wiener Akademische anti-DuellLiga (Viennese Academic League against Duelling, 1905) and started a fight to ‘reconquer the universities for Catholicism’. In 1908, the ¨ conflict reached a climax in what was known as the Osterreichischer Hochschulkampf (Austrian higher education struggle), in which politicians and public opinion were also involved.231 227 228

229 230 231

Ibid., 384–92. S. Malfer, ‘Italienische Studenten in Wien, Graz und Innsbruck 1848–1918’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 183–5; Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum ¨ (note 65), 423–4; Otruba, ‘Universitaten’ (note 160), 101–4. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 424, 426. ¨ ¨ in Otruba, ‘Universitaten’ (note 160), 102; G. Stourzh, ‘Die Frans-Josephs-Universitat Czernowitz, 1875–1918’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz I (note 161), 54–9. Schulze and Ssymank, Studententum (note 65), 424–5.

330

Student movements In Slovenian student life, a stronger ideological differentiation also became apparent between Catholic and nationalist factions. Catholic students set up their own associations in Vienna (Danica, 1893), Graz (Zarja, 1901), and Prague (Dan, 1910). In 1905 the ‘Slovene Catholic student federation’ was set up as an umbrella federation for Catholic youth associations which met during the holidays with university students and seminarists.232 Meanwhile, the new generations of Slovene students embraced radical nationalist ideas. They distanced themselves from the traditional parties, wanting to become a leading elite working for the cultural and intellectual improvement of their nation. Their movement set up educational courses for the people, agitated for the establishment of primary and secondary schools, and tackled the social and economic problems of Slovenia. Shortly after 1900 the radical nationalists gained the upper hand in the Vienna Slovenija and founded student associations in Graz (Tabor, 1904) and in Prague (Adrija, 1906). To enable their action to continue during the vacations, radical nationalist student holiday federations came into being from 1904 on. On several occasions they additionally organized general Slovenian student meetings (Trieste 1905, Celje (Cilli) 1907, Ljubljana 1909).233 Likewise they facilitated contacts between Slovenian students and Czech, Croat, Serbian and perhaps also Bulgarian students. On their initiative, a first southern Slav student meeting was called in Budapest in 1905. However, Slovenian students and politicians did not display any solidarity towards the non-Slav peoples who were also fighting for their national rights in the Habsburg Empire. To safeguard their claim for a Slovenian university, they therefore vigorously opposed the similar aspirations of their Italian fellow-students. In Russia, most students in 1901 were still convinced that university reform was possible without broader political reforms. However, they soon became disillusioned by the ambivalent reform proposals of the government, which satisfied no one. On some points these new rules even signified a backward step in the prevailing situation, such as the prohibition of general student meetings (skhodki) and the obligation they imposed for all student meetings to be held under the supervision of a professor.234 From 1902 the new doctrine of ‘student radicalism’ began to make an entrance, as developed in the Kassa Radikalov (new organization of radical students) of St Petersburg. While upholding the students’ own corporate identity and interests, they also wanted to ally the student protest to the struggle of other social groups for broader political reforms, such 232 234

233 Ibid., 149–51. Melik and Vodopivec, ‘Intelligenz’ (note 94), 147–8. This and following paragraphs on Russia are based on Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia, 141–51.

331

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos as freedom of speech, freedom of the press and of association, the right to strike, the introduction of the eight-hour working day, and the holding of a constitutional meeting. It was an attempt to synthesize the academic and political points of view prevailing in the student movement. A wave of strikes and demonstrations against the reform proposals of the government broke out in the first few months of 1902. A heavily attended banned student meeting at the University of Moscow in February 1902 passed a resolution in favour of the political reform demands referred to above. The political authorities saw in this a signal that the student movement had become more dangerous than ever and acted accordingly. Many students ended up in prison and were sent into exile in Siberia, but they were given an amnesty after a few months when the government also relaxed the university regulations. But the students, partly influenced by their contacts in Siberia with left-wing dissidents, were nonetheless propelled in the direction of politicization. At a national student meeting in Odessa in November 1903, which was attended by delegates from St Petersburg, Kharkov, Moscow, Odessa, Riga and Kiev, social democratic and social revolutionary students once more marked out new lines for the Russian student movement of the future: it had to consist of political factions serving the objectives of the major revolutionary parties, as well as acting as the young people’s organization of those parties. This idea found support at the universities: the general student councils were replaced by what were known as student coalition councils, on which the various party political student groupings were represented. Many students were nevertheless not willing to comply with these plans. A joint demonstration of workers and students in November 1904 failed dismally. The Russo-Japanese War (February 1904–September 1905) and ‘Bloody Sunday’ (22 January 1905, the massacre by troops in St Petersburg of hundreds of unarmed workers wanting to present a petition to the Tsar) brought new challenges for the student movement. After the war broke out, the initially moderately patriotic mood among the students rapidly changed to one of opposition to the government and the war. The response to ‘Bloody Sunday’ was vehement and bitter. In February 1905, a decision was taken in the institutions of higher education to hold a student strike lasting until 1 September, when the situation would be reassessed. Unlike the large demonstrations of 1899, 1901 and 1902, this strike was not just aimed at reforming university policy but was now also closely related to fundamental political reforms and the establishment of a constitutional assembly. The professors also began to express their dissatisfaction over autocracy. They were able to obtain temporary measures from the government which were issued on 27 August 1905 and granted greater autonomy to the universities. The government appeared 332

Student movements to be bringing the situation back under control in that same month by concluding a peace treaty with Japan and announcing the election of a duma with an advisory character. The universities nevertheless played a crucial role in unleashing the revolutionary wave of October 1905. On 1 September 1905, it was decided at an all-Russian student congress to end the strike and to make the reopened universities the basis for the fight against the government, using the lecture halls for political education. By the end of September, the universities had grown into places for political meetings, to which workers streamed in increasing numbers. Older professors tried to call a halt to the meetings under the threat of closing the university altogether. But a greater threat came from outside: universities and students became the target of attacks by counter-revolutionary gangs. The country was further paralyzed by the strike of railway workers that broke out on 13 October 1905. The government then decided to close the universities and on 17 October issued a manifesto in which the prospect of more freedom and the formation of a constitutional monarchy was held out. This failed to bring the unrest in the country to an end: instead there followed an orgy of violence, with leftwing demonstrations for further reforms and right-wing pogroms against intellectuals, students and especially Jews. The universities would remain closed until September 1906. When they reopened, they were found to have undergone significant transformation as a result of the revolution. The curriculum became more flexible, the number of registrations almost doubled, and the obstacles to the admission of Jews and women were practically eliminated. The character of the student movement changed during the period from 1906 to 1908. It continued verbally to profess its alliance with the revolutionary movement, but it focused its attention again on action favouring its own corporative interests. Student associations such as the regional zemliachestva made efforts to obtain study grants, control over student restaurants, and employment for students. In addition, numerous consumer and credit co-operatives for students were created. Despite this apolitical turn in the student movement, the universities were hard pressed during those years of the counter-revolutionary crusade, which the government now launched. In 1907, general student organizations were prohibited and student meetings were put under police supervision. When the students submitted to this decision without major protest, the government went further in a systematic policy to subjugate the universities: in 1908, the relative autonomy provided for in the rules of August 1905 was terminated and the repressive statutes of 1884 reinstated. The catalyst for a renewal of student unrest was the death on 7 October 1910 of the writer Leo Tolstoy, for whom students throughout the country organized spontaneous commemorative ceremonies, holding 333

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos demonstrations in honour of the deceased author and approving resolutions for the abolition of the death penalty. Although these student demonstrations were not targeted at revolutionary objectives, the government saw them as presaging a new revolutionary wave. It reacted in an unnecessarily tough manner, with severe punishment for those who had taken part in the demonstrations, and with a circular, dated 11 January 1911, according to which student meetings were only permitted outside the university campuses, thereby facing the constant threat of police action. A wave of strikes spread throughout the universities, which helped to further sour the relationship between the government and the universities. Many professors resigned or were transferred by the government. The student unrest persisted until the war. Ideologically, student professionalism and a focus on economic and material student interests nevertheless continued to be decisive in the student movement. With the great increase in student numbers (there were more than 100,000 university students in 1914) and over-populated universities (particularly in Moscow and St Petersburg), competition for accommodation and study grants became ever greater. The events taking place in Russia influenced both Vistulaland, the part of Poland controlled by Russia, and Galicia, the Polish region in AustriaHungary. When the Russian Revolution of 1905 broke out, workers in Vistulaland started a general strike movement, which was joined by the intelligentsia, teachers, university students and secondary school pupils. The principal aim of this boycott of education, which spread over the whole of Congress Poland, was the reintroduction of Polish as a language of instruction, the reappointment of the dismissed Polish teachers, and the abolition of the police system in the schools. The repressive government measures that followed led to the closure of the University of Warsaw as well as many secondary schools, and to the exclusion and arrest of many young students. Higher education had to be continued temporarily in secret in the clandestine ‘flying university’, transformed from 1906 into the ‘Society of Scientific Courses’, which would play a significant role in the reopening of a Polish university after the occupation of Warsaw by the Germans in 1915. At the same time a massive emigration of young people took place from Congress Poland to other universities, ´ especially Cracow and Lemberg (Lwow), which consequently developed even more into centres of Polish intellectual life during this period. Cracow and Lemberg in 1905 were held in thrall by a radical, social and freedom-minded movement. Workers, teachers and students organized demonstrations and strikes to support their suppressed fellow nationals in Russian Poland, together with the expansion of suffrage, social reforms and changes in the Galician school system towards democratization, laicization and equality for women. In Prussian Poland there was no Polish 334

Student movements university, and the development of a separate Polish scientific life had to battle against the heavy pressure of Germanization.235 Finland, as a Grand Duchy, enjoyed a different position within the Russian Empire. From the reign of Alexander II it had developed more clearly into a separate state. The Alexander University in Helsingfors the only university in the country, played a key role in this ‘Finnish Question’. The presence of Swedish and Finnish language communities in Finland made the situation even more complex. With the appointment of Nikolai Ivanovich Bobrikoff (1839–1904) as Governor-General of Finland in 1898, a more repressive policy towards Finland was ushered in, aimed at binding the Grand Duchy ever more tightly to the Russian ‘fatherland’.236 The students combined their forces against this new Finland policy. In February 1899, they drew up a ‘great address’, in which they wished to communicate to the Tsar the nationalist aspirations of the Finnish people. They went into the countryside with this manifesto and were able to collect more than 500,000 signatures. At the same time, an offensive to develop the people began with renewed vigour. Courses were held in the villages to teach the population to read and write, and social assistance was organized. This social action bore a somewhat conservative stamp, because there was also a wish to warn the population against Communist and anarchist ‘aberrations’. It was nevertheless a constant source of friction between the university authorities and the Russian governor-general, to the extent that the university was forced to prohibit these student meetings. On 16 June 1904, Bobrikoff became the victim of a terrorist attack by Finnish dissidents from Stockholm. The end of the ‘repressive’ Bobrikoff policy brought new differences of opinion to light in Finnish society. The ‘Swedish Party’, which had representatives in the Finnish convention among the aristocrats and the bourgeoisie, now hoped – in line with the constitutionalists – for a return of the ‘lawful relations’ of before 1899 and hence for a restoration of its class privileges and Finnish autonomy. Old and Young Finns, in contrast, aspired to the democratic and social reforms of Finnish society, both for the impoverished peasant population and for the industrial proletariat. This democratic turn was evident from the start of 1905 in the Finnish student movement and focused on agitation against the class system and the introduction of universal suffrage. When Finnish workers joined the Russian wave of strikes in October 1905, the students decided 235

236

W. Bienkowski, ‘Die Polnischen wissenschaftlichen Institutionen zwischen der Revolution von 1905 und dem Ersten Weltkrieg. Organisation, grundlegende wissenschaftliche und ideologisch-politische Problematik’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz I (note 161), 157–77; Vos, Strijd (note 35), 178. ¨ Helsinki, These and the following paragraphs are based upon Klinge, Universitat 497–573.

335

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos almost unanimously to join the strike movement. The students broke this united front, however, when on 4 November the Tsar responded to the complaints of the constitutionalists by holding out the prospect of a parliament. Between 1906 and 1908, the Finnish student world was divided between two factions. The constitutionalists, represented particularly in the Landsmannschaften dominated by Swedish-speaking students from Nyland and Uusimaa, reproached the Old Finns for their willingness to compromise with the Russians during the years of repression under Bobrikoff. They provided a reminder of their opposition during that time by paying homage at the grave of Eugen Schaumann, who had assassinated Bobrikoff. The Old Finns, who had a majority in the Landsman¨ nschaften dominated by Finnish-speaking students, Hame, Satakunta and Eastern Bothnia, for their part accused the constitutionalists of class egoism and contrasted this with their social and national inclination. They paid tribute to the ideas of J. V. Snellman (1806–81) that the university had to be a living centre of national life and that the intellectuals had to show more solidarity with the people. They asked for rapid and complete ‘Finnization’ of the university, where 60 per cent of the lectures were still given in Swedish, while the majority of the students in the meantime had become Finnish-speaking. At a general student meeting, the principle of the bilingualism of student organizations was confirmed by a narrow majority. Swedish-speaking students felt threatened by this development and started to set up separate Swedish-speaking associations. The resumption of a more aggressive policy towards Finland by Russia from the summer of 1908 brought an end to the years of conflict between constitutionalists and Old Finns and also to the Old Finnish policy of opposition on the language issue. Students tended to turn away from direct political action and focus their attention on cultural, philosophical and artistic topics. The student press, which only now blossomed – in both Finnish and Swedish – was primarily cultural and educational in nature, and the new spirit of the time was also reflected in associations such as the ‘Student Cultural Association’. The Finnish students consequently followed the example of Swedish and Danish student publications with which they kept in contact through correspondents. There was great admiration among professors and students for the Danish Nietzsche-inspired philosopher Georg Brandes (1842–1929) and Harald Høffding (1843– 1931), both of whom were welcomed as guest professors in Helsingfors. From around 1908 the student movement focused more strongly on the students’ own interests. A visible and lasting result of this was the construction of an imposing house for the Landsmannschaften, which was inaugurated in 1910. Associations were also created to provide accommodation and work for the students. 336

Student movements In the remaining pre-war years, Finland, like the other Scandinavian countries, came under the thrall of German cultural imperialism with its race and power ideology, in which the struggle between ‘Slavs’ and ‘Teutons’ was central. Out of opposition to the exaggerated Russification policy, it was also directed more firmly towards Sweden. Swedish-speaking students from around 1912 took a Swedish-German line and compared the inferior racial characteristics of the ‘Finnish-speaking masses’ with the superior racial features of the Swedes. But Finnish student associations were also aiming for better contacts with Swedish students with a panGermanic orientation and found the ideals of readiness for action and personal sacrifice appealing in light of the impending war. The war commenced with the assassination of the pretender to the Austrian throne in June 1914 by the Bosnian Serb student Gavrilo Princip (1895–1918). Bosnian Slav nationalism had grown strongly after 1900 and took on aggressive forms particularly after the annexation of BosniaHerzegovina by Austria in 1908. The new generations spawned the Mlada Bosna movement (‘Young Bosnia’), which distanced itself from parliamentary and legal forms of opposition to Austro-Hungarian dominance. In contrast, Bosnian students at the universities of Belgrade, Zagreb and Vienna, together with secondary school pupils, were inspired by Russian revolutionary ideas and the terrorism of the Russian student movement. They organized themselves into the ‘Serbo-Croat Nationalist-Radical Youth’ and established protest publications in various cities. They also formed terrorist groups or left school or university to join distinctly military revolutionary organizations such as the ‘Black Hand’ (actual name: Ujedinjenje Ili Smr, ‘Unity or Death’), which was set up in 1911. Following the lead of Russian students, Bosnian students carried out attacks on Austrian administrators. The repressive response of the Austrian authorities provided the nationalist movement with martyrs and spurred on the terrorist campaign even further. In 1912, several bloody clashes took place between young people and police at the University of Agram (Zagreb) and in Sarajevo, followed by a general strike in Bosnian schools. The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand on 28 June 1914 was the culmination of this spiral of Bosnian nationalist youth violence.237 a w o r l d s a f e f o r d e m o c r a c y ? (1919–1939) After the war, there was a revival of student organizations and student movements at all universities in Western and Central Europe. They offered an answer to the challenges posed by post-war social problems, for which 237

Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 78–87; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 25, 158; Boren, Resistance (note 58), 62–4.

337

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos diverse blueprints were drafted, characterized on the one hand by democracy and socialism and on the other by nationalism and Fascism. In France, the national umbrella organization for students, the Union ´ Nationale des Etudiants Français (UNEF), tried to stay out of politics and restrict itself to internal co-ordination and international representation:238 the apolitical position of the UNEF was partly dictated by the sharp political differences of opinion in the student world. The ultranationalist and radically right-wing Action française of Charles Maurras (1868–1952)239 gained considerable support and organized military training aimed at violent provocation, which would lead to ‘le dernier assaut contre la République’.240 They systematically disrupted the lectures of professors regarded as ‘republican’, and organized beatings of ‘red’ students. The condemnation of Action française by Pope Pius XI in 1926 did not lead to subjugation of the student branch but prompted determined protests.241 The emphasis then shifted from radical right-wing agitation to a new group: the Phalange universitaire, which from 1927–28 began its triumphal procession throughout France. This was a right-wing, authoritarian, anti-Communist and paramilitary organization, which by 1933 already had around 10,000 members in 22 branches. It was thus able to gain the upper hand in the student world. When the Left came to power in 1936 following the election victory of the Popular Front led by Léon Blum (1872–1950), the Government made the Phalange and Action française with its student branches illegal. The attempts of these formations to survive as an organization failed, but all kinds of small Fascist and ultra-nationalistic student groups carried on the radical right-wing tradition. Left-wing student associations were, for a long time, powerless in the face of this right-wing violence, owing to their disparity. In the twenties, the Clarté movement in particular proved attractive. This was an international peace organization founded in 1919 by the Communist writer and pacifist Henri Barbusse (1873–1935), in which political action and cultural avant-gardism went hand in hand. In the journal Clarté which was published from 1924 on, both socialist ideas and modern literature were discussed, in a remarkable mixture of scientific contributions, critical reviews, visionary social blueprints and modernist poems. An attempt 238

239 240

241

J.-P. Worms, ‘The French Student Movement’, in S. M. Lipset (ed.), Student Politics (New York, 1967), 267–79; on the inter-war period: 268–71; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 202. Weber, Action française (note 221). P. Gerbod, ‘Le monde e´ tudiant français depuis un siècle: attitudes confessionnelles, idéologiques et politiques’, in Sciences de l’Homme et de son environnement. Cahiers de Clio (Brussels and Liège, 1980), 29. Weber, Action française (note 221), 264.

338

Student movements by Communist students in France to establish a left-wing front around Clarté failed, and the Union fédérale des e´ tudiants which was then set up, had very little autonomy of its own in relation to Moscow.242 Until the mid-thirties, the Communists avoided all collaboration with the nonCommunist left-wing camp of the socialist Ligue d’action universitaire républicaine et sociale. This did not happen until the idea of a left-wing front against Fascism became dominant both in Moscow and among the students and a Front universitaire antifasciste was created. In Great Britain,243 the National Union of Students was established in 1922,244 like the UNEF adopting an apolitical stance, and in the twenties it did not succeed in creating a ‘corporate social conscience’ among the students.245 However, international pacifism provided the basis for a more left-wing stance on the part of a number of active students. The movement experienced an upsurge in the first half of the twenties, depoliticization in the second half of the twenties and radicalization from around 1933, when pacifism revived. This was then not restricted to the university world, and linked the problems of ‘peace, freedom and social justice’ to anti-Fascism. From the concerns of pacifism there emerged a great interest in the League of Nations in the twenties, manifested in all kinds of new student associations and clubs, and enthusiastic involvement in the international umbrella organization, the Confédération Inter´ nationale des Etudiants (CIE).246 This pacifism was combined for a number of students with sympathy for Communism,247 and the right-wing suspected a Communist conspiracy behind every action. The universities where students adopted the most radical stance, and where the emphasis was on the new left-wing student movement, were surprisingly Cambridge, Oxford, the London School of Economics and, at the end of the thirties, also University College and Bedford College in London. All this formed the background to the noted ‘Oxford Pledge’, a resolution passed by the students in the Oxford Union on 9 February 1933 by 275 votes to 153, with the statement that came as a complete surprise to public opinion that ‘this house will under no circumstances fight for 242 243 244 245

246 247

J. Kotek, La jeune Garde. La jeunesse entre KGB et CIA. 1917–1989 (Paris, 1996). R. D. Anderson, ‘Universities and Elites in Modern Britain’, History of Universities, 10 (1991), 225–50; Anderson, Universities (note 145), 22–3. Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 141–2. E. Ashby and M. Anderson, The Rise of the Student Estate in Britain (London, 1970), 69–72, quoted by Simon, ‘Student Movement’ (note 11), 189–204, esp. 196; Marwick, ‘Youth’ (note 171). Kotek, Jeune Garde (note 242), 43–4. On the pre-history of the CIE see note 323. Kotek, Jeune Garde (note 242), 45–6. Whether all these activities are to be regarded as Communist ‘submariners’ as this author suggests on the basis of his research in the Komintern archives, remains open to question.

339

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos King and country’.248 This position was confirmed in a second vote and was applauded at other universities, including in the United States. There were clashes on the streets in the years that followed between left-wing and right-wing students, for example in connection with meetings held by the British Fascist leader Oswald Mosley (1896–1980). Further radicalization was caused by the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936. A number of idealistic students joined the international brigades on the side of the Spanish Republicans, for which most student associations started organizing large collections of medicine, food, clothing and money. Young conservatives and those who did not clearly opt for the left or for pacifism also opposed Fascism and from 1937 supported the ‘Next Five Years Group’, which called on ‘all progressive opinion to unite, to restore peace and to defend civil liberties in Europe’.249 The result was a change of course for the NUS. The annual general conference in 1937 abandoned its apolitical stance when considering the question of academic unemployment. This naturally led to the questioning of the social function of the university ‘in relation to the needs of modern society’. In the light of the experience of the German universities, which had not succeeded in effectively opposing Fascism, an examination was made in 1939 of how the universities in Great Britain could be transformed into ‘fortresses of democracy’. This necessitated internal democracy, with a say for students and freedom of speech. This development culminated in the ‘British Student Congress’ held in Leeds in March 1940, which approved the ‘Charter of Student Rights and Responsibilities’, in which not just political freedom but also social equality was demanded. This implied a thorough reform of the educational system, opting for a planned economy and a rejection of capitalism, imperialism and colonialism. The Congress demanded independence for India, the release of 100 student activists arrested in India, and discontinuation of the war.250 The social section of the final resolution laid the foundation for the current of student syndicalism that would inspire student movements throughout Europe immediately after the war.251 In Belgium, the universities reopened their doors in January 1919. All four of them were French-speaking, not just in Brussels and Liège but in Ghent too, where the Dutch university established by the Germans had been abolished, and in Louvain where, as in Ghent, a large proportion of the students were nonetheless Dutch speakers. As a result, the chasm between French-speaking Belgian nationalism strengthened by the war 248 249 250 251

Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 153. The Democratic Front, October 1937, 2, quoted by Marwick, ‘Youth’ (note 171), 49. The demand was made before British troops became involved in war activities. E.g., the Charter of Grenoble, Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 42.

340

Student movements and a Flemish nationalism that was gradually becoming more radical, soon led to paroxysm. The Algemeen Vlaams Hoogstudentenverbond (General Flemish University Students’ Union), which was an umbrella organization for Flemish students and in which Louvain students set the tone in the twenties, aimed at the monolingualism of Flanders through language legislation. Dissatisfaction with the disfavour of the Flemish in Belgium eventually became so great – including in broader circles of the population – that from 1930 the government itself set up a programme to bring about the monolingualism of Flemish territory. The State University of Ghent that year became exclusively Dutch-speaking, while that of Louvain evolved into an institution with a monolingual Dutch division alongside a monolingual French one. This did not prevent the emergence, especially from the circles of Catholic Flemish students, of the young cadre of the Flemish nationalist party, which in the thirties would evolve in the direction of Fascism.252 The majority of French-speaking students opposed the Flemish demands and were swayed by Action française, admiration for Mussolini and the Portuguese regime of Salazar, combined with Belgian nationalism, which for the Catholics among them was subordinate to integral ´ Catholicism. The umbrella organization Fédération Belge des Etudiants Catholiques that was set up in Louvain in 1921 also played a role in this. French-speaking liberal and left-wing student groupings, who formed a front against Fascism, had backing particularly in Liège and Brussels. In Brussels, the umbrella student movement – but also the liberal, socialist and Communist students – supported a Comité de Vigilance Antifasciste.253 In Dutch-speaking Ghent, the old liberal student association ’t Zal wel gaan from 1933 led the opposition to the rise of Fascism. During the Spanish Civil War it supplied volunteers for the international brigades,254 which also happened at other universities, such as Brussels. In the Netherlands, the failed attempt at revolution by the socialist leader Pieter Jelles Troelstra (1860–1930) in 1918 caused the ‘old-style’ student corps to form ‘student banners’, but they otherwise largely stayed 252

253 254

On Louvain: Gevers, ‘Mouvement’ (note 153), 161–73. On Ghent: K. Palinckx, ‘Nu naar Gent’ Vlaams-nationale en katholieke studentenbeweging te Gent. 1928–1940 (Ghent, 1995). Also: under the heading of ‘studentenbeweging’ (‘student movement’) in Nieuwe Encyclopedie (note 153), 2881–2918, ‘Brussels’ (F. Scheelings), ‘Ghent’ (K. Palinckx), ‘Leuven’ (L. Gevers and L. Vos ), ‘Liège’ (L. Gevers and H. Balthazar). See there also under the heading of ’t Zal wel Gaan’ (R. Willemyns, G. Declercq and B. de Ruyver), and ‘jeugdbeweging’ (‘youth movement’) (L. Vos). On the Catholic school pupils in this period: L. Vos, Bloei en ondergang. A. Despy-Meyer, A. Dierkens and F. Scheelings (eds.), 5 novembre 1941. L’ Université Libre de Bruxelles ferme ses portes (Brussels, 1991). H. Balthazar, Het taalminnend studentengenootschap ’t Zal wel Gaan. 1852–1977 (Ghent, 1977), 18.

341

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos outside politics in the twenties.255 Depoliticization and individualism were the dominant themes for the average student in the twenties.256 Among the majority of the younger generation of students there emerged after the Great War a pacifist sense of mission, which was manifested in the emergence of new associations and interest in the League of Nations, the e´ lan for which disappeared around 1925, as in England.257 There was also a demand for international student contacts within a broader circle, leading to the establishment of an apolitical umbrella organization, the Nederlandsche Studenten Organisatie (NSO), in which the corps set the tone, but this disappeared as early as 1923 as a result of internal divisions.258 Although its place in the CIE was taken by an Algemeene Senatenvergadering, there no longer existed a genuine umbrella organization of students in the Netherlands thereafter until 1940.259 The denominational – Reformed and Catholic – student associations had taken over the practices of the corps, but on the basis of their religious conviction they were more socially orientated. A Catholic variant of post-war idealism was the Heemvaart movement, aimed particularly at giving greater depth to personal life. The left-wing student associations did not succeed in gaining a significant following.260 Social interest in the existing student associations did, however, increase in the thirties.261 A minority of the students found Dutch nationalism appealing and showed an interest in the Greater Netherlands, in other words the endeavour to merge the Netherlands and Flanders. They formed the Dietsch Studentenverbond, which at most universities was able to attract around 10 per cent of the students.262 In collaboration with DSV-Vlaanderen, they organized the Grootnederlandse Studentencongressen (Greater Netherlands Student Congresses), which were attended by a few hundred Dutch students at the end of the twenties.263 The association disintegrated after 1933 as a result 255 256 257

258 259 260 261 262

263

Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 209–11. Vrankrijker, Vier eeuwen (note 47), 344–5. Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 75; P. J. Knegtmans, Een kwetsbaar centrum van de geest. De universiteit van Amsterdam tussen 1935 en 1950 (Amsterdam, 1998), 33. P. A. J. Caljé, ‘Continu¨ıteit en discontinu¨ıteit in de studentencultuur van de twintigste eeuw. Studentencultuur als jeugdcultuur’, in K. van Berkel and F. R. H. Smit (eds.), Een universiteit in de twintigste eeuw. Opstellen over de Rijsksuniversiteit Groningen. 1914–1999 (Groningen, 1999), 11–66, esp. 20–1. Vrankrijker, Vier eeuwen (note 47), 356–8. Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 217–18. A. Droeve, ‘Studentenraad’, in Studenten (note 152), 119. Hagendijk, Studentenleven (note 48), 76–7; Caljé, ‘Continu¨ıteit’ (note 257), 23–4. Vrankrijker, Vier eeuwen (note 47), 359–61. Vos, ‘Dietse studentenbeweging’ (note 215), table 2, 468: 1930 figures for Utrecht: only Utrecht, Groningen and Leiden brought together less than 10 per cent of the students. See also, Van Hees, ‘Studentenbeweging’ (note 215), 34–52, figures 48–9. Vos, ‘Dietse studentenbeweging’ (note 215), table 1, 467; Van Hees, ‘Studentenbeweging’ (note 215), 34–52.

342

Student movements of the discussion on Fascism and new order and the attraction of radical right-wing groupings. In 1921, an apolitical national union of students also came into being ¨ ˚ in Sweden, the SFS (Sveriges Forenade Studentkarer – National Swedish Union of Students).264 The left-wing student movement experienced an upsurge in the twenties under the influence of the Clarté movement. It rejected both Fascism and Marxism-Leninism and adhered to democracy, in which it saw a role set aside for intellectuals as ‘social engineers’, who had to borrow their ‘tools’ from the emerging social sciences and eugenics, which was principally developed by the state institute for racial biology established in 1921 at the University of Uppsala.265 Conservative and radical right-wing student associations peppered with anti-Semitism gained a following. A shift from conservatism to Fascism proved particularly successful among students who were preparing for a career in the civil service. This alarmed the social-democrat politicians of the time, who from 1932 were in power in coalition with the Agrarian Party, and who would remain in power for 44 more years. They therefore tried to conceal their socialist signature as much as possible, and to portray themselves as a left-of-centre party. The social-democratic student associations also dropped Marxism and tried to make themselves acceptable to future civil servants. The followers of Clarté, including a good number of Communists, naturally regarded this as a betrayal of the socialist ideal. Some older student associations joined the Swedish student branch of the social-democratic Second International.266 The government then attracted many former students from radical circles into government service, a process which continued in the forties and which, in the fifties, led to many of them ending up in top positions and helping to shape the post-war Swedish welfare state.267 In the newly independent Finland, Finnish and Swedish were in principle put on an equal footing as official languages in the 1919 Constitution, so that the bilingualism of the university in existence before the war was continued.268 This led to a language battle in the student world, which remained the most significant point of dispute in the inter-war period, all the more so because, as a result of the Fennicization of secondary education since the start of the twentieth century, increasing numbers of Finnish-speaking students were enrolling.269 The dispute focused not just 264 265

266 268

Caljé, ‘Continu¨ıteit’ (note 257), 22; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 190. G. Broberg, Statlig rasforkning. En historik Over rasbiologiska institutet (Lund, 1995), cited by V. Delporte, ‘Raciale beeldvorming rond de Valloner in Zweden. Het instituut voor rassenbiologie te Uppsala in het begin van de twintigste eeuw’ (unpublished licenciate dissertation, Catholic University of Louvain, 1999). 267 Skoglund, Vita Mossor ¨ Baars, Scandinavië (note 71), 179. (note 70), 275. 269 Ibid., 625. ¨ Helsinki, 614–16, 620–1, 623. Klinge, Universitat

343

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos on the language of education but also on the relationship between those who were university-educated and the ‘Finnish people’, with whom they nevertheless had to be able to speak in the national language, and on the question of whether bilingualism should remain a constituent element of Finnish identity. A radical Finnish movement favoured a ‘Finnish imperium’,270 and the catalyst for this was the AKS (Akateeminen Karjala-Seura – Academic Karelia Association), set up in 1922. It was initially intended as an association of Finnish volunteers who had taken part in the battles in Eastern Karelia, but it quickly evolved into a paramilitary, National Socialist, fighting organization. The core element of its ideology was virulent hatred of Russia linked to the dream of a Greater Finland. From 1923 the most important student journal, Ylioppilastlehti, which was supported by the Landsmannschaften, favoured the AKS ideology, which attracted a great following among students.271 In 1924, AKS launched a campaign against Russian monuments and memorials at the university, which it combined with propaganda in the provinces, where it tried to convince the ‘people’ of the need to build up a new, purely Finnish, National Socialist Finland.272 In 1924–25, the umbrella bilingual student association in effect broke up into Finnish and Swedish general student federations. From 1925, AKS began a campaign for a review of the university decree of 1923, which had provided for academic bilingualism and hence ‘the Finnish popular element tied to the apron strings of the Swedish upper stratum’. AKS proclaimed 1928 as the year of the Fennicization of higher education, as completion of the Finnish struggle for freedom that would sweep away ‘880 years of injustice’. They organized a petition signed by 3,014 students, which indicated the great following acquired by the AKS. But the academic authorities and the older Swedish-speaking generation at the university, as well as the conservative politicians, rejected this proposal as extremist and destructive. The AKS was also rebuffed by the radical right-wing, anti-liberal and anti-Communist Lapua Movement, which came into being in 1929 in response to the outbreak of the economic crisis, and which regarded the language struggle as less significant than the struggle against Communism in Finland supported by the Soviet Union. From the struggle between younger students who wanted to continue the Greater Finnish movement, and others who primarily wanted to bring about an anti-Communist and anti-Soviet alliance with the support of the Swedish-speaking upper stratum, politicians emerged at the end of the thirties who would establish an anti-Communist front at the national level, including the later President Urho Kekkonen (1900–1986). 270

Ibid., 627, 629, 631.

271

Ibid., 642–3.

344

272

Ibid., 644–6.

Student movements The language battle was waged with particular fanaticism between 1933 and 1935. The demand for a monolingual Finnish university became dominant in student circles. Swedish-speakers wanted to retain Swedish as a language of education or demanded, in turn, the creation of a completely independent Swedish university. In 1935, clashes occurred in the streets between uniformed Fascist Finnish nationalist groups and the forces of law and order. The university legislation subsequently approved was a compromise, which provided, on the one hand, for some bilingualism and, on the other, for the students to have the option of attending lectures either in Finnish or in Swedish. In this way the language conflict was pacified to some extent, with the result that the Finnish nationalist movement underwent something of a decline at the end of the 1930s.

v o¨ l k i s c h e r n a t i o n a l i s m (1919–1939) In Germany, the student movement bore all the marks of the after-effects of the First World War.273 After November 1918, the 22 German universities received a real influx of students and consequently faced a structural crisis, with the characteristic features of massification of the institution,274 proletarization of the students, and unemployment.275 The student movement responded with the Studentenhilfe initiative for student jobs and student accommodation, and organized a say in student matters by form¨ ing Allgemeine Studentenausschusse (ASta) through elections; these, like their umbrella organization, the Deutsche Studentenschaft (DSt) established in June 1919,276 were recognized by the civil authorities as being representative.277 Unlike in France or England, the student umbrella organizations did not restrict themselves to ‘representation’ but also called upon the students to serve the German nation.278 The DSt adopted an 273

274 275 276

277

278

In contrast to other countries, the literature on the German student movement – including the inter-war period – is very extensive, and it is almost impossible to give an overview. The ‘bibliographical essay’ by M. S. Steinberg, Sabers and Brown Shirts: The German Students’ Path to National-Socialism (Chicago, 1973), 225–32, can serve as a pointer. The most important publications are listed in the Select Bibliography at the end of this chapter and/or will be used in the references quoted below. See Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 131–2. Evidence from the diplomat Rudolf Frahn, a Berlin student in 1920, that he had to attend some lectures with audiences of 1,000 to 1,500: Steinberg, Sabers (note 273), 24. On the living conditions of working students: Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 144; also Steinberg, Sabers (note 273), 35–6. In 1920, 10 per cent of students belonged to ‘das Werkstudententum’, in 1922 almost every student, in 1923 53 per cent; in the holidays 90 per cent of students worked. W. Zorn, ‘Student Politics in the Weimar Republic’, Journal of Contemporary History, ¨ 5 (1970), 298; A. Leisen, ‘Die Ausbreitung des volkischen Gedankens in der Studentenschaft der Weimarer Republik’ (Diss. Heidelberg, 1964), 41–2; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 61–2. A. Faust, Der Nationalsozialistische Studentenbund. Studenten und Nationalsozialismus ¨ in der Weimarer Republik (Dusseldorf, 1973), 19.

345

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos ‘Alldeutsche’ stance, with the intention of representing not just the students of the Weimar Republic but all German-speakers, including those in other countries. From the outset there were differences of opinion on the political direction the nation should take. A small minority of students in 1918 opted for the left, particularly in Munich, where they gathered around the pacifist student veteran Ernst Toller (1893–1939), who in April 1919 supported the revolution which briefly turned Bavaria into a soviet republic. Most students, on the other hand, opted for right-wing nationalism, feeling that the chaos in Germany was caused by Jews and reds,279 and believing in the ‘stab in the back’ legend as the cause of the ‘humiliation’ of Versailles.280 When the revolution was quashed, this was done by the ‘Freikorps’, which also included right-wing students,281 and the right-wing Bavarian Government which then came to power continued to use students in paramilitary formations until 1923.282 In March 1920, a large number of Berlin students lent their support to the Kapp Putsch, an attempt to overthrow the republic through a coup d’état and to restore the Kaiserreich.283 But when, in response to this, left-wing revolutionary uprisings broke out in Thuringia and the Ruhrgebiet, many students on the basis of a nationalist anti-left reflex re-examined the question of government and army command to help put them down.284 When Marburg students on 25 March 1920 shot fourteen captured workers in Bad Thal, the Prussian Government banned the students from undertaking any more military action, although they did continue to exist illegally. Many students were attached to the radically anti-Semitic Schutz- und Trutzbund, which – until it was closed down by the government because of terrorist activities – had around 200,000 members. ‘A philosophical leaning to militarism seems to have predisposed many student veterans to paramilitary activities.’285 More significant than the paramilitary predisposition was the ideolog286 ¨ ical shift to a right-wing nationalism which called itself volkisch. This term referred to a body of thought in which race and being united by blood 279

280 281 282 283 284 286

‘Nur einem von Juden und Sozialisten verhetzten Volke konnte eine derartige Katastrophe zustossen’ declared Professor for German Literature in Berlin Roethe in May 1919. See Klose, Freiheit (note 17), 213. Faust, Studentenbund (note 278), 20–1. Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 195; Klose, Freiheit (note 17), 211–13. Steinberg, Sabers (note 273), 50. Ibid., 49–50; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 113. Burg’s claim that 50,000 students took part in the ‘Kapp Putsch’ appears unlikely to be true. 285 Steinberg, Sabers (note 273), 50–1. Klose, Freiheit (note 17), 213. The subsequent content of that concept is the one developed by the students, as explained ¨ in Leisen, ‘Ausbreitung’ (note 277), II: ‘Volkisches Gedankengut’, 193–256.

346

Student movements were regarded as the basis of the German identity, and which was linked to ¨ anti-Semitism. The volkisch current dreamt of a revolution which would genuinely make the Volksgemeinschaft the bearer of the nation, rejected the previous empire that was blamed for the German defeat and aimed to bring about the Third Reich – after the title of a book, published in 1923 by Arthur Moeller van den Bruck (1876–1925).287 This Reich, held aloft ¨ by a people which had become a nation, would be a true volkische Staat, ¨ in which the Fuhrerprinzip would replace parliamentary government. ¨ The impetus for this volkisch nationalist movement among the students was provided by the Hochschulring Deutscher Art (later Deutscher Hochschulring), founded in Berlin in June 1919 by student veterans, which was joined by most of the pre-war student associations.288 As a ‘movement’ it spread rapidly throughout Germany, with the vagueness of the programme leading to internal rivalry between three political groupings; around 1922, these could be described as the Young Conser¨ vatives, who were distinctly volkisch and who were strongest in Berlin, the Conservatives, who were based on the old corps and set the tone in many local student communities, and finally the paramilitary, extreme ¨ volkisch group centred in Bavaria, which was associated with the ‘Freikorps’ tradition and in which National Socialists also played a role. This third tendency set the tone of the Ring journal, Deutsche Akademische Stimmen.289 The most significant forum at which the Hochschulring and others tried to push the student movement in a particular direction was the annual Deutsche Studententag (German Student Day). Since the first one con¨ vened in Wurzburg in 1919, there had been heated discussion as to who could be counted as belonging to the Deutsche Studentenschaft (DSt). It was unanimously agreed that foreign non-German-speaking students did not belong, but discussion centred on the question of whether – as the Austrian students demanded – the Jews should be excluded. The differ¨ ences between the liberal republicans and the volkisch racist nationalists ¨ were dealt with in a compromise solution in Gottingen in 1920, but from ¨ 1921 this led to a struggle for predominance in the DSt which the volkisch racist nationalists achieved in 1924.290 The national umbrella organizations of Poland and Czechoslovakia did not recognize the claims of the 287 288 289 290

J. Schwarz, Studenten in der Weimarer Republik. Die deutsche Studentenschaft in der Zeit von 1918 bis 1923 und ihre Stellung zur Politik (Berlin, 1971), 379. Zorn, ‘Politics’ (note 277), 299; Leisen, ‘Ausbreitung’ (note 277), 57; Schwarz, Studenten (note 287), 168–74; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 96. Steinberg, Sabers (note 273), 49–60. Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 145–6. Report on the growing differences of opinion during the student days in Schwarz, Studenten (note 287), 223–76; Leisen, ‘Ausbreitung’ (note 277), 38–65.

347

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos Deutsche Studentenschaft outside the borders of the Weimar Republic, and there was heated debate on this at some CIE congresses.291 With the arrival of the first completely post-war generation of stu¨ dent leaders, the volkisch current set the tone, as was apparent from the resounding victory scored by the Hochschulring at the Dst elections in the summer of 1924.292 Around this time, the first National Socialist student formation was set up in Munich by Rudolf Hess (1894–1987) during the Hitler putsch of 8–9 November 1923 as a company of the local SA regiment.293 In the days following the failure of the putsch, students sympathizing with Hitler provoked anti-Semitic and anti-Catholic disturbances, with some fatalities occurring in the clashes with the police. ¨ From the mid-twenties it is possible to speak of a volkisch revolutionary period, in which the ‘Weimar State’ was increasingly dubbed the enemy of the German people. Criticism of the Weimar Republic became a trial of strength between the student movement and the government when, in 1925, the former demanded the dismissal of Theodor Lessing, a Jewish lecturer at the Technische Hochschule (TH) Hanover, because he had published a critical article on Field Marshal von Hindenburg as a candidate for the office of President of the Republic. The Prussian Minister of Education, Carl Heinrich Becker (1876–1933), did not assent to this demand, and 1,200 of the 1,500 students left the TH Hanover in protest and continued their studies at the nearby TH Braunschweig.294 A second conflict between the same minister and right-wing students began in 1926, when he tried to keep access to the student associations open to all German citizens, including 291

292

293

294

¨ internationale Freundschaft nach dem Ersten Batowski, ‘Die Studentenvereine fur Weltkrieg am Beispiel Polens und der Tschechoslowakei’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz II (note 29), 55. Around 1929 a new – more democratic – umbrella organization was created, the ‘Deutsche Studentenverein’, with which Czech and Polish students were able to reach a compromise; however, this association became marginal in the German student world, and it disappeared in 1933. See various case studies, including for the first ‘brown’ university, Erlangen: M. Franze, Die Erlanger Studentenschaft, 1918–1945 (Wurzburg, 1972); W. Kreutzberger, ¨ Studenten und Politik 1918–1933. Der Fall Freiburg im Breisgau (Gottingen, 1972); G. Mergner, ‘La mobilisation national-socialiste parmi les e´ tudiants allemands’, Le mouvement social 120 (1982), 109–21. D. Heither and M. Lemling, ‘Die studentischen Verbindungen in der Weimarer Republik ¨ (note 61), ¨ ¨ und ihr Verhaltnis zum Faschismus’, in Elm, Heither and Schafer (eds.), Fuxe 99–110. M. H. Kater, Studentenschaft und Rechtsradikalismus in Deutschland. 1918–1933. Eine sozialgeschichtliche Studie zur Bildungskrise in der Weimarer Republik (Hamburg, 1976), 159–62. The anti-Lessing campaign was the first in a series of actions by rightwing students against democratic – often also Jewish – professors, such as E. Cohn (Breslau), E. J. Gumbel (Heidelberg), G. Kessler (Leipzig), B. E. Maurenbrecher and H. Nawiasky (both Munich). On anti-Semitism, Jewish professors and students: Kater, Studentenschaft, 154–62; Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 146–50; Heither and Lemling, ‘Verbindungen’ (note 293), 115–19.

348

Student movements Jews. At the end of 1927, the minister allowed the students themselves to vote for or against the draft law. The result of this referendum was a defeat for the democratization policy of the Prussian Government, because 77 per cent of the total of 12,315 students rejected the constitutional equality of all citizens.295 This right-wing ‘victory’ pushed the minority of student groups with a democratic, republican, Jewish or socialist leaning even further into isolation.296 In October 1928 the Hochschulring began military training, and from 1929 it started setting up ‘war sport’ camps together with Stahlhelm. But in the following years it lost its popularity to the uniformed sections – brown shirts, swastika armbands and boots – of the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Studentenbund (NSDStB) set up in 1926, which in 1928 came under the leadership of Baldur von Schirach (1907–74).297 The NSDStB opposed what it called ‘the infiltration of the universities by Jews’ and advocated the introduction of a numerus clausus (restriction on numbers) for Jewish students, which in due course also had an impact on the appointment of members of staff and professors.298 It had the wind in its sails, and in 1931 at the national student day in Graz it was able to gain control of the DSt.299 Under Nazi leadership, the DSt on 12 April 1933 published its ‘12 theses against the un-German Spirit’, with the result that Jewish and liberal publications became the target of ritual book-burning. Following the seizure of power by Hitler, this occurred at all German universities between 26 April and 10 May 1933.300 The integration of organized student life into the NS-Staat was completed by ¨ the subsequent establishment of a Reichsstudentenfuhrung (Reich student leadership) led by Gustav Adolf Scheel, which controlled both the DSt and the NSDStB.301 In 1935 and 1936 there followed the demise of the old student corps, with their absorption into the NSDStB, and the disbanding of all denominational student associations followed in 1938.302 During the National 295 296

297

298 299 300 301

Figures per university: in Steinberg, Sabers (note 273), 69, based on a source from 1927 and Leisen, ‘Ausbreitung’ (note 277), 146. ¨ von Olenhusen, ‘Die “nichtarischen” Studenten an den Deutschen Hochschulen. A. Gotz ¨ ZeitgesZur nationalsozialistischen Rassenpolitik. 1933–1945’, Vierteljahresheft fur chichte, 14 (1966), 175–206. Heither and Lemling, ‘Verbindungen’ (note 293), figures pp. 120–1, see also Mergner, ‘Mobilisation’ (note 292), who studied the archives of two Christian student corporations in Erlangen (Uttenruthia and Bubenruthia) and cites many quotations in support of this statement. Hammerstein, Antisemitismus (note 186), 86–7, 95–6. Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 62. Heither and Lemling, ‘Verbindungen’ (note 293), 121–33. ¨ ¨ H.-W. Stratz, ‘Die studentische “Aktion wider den undeutschen Geist” im Fruhjahr ¨ Zeitgeschichte, 16 (1968), 347–72. 1933’, Vierteljahrsheft fur 302 Ibid., 203. Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 62.

349

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos Socialist period all kinds of duties were imposed on the students (‘Arbeitsdienst’, ‘Wehrdienst’, ‘Dienst im Kameradschaftshaus’). They also had to take part in physical training (fencing), and they were repeatedly deployed in a group, with the result that the university rectors complained to the government that too little time was left for study.303 Protest and dissidence had no place in the academic world, as elsewhere in the Third Reich. Even academic freedom had ceased to exist in 1933. The Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy broke up in November 1918, with the German-speaking part becoming the new Austria. It had three important universities, Vienna, Graz and Innsbruck, where the mood in the student communities had already been distinctly German nationalistic and anti-Semitic since the nineteenth century.304 In the twenties, they were pleased to welcome students from the Weimar Republic to spend a summer term in Austria, when they dubbed Graz the ‘Austrian Heidelberg’. This influx of students came to an abrupt end in 1933, because of the strict Austrian control and restrictions.305 The aversion to the influence of the ‘Jewish International’ was far stronger among the German-speaking Austrian students than in Germany itself.306 This was coupled with a great aversion to non-German-speaking students from Russia and Poland in particular, who were depicted in the press as ‘Bolsheviks’.307 The ideological distinction among the corps students between Catholics and German nationals weakened slightly in the twenties, when anti-Semitism and anti-Marxism were shared by both groups, but it increased again as the National Socialism rejected by the Catholics came to dominate in the German national camp.308 At the University of Graz, around 1930, about 550–700 of the approximately 2,000 students there were politically active: some 300 to 400 in ¨ a German national volkisch sense, around 200 in Catholic associations, 303 304

305 306

307

308

Klose, Freiheit (note 17), 241–2. W. Benz ‘Vom freiwilligen Arbeitsdienst zur Arbeitsdi¨ Zeitgeschichte, 16 (1968), 317–46. enstpflicht’, Vierteljahresheft fur In 1929 there were 11,337 students in Vienna, 2,421 in Graz and 1,915 in Innsbruck. ¨ ¨ With thanks to Walter Hoflechner for providing these figures. See also W. Hoflechner, ¨ ¨ Die Baumeister des kunftigen Glucks. Fragment einer Geschichte des Hochschulwesens ¨ in Osterreich vom Ausgang des 19. Jahrhunderts bis in das Jahr 1938 (Graz, 1989). ¨ M. Gehler, ‘Korporationsstudenten und Nationalsozialismus in Osterreich. Eine quantifizierende Untersuchung’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 20 (1994), 28. M. Gehler, ‘Vom Rassenwahn zum Judenmord am Beispiel des studentischen Anti¨ Innsbruck von den Anfangen ¨ semitismus an der Universitat bis ins “Anschluss”-Jahr 1938’, Zeitgeschichte, 16 (1989), 263–88, cited in Gehler, ‘Korporationsstudenten’ (note 305), 9. ¨ ¨ On the organization of the foreign students at Graz: W. Hoflechner, ‘Auslandische ¨ Graz. 1918–1938’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz Studierende an der Universitat II (note 29), 269–89. M. Gehler, Studenten und Politik. Der Kampf um die Vorherrschaft an der Univer¨ Innsbruck. 1918–1938 (Innsbruck, 1990). See also Gehler, ‘Korporationsstudenten’ sitat (note 305), 1–28.

350

Student movements and only 25 to 50 on the left. The 40 or so Jewish students – some leftwing, some orthodox – increasingly turned to Zionism and, as elsewhere in Austria, they formed an organization for self-defence. Nazi student formations were founded as early as 1919 in Vienna, 1923 in Graz, and 1929 in Innsbruck. They quickly gained ground from 1931. In Vienna they gained 37 per cent of the votes at the university in 1931/32, and at the Technische Hochschule they won 49.5 per cent. In 1930 the Technische Hochschule of Graz became the first institution in the German language area where Nazis won all the seats.309 ¨ Tension between the volkisch-national and National Socialist students on the one hand and the Catholic students on the other increased from 1932–33.310 The latter explicitly rejected Nazism, although they also opposed Marxism. The Nazi students for their part linked up with the nationalist pre-war ‘Freedom from Rome’ movement. Following the Anschluss of March 1938, they took over completely. They were able to ¨ and they have the University of Graz renamed Adolf-Hitler-Universitat, started a campaign to ‘purify’ the student community of Jews and political opponents. Backing for the NSDStB grew to 55.6 per cent of the student population and, at the Technische Hochschule in the same city, to as much as 70.3 per cent.311 t h e c h a r m o f f a s c i s m (1919–1939) The disappearance of Austria-Hungary was coupled in Central Europe with the formation of new nation states, where the students felt called to serve a national revival movement. This was also the case in the re-created Poland.312 The students in Cracow began forming a Student Legion on 3 November 1918, before the actual armistice. Afterwards, several hundred students took part in the fighting in three Silesian uprisings, in the hope of gaining the whole of Silesia for Poland. The student umbrella organization Zwia¸zek Narodowy Polskiej Mlodzie˙zy Akademickiej (ZNPMA) (National Association of the Polish Academic Youth) was dominated by the nationalist and anti-Semitic313 student association Mlodzie˙z Wsechpolska (Pan-Polish Youth). The Catholic student circle Odrodzenie (Renaissance), which was re-established in 1918, initially 309 310 312 313

¨ D. Binder, ‘Der Weg der Studentenschaft in den Nationalsozialismus’, in C. Brunner and ¨ und 1938 (Vienna and Cologne, 1989), 75–7, 82–6. H. Konrad (eds.), Die Universitat 311 Ibid., 93. Ibid., 79–86, 88–9. Révész, Jugendbewegungem (note 12), 64–5. The Jewish community in Poland formed 9–10 per cent of the population, and at the most important universities a quarter to a third of all students in the early 1920s were ´ 31 per cent, Vilnius 33 per cent and Warsaw 23 per Jewish (Cracow 24 per cent, Lwow cent). A. Pilch, Studencki ruch polityczny w Polsce w latach 1932–1939 (The political student movement in Poland 1932–1939) (Cracow, 1972), 144–71.

351

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos supported it but in 1923 came into conflict with it, because they placed Catholicism above nationalism. A younger generation, centred in Vilnius, opted in 1929 for the Christian personalism of Jacques Maritain (1882– 1973),314 and wanted to form a common front of all students who rejected integral nationalism. But this progressive trend was reined back at the (Catholic) Social Week of 1932 by the established Catholic organizations, resulting in a split in the Catholic student association. A middle position was taken by the populist ‘Association of Polish Democratic Youth’, which had been set up in 1927 to bring together those young people whom Marshal Pilsudski (1867–1935) – the strong man of Poland since 1926 – wanted to help in attaining the Sanacja, an authoritarian programme for moral revival, political clean-up and social solidarity. But in the early thirties the Sanacja regime supported a more radical student association that was on the rise at the time, the ‘Legion of the Young Academic Association of Working for the People’, which agitated for social reform in a corporative sense. The regime disbanded all other national student associations in 1933, so that Mlodzie˙z Wsechpolska, Odrodzenie and the small socialist and Communist student associations were all affected. In the left-wing camp, some tried to form a popular front against Fascism, the focal-point of which were the Communists, particularly in Cracow and Warsaw. In the winter of 1935–36, the front organized strikes to protest the rise in the cost of higher education, but it was rebuffed by right-wing and traditional student formations, which created gangs of thugs to disrupt the lectures of Jewish and left-wing professors and to brutalize Jewish and left-wing students. In addition, in 1937 and 1938, there were police and government actions targeted at left-wingers.315 Prague was the seat of the ‘Czechoslovak’ central student umbrella ¨ organization, with a Slovak branch located in Brno (Brunn), while a purely Slovak student umbrella organization existed alongside this in Bratislava (Pressburg).316 Prague also housed a Russian University partly financed by the Czechoslovak Government and a Ukrainian University with their 314

315 316

On Maritain: chapter 10, 403. In 1934, Maritain visited Poland, when he attended ´ His ideas were disseminated in Poland the international Thomist Congress in Poznan. in particular through the monthly magazine Pax (Vilnius), and from the end of the thirties through the quarterly Verbum (Warsaw). Four of his works appeared in Polish translation before the Second World War. J. Babiuch-Luxmoore, ‘Het personalisme en de oppositie in Polen’, in L. Bouckaert and G. Bouckaert, Metafysiek en Engagement. Een personalistische visie op gemeenschap en economie (Louvain, 1992), 25. Wankel, Organizations (note 125), 8. ´ redni svaz cˇ eskoslovenského studentstva’ (US ´ CS: ˇ ‘Ustˇ Central Association of the ¨ cˇ eskoslovenského studentstva’ (Association of Czechoslovakian Student Body), ‘Svaz ¨ slovenského studentstva’ (Association of Slovakian Czechoslovakian Students) ‘Svaz Students).

352

Student movements corresponding immigrant student associations.317 The two associations had a tense relationship with each other, but both sent representatives to ´ the Conféderation Internationale des Etudiants (CIE). Despite the official Czechoslovak hospitality towards foreigners, there were conflicts, particularly with the German-speaking students, because they adopted a radical German nationalist stance throughout the inter-war period. In 1920 a law was passed stipulating that the insignia of the Charles University would be transferred to the Czech university. But this provision was not put into effect. In 1934, this led to violent nationalist demonstrations by Czech students demanding its implementation. The riots lasted three days. Czech Fascists exploited them in an attempt to bring the student movement under their influence, but they failed in this attempt. German-speaking students, on the other hand, then openly opted for National Socialism. They formed what were known as Volkssport groups, which perpetrated anti-Czech and anti-Semitic actions, and whose leaders, arrested by the Czech authorities, continued to attract support as martyrs of the movement.318 The occupation of Bohemia and Moravia by Germany in March 1939 fostered a spirit of resistance among many Czech students, the most important resultant actions being large demonstrations on 28 October and 15 November 1939, but which were broken up. There were fatalities, many demonstrators were incarcerated, and all the Czech universities and technical colleges closed. Of the arrested students, 1,200 Czechs aged twenty and more were sent to the Oranienburg camp. This fitted in with the Nazi plan to destroy the Czech nation, either by assimilation or – as far as the intelligentsia was concerned – by deportation and extermination.319 In Slovakia, the situation was different because a satellite state dependent on Nazi Germany was set up there under Monsignor Jozef Tiso (1887–1947). In Romania, the expansion of the country’s territory after the First World War resulted in a doubling of the population and an increase in ethnic minorities. Against this background, students belonging to the ‘generation of 1922’ launched a protest movement under the leadership of a law student, Corneliu Codreanu (1899–1938), against overcrowding in 317

318 319

‘Obedinenie russkich emigrantskich studentˇceskich organizacji’ (Association of Student Organizations of Russian Emigrants); ‘Central’nyj emigrantskij sojuz ukra¨ıns’kych studentiv’ (Central Association of Ukrainian Students in Emigration). J. Havranek, ‘Fascism in Czechoslovakia’, in P. F. Sugar (ed.), Native Fascism in the Successor States (Santa Barbara, 1971), 47–55. J. F. Zacek, ‘Nationalism in Czechoslovakia’, in P. F. Sugar and J. Lederer, Nationalism in Eastern Europe (Seattle and London, 1969), 166–207; ‘The Czech intellectual elite and middle class were singled out by the Nazi program of terror and supplied a disproportionate number of some 200,000 persons who passed through concentration camps and the 250,000 reported to have died during the occupation’, Ibid., 196–7.

353

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos the universities, making the ‘aliens’ and especially the Jews responsible for the ‘Bolshevik threat’. When the exclusion of the Jews did not immediately succeed, students opted for a conspiracy, with the aim of assassinating liberal politicians and Jewish bankers. The plotters were rounded up in 1923 and put on trial, but they turned the trial into an indictment of the established order. In 1924, Codreanu murdered a police officer, but his trial was repeatedly postponed by the authorities under pressure from violent rioting in the streets by students, and he was finally acquitted by a jury, all the members of which had swastika buttons in their lapels. In 1927, he founded the ‘Legion of the Archangel Michael’, later known as the ‘Iron Guard’. The student leaders of the ‘generation of 1922’ became the leaders of the Romanian Fascist movement, the largest in any country outside Italy and Germany.320 In Spain, General Miguel Primo de Rivera established a dictatorship in 1922. He abolished the statute granting university autonomy and – without much success – pressured the students to become members of the ´ Juventudes Patrioticas of his unity party. From 1926 on, student associations turned ever more clearly against the dictatorship. In 1927, they ´ universitaria escolar (FUE) in Madrid, which was joined the Federacion led by Antonio Maria Sbert (1901–80). The FUE officially had no right to exist, but it was supported by some professors and by the writer José ´ de la uniOrtega y Gasset (1883–1955), who dedicated his book Mision versidad to it in 1930. The FUE met with opposition, however, from ´ de estudiantes catolicos, ´ the Confederacion which supported the regime, because the regime for its part favoured the Catholic universities. These were the universities of Deusto, Navarra and El Escorial. In 1928, these Catholic universities received from the government the right to grant academic degrees. This prompted a protest movement encouraged by the FUE that was nonetheless suppressed, after which Sbert was banished to Mallorca in 1930.321 This led to further student protest. Students pelted the house of Primo de Rivera with stones. The University of Madrid was closed. On 22 December 1930, a student strike began, leading to the fall of the dictator, after which Sbert returned in triumph. The FUE was now declared legal, and it became more influential during the first few years of the Republic. It opposed the old-fashioned curriculum, favouring academic freedom and the liberalization of the universities. From 1931–32, left-wing student associations promoting a true ‘backto-the-people-spirit’ urged the setting-up of folk high schools; they 320

321

I. Livezeanu, ‘Fascists and Conservatives in Romania: Two Generations of Nationalists’, in M. Blinkhorn (ed.), Fascists and Conservatives: The Radical Right and the Establishment in Twentieth-century Europe (London, 1990), 218–39. Feuer, Conflict (note 42), 294–5.

354

Student movements toured the country in educational campaigns with a popular theatre (‘La Barraca’), and with puppet shows and a ‘cinema for the people’. When the Civil War broke out in 1936, many students became involved in the fighting on various fronts, in various formations, both left wing and right wing. A considerable number of students perished. The dictatorship, established by General Francisco Franco (1892–1975), led to the ‘gagging’ of the democratic and left-wing student movement. The FUE was dismantled and the opposition driven into clandestine activity. In the student world, power went to the Falangist ‘Spanish Student Union’ that was tied to the apron strings of the regime. In Italy the Duce Benito Mussolini (1883–1945) liked to present himself as the spokesman for a new generation and contrasted the ‘young’ Fascist Italy with the senility of the ‘old Europe’. The highest level of the Fascist youth movement (Opera Nazionale Balilla) was the Gruppo Universitaro Fascista (GUF), open to students aged 26 or less. In 1935, it had 68,659 members. As well as providing training in Fascist doctrine, it fostered sporting, recreational and para-military development, which also included compulsory weekly pre-military exercises under the leadership of officers from the militia. The main attraction of the GUF was that it was responsible for student accommodation, medical student services and student grants.322 From 1932, the GUF organized each year the Littoriali della Cultura e dell’Arte. These were a kind of oratory contest, where discussion took place on society and Fascist ideals in the framework of the official ideology. National prizes were awarded to anyone who, on the basis of science, could make practical proposals for daily life in the modern age. The Littoriali were the most free forum for discussion in Fascist Italy, and a place where criticism of various aspects of the regime could be expressed. The students were very interested in debates on Fascism as a ‘social revolution’ and the way in which corporatism had to be applied as a new social order. The GUF also sponsored inter-university Littoriali in sport and athletics. Although no independent student movement existed, there was some scope for discussion in Italy, and the GUF even faced competition from Catholic student associations affiliated to the Vatican-supported Federazione Universitaria Cattolica Italiana (FUCI), in which an anti-Fascist trend was also manifested. The tension between the two groups increased when, in 1931, the regime wanted to liquidate the Azione Cattolica and the groups of the FUCI, but this tension was defused when Mussolini 322

M. Ostenc, L’Education en Italie pendant le fascisme (Paris, 1980). M. Ostenc, ‘Les e´ tudiants fascistes italiens des années 1930’, Le Mouvement Social (July–September 1982), 95–106; R. J. Wolff, ‘Fascisizing Italian Youth: The Limits of Mussolini’s Educational System’, History of Education, 13 (1984), 287–298; M. A. Ledeen, ‘Italian Fascism and Youth’, Journal of Contemporary History, 4 (1969), 137–54.

355

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos and Pius XI were able to reach a compromise. Dissatisfaction with the rapprochement with Nazi Germany and its racial legislation nevertheless grew among a large number of students in the late thirties. s t u d e n t m o v e m e n t s w i t h o u t b o r d e r s (1919–1939) After the First World War, a new dawn seemed to emerge for international understanding. In 1919, in response to a French initiative, delegates from seventeen countries met at a first international student congress, which decided to create a permanent international association as an umbrella for the national student organizations. The initial name, Réunion des Etudiants Alliés, referred to the fact that the Central Powers at first were not invited.323 The English students, with support from the Dutch, opposed this exclusion. They succeeded in having students from the Central Powers admitted to the association in 1924, resulting in a change of name to ´ the Conféderation Internationale des Etudiants (CIE). The CIE promoted the exchange of students, international student facilities, and studies relating to higher education and student life. The headquarters in Brussels offered affiliated student organizations all kinds of services such as travel assistance, information on jobs, and sponsorship of sports events such as the World University Games.324 The most tangible results of the CIE included the creation of a ‘University Book Centre’, which was able to provide students with cheap books, and aid actions to benefit impoverished students in Central and Eastern Europe.325 In 1937, the League of Nations – which the previous year had set up a World Youth Congress – officially recognized the CIE as a world-wide representative student organization. It ceased to operate when the Germans invaded Belgium in May 1940. Despite its strict adherence to an apolitical stance, the CIE did not escape the influence of political division. Firstly there was the initial animosity towards the defeated enemy, but secondly and above all there was the principle that the association was only willing to recognize one national umbrella organization for each country, so that the association itself stirred up nationalist antagonism. In Czechoslovakia, the Deutsche ¨ Studentenschaft, which adopted a volkisch position and claimed to represent all German-speaking students, was not recognized by the CIE. When 323

324 325

Altbach, ‘International Student Movement’ (note 225), 156–74; Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 55. In 1919 only France, Luxembourg, Spain, Poland, Czechoslovakia and Romania were considered to have a national student umbrella organization, and to be among the Allies. They were therefore membres titulaires. Other Western countries for the time being became membres libres. However, the number of full members gradually expanded. Frank and Wiardi Beckman, Geschiedenis (note 47), 217–18. Droeve, ‘Studentenraad’ (note 259), 115–32, esp. 119.

356

Student movements a new, democratically orientated, umbrella organization was set up in 1929, the Deutscher Studentenverein, the CIE found a partner for discussion.326 After Hitler seized power in 1933, it was abolished, and the Germans no longer co-operated with the CIE. Belgium was represented in the CIE by the exclusively French-speaking ´ Union Nationale des Etudiants Belges (UNEB), and the Flemish students formed an umbrella organization of their own, the Algemeen Vlaams Hoogstudentenverbond (AVHV), which, as a result of the mediation of Dutch and Scandinavian students, was able to attend the second CIE Congress in Brussels in September 1920, but which did not succeed in being recognized as a full member then or in the ensuing years.327 The ideal of understanding across national borders was also pursued by other student associations in many countries. In both Central and Western Europe, specific student associations developed in favour of the League of Nations and world peace,328 and they sought contact with each other at the international congresses of the Friends of the League of Nations. Congresses of this kind – in Rome (1927), Paris (1928), Budapest (1929), Brussels (1930) and Riga (1931) – created ties between the student leaders and promoted the expansion of bilateral contacts. Following on from this, associations aiming to promote bilateral understanding between two nations came into being. Associations were set up in Poland and Czechoslovakia, for example, with names such as the ‘Academic Circle of Friends of France’.329 Distinctly ideological umbrella organizations were also formed. The Catholic student umbrella organization Pax Romana (now the ‘International Movement of Catholic Students’ – IMCS) was set up in 1921 at a congress in Fribourg, with representatives from seventeen European countries, and it was officially recognized by the Vatican.330 It organized international student congresses on substantive Catholic issues, but it also offered student services such as direct assistance and student exchange, while acting as a representative body for the Catholic student community in the international forum. A permanent secretariat was set up in Warsaw in 1929 for Catholic student associations in the Slav countries, which, as a division of Pax Romana, was given the name Slavica Catholica. A World Assembly was held in Washington in 1939. This was a sign that expansion into other continents was being promoted. From 1941, Pax Romana began operating in Latin America. 326 327

328 330

Cf. pp. 347–8. J. Vermeulen. Geschiedkundig overzicht van de werking van het Algemeen Vlaamsch Hoogstudentenverbond sinds zijn ontstaan 1919 tot de viering van het IIe lustrum 1929 (Louvain, 1929). 329 Ibid., 51–3. Batowski, ‘Studentenvereine’ (note 291), 49–56. B. Pelegri, IMCS-IYCS: Their Option, Their Pedagogy (Kowloon, Hong Kong, 1979), 3–10.

357

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos The Communist international student and youth organizations, which started operating shortly after the October Revolution, were an attempt by students with a Soviet leaning to bring the international student forum under control, as they had previously done with the Russian student movement.331 At the first post-war international congress in November 1919, ¨ Willy Munzenberg (1889–1940) did not invite the ‘right-wing’ or ‘centrist’ social democracy, and the existing organization became the Communist International of Youth (known by its Russian abbreviation KIM). At the second congress held in Jena in 1921, it was found that the organization had become an instrument of the Komintern. Between 1921 and 1924, the KIM followed an ultra-left line, regarding social-democratic or other left-wing associations as enemies. The students from the Soviet Union in the twenties were not affiliated to the CIE. At the end of the twenties, the Soviet Union took the lead in all kinds of initiatives for international disarmament and also set up ‘front organizations’ under ‘neutral’ names to bring non-Communists into a movement that was actually led by Communists.332 One of these was the ‘League against Imperialism’, which was founded in 1927 with an anti-colonialist programme at a conference in Brussels;333 another was the ‘League against ¨ War and Fascism’ launched by Munzenberg, which started with a World Congress Against War in Amsterdam in 1932 boycotted by the socialist international,334 and which from 1937 was known as the ‘League for Peace and Democracy’. The anti-Fascist peace movement received a significant boost after Hitler seized power in January 1933, as shown by the ‘World Youth Congress for Peace’ held in Paris in that year, in which more than 100,000 young people took part, making it the largest youth manifestation of the inter-war period. It was followed in 1934 by a ‘World Student Congress Against War and Fascism’ in Brussels.335 In the meantime the Communists also controlled de facto the ‘World Student Association’, the ‘American Youth Congress’ and the ‘American National Student League’.336 Communist infiltration did not alter the fact that this protest movement against Fascism and war was a genuine social movement, led by students who believed in their cause but who in their actions were drawn 331 332 333 334

335 336

Kotek, Jeune Garde (note 242), 20–9. G. van Maanen, The International Student Movement. History and Backgound (The Hague, 1966), 13–22. Kotek, Jeune Garde (note 242), 31. Burg, Encyclopedia (note 21), 9, ‘Among the leaders of the Congress were US author Sherwood Anderson and the French novelist Henri Barbusse’; the American National Student League had sent a delegate and in December 1932, organized a Student Congress Against War in Chicago. Kotek, Jeune Garde (note 242), 52. D. Caute, The Fellow-Travellers: A Postscript to the Enlightenment (New York, 1973), 132–40.

358

Student movements by the radical appeal of Communism. From 1934, a new international line was adopted by Moscow, aimed at the formation of ‘popular fronts’ against Fascism. Henceforth, the KIM opted for co-operation with other left-wingers, thereby strengthening its leading role in the anti-war movement.337 They helped to organize the World Youth Congress held for the first time in September 1936 in Geneva, and two years later in Vassar, in the United States. These meetings influenced left-wing student leaders from every European country and had an impact particularly in England – the only country where a left-wing student movement became dominant in the thirties. Around 1937 a ‘World Student Association’/Rassemblement mondial des Etudiants (WSA/RME) came into being, with the ‘independent’ but Communist sympathizer James Klugmann (1912–77) as general secretary. The WSA/RME brought together student associations from Western countries as well as the colonies, where the students were often involved in anti-imperialist actions. The Nazi-Soviet Pact of August 1939 and the subsequent Soviet attack on Poland as a partner of Nazi Germany in September 1939 and on Finland in November 1939 dealt a severe blow to the ‘front organizations’, resulting in a drain on numbers and a split, so that these ‘front organizations’ disappeared from the national and international stage one after the other.338 In a Europe dominated by the new order, a new international student umbrella organization – Jung Europa – began operating under German leadership, with an international student congress held in Dresden in 1941, attended by some pre-war national student umbrella organizations such as the Flemish VVS.339 When the Second World War broke out in September 1939, the Nazi regime in Germany was less inclined than ever to give up its grip on the student world. There was no place for academic protest against Hitler’s policies. select bibliography Allerbeck, K. R. Soziologie radikaler Studentenbewegungen. Eine vergleichende Untersuchung in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland und den Vereinigten Staaten, Munich and Vienna, 1973. Anderson, R. D. Universities and Elites in Britain since 1800, London, 1992. Bleuel, H. P. and Klinnnert, E. Der deutsche Student auf dem Weg ins Dritte Reich. ¨ Ideologien-Programme-Aktionen. 1918–1935, Gutersloh, 1967. Boren, M. E. Student Resistance: A History of the Unruly Subject, New York, 2001. 337 338 339

Kotek, Jeune Garde (note 242), 50–8. Caute, Fellow-Travellers (note 336), 189–99; Kotek, Jeune Garde (note 242), 60–82. D. Martin, De Rijksuniversiteit Gent tijdens de bezetting 1940–1944: leven met de vijand (Ghent, 1985), 91.

359

Lieve Gevers and Louis Vos Burg, D. F. Encyclopedia of Student and Youth Movements, New York, 1998. Caron, J.-C. Générations romantiques. Les e´ tudiants de Paris et le Quartier Latin, Paris, 1991. ¨ ¨ Elm, L., Heither, D. and Schafer, G. (eds.) Fuxe, Burschen, Alte Herren. Studentische Korporationen vom Wartburg bis Heute, Cologne, 1992/1993. Faust, A. Der Nationalsozialistische Studentenbund. Studenten und National¨ sozialismus in der Weimarer Republik, Dusseldorf, 1973. Feuer, L. S. The Conflict of Generations: The Character and Significance of Student Movements, New York, 1969. Gerbod, P. ‘Le monde e´ tudiant français depuis un siècle: attitudes confessionnelles, idéologiques et politiques’, in Sciences de l’Homme et de son environnement. Cahiers de Clio, Brussels and Liège, 1980. Gevers, L. Bewogen Jeugd. Ontstaan en ontwikkeling van de katholieke Vlaamse studentenbeweging. 1830–1894, Louvain, 1987. ¨ Gruttner, M. Studenten im Dritten Reich. Geschichte der deutschen Studentenschaft. 1933–1945, Paderborn, 1995. Hagendijk, R. Het studentenleven. Opkomst en verval van de traditionele studentencultuur, Amsterdam, 1980. Jarausch, K. H. Students, Society, and Politics in Imperial Germany: The Rise of Academic Illiberalism, Princeton, 1982. Kassow, S. D. Students, Professors, and the State in Tsarist Russia, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1989. Kater, M. H. Studentenschaft und Rechtsradikalismus in Deutschland. 1918– 1933. Eine Sozialgeschichtliche Studie zur Bildungskrise in der Weimarerrepublik, Hamburg, 1976. ¨ Die Universitat ¨ Helsinki. 1640–1990, Klinge, M. Eine nordische Universitat. Helsinki, 1992. Klose, W. Freiheit schreibt auf eure Fahnen. 800 Jahre Deutsche Studenten, Oldenburg and Hamburg, 1967. Kotek, J. La jeune Garde. La jeunesse entre KGB et CIA. 1917–1989, Paris, 1996. Morrissey, S. K. Heralds of the Revolution: Russian Students and the Mythology of Radicalism, Oxford, 1998. ¨ Neuloh, O. and Ruegg W. (eds.) Student und Hochschule im 19. Jahrhundert. Studien und Materialien, Studien zum Wandel von Gesellschaft und Bildung ¨ im Neunzehnten Jahrhundert 12, Gottingen, 1975. ¨ Plaschka, R. G. and Mack, K. (eds.) Wegenetz Europaischen Geistes, vol. I: Wissenschaftszentren und geistige Wechselbeziehungen zwischen Mittel- und ¨ Sudosteuropa vom Ende d. 18. Jh. Bis zum Ersten Weltkrieg, Munich, 1983. ¨ ¨ Wegenetz Europaischen Geistes, vol. II: Universitaten und Studenten. Die ¨ Bedeutung studentischer Migrationen in Mittel- und Sudosteuropa vom 18. Bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Vienna, 1987. Révész, L. Jugendbewegungen im Ostblock, Vienna, 1985. Sanderson, M. The Universities in the Nineteenth Century, London, 1975. ¨ Schulze, F. and Ssymank, P. Das deutsche Studententum von den altesten Zeiten bis zur Gegenwart, Munich, 1931.

360

Student movements Schwarz, J. Studenten in der Weimarer Republik. Die deutsche Studentenschaft in der Zeit von 1918 bis 1923 und ihre Stellung zur Politik, Berlin, 1971. Simon, B. ‘The Student Movement in England and Wales during the 1930s’, History of Education, 16, 3 (1987), 189–203. ¨ ¨ Fanor. Vansterstudenter ¨ Skoglund, C. Vita Mossor under Roda kulturradikalism och bildningsideal i Sverige 1880–1940, Stockholm, 1991. Steinberg, M. S. Sabers and Brown Shirts: The German Students’ Path to NationalSocialism, Chicago, 1973. Vos, L. ‘Ideologie en idealisme, De Vlaamse studentenbeweging te Leuven in de periode tussen de twee wereldoorlogen’, Revue belge d’Histoire Contemporaine, Belgisch Tijdschrift voor Nieuwste Geschiedenis, 6 (1975), 263–328. ‘De Dietse studentenbeweging 1919–1940’, in Acta Colloquium over de Geschiedenis van de Belgisch-Nederlandse betrekkingen tussen 1815 en 1945, Brussel 10–12/12/1980 (Ghent, 1982), 451–5. ‘Nationalism and Student Movements: Conceptual Framework and a Flemish Case-Study’, in M. Norrback and K. Ranki (eds.), University and Nation: The University and the Making of the Nation in Northern Europe in the 19th and 20th Centuries, Helsinki, 1996, 77–87. ¨ eure und unsere Freiheit.’ Studentenschaft und junge IntelWawrykowa, M. ‘Fur ¨ ligenz in Ost- und Mitteleuropa in der ersten Halfte des 19. Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart, 1985. Weisz, G. The Emergence of Modern Universities in France, 1863–1914, Princeton, 1983.

361

CHAPTER 9

G R A D U AT I O N A N D C A R E E R S

KONRAD H. JARAUSCH

introduction In educational practice, the maxim non scholae, sed vitae discimus is more often violated than observed. Following this mind-set, university historians have written volumes on what goes into institutions of higher learning and what happens within them. But they have all too often ignored their output, namely the consequences of such training for culture, society and polity. The topic of ‘graduation and careers’ surfaces only occasionally in university historiography, usually in the guise of ‘alumni history’. Anniversary Festschriften abound with references to famous sons of an alma mater, with the institution taking full credit for illustrious individual achievement. One extreme specimen relating to the nineteenth century is an East German coffee table book on Karl Marx’s years at the University of Berlin.1 In countries with strong student associations such as Germany, a second variant of the genre is fraternity history. Sometimes coupled with lists of Old Boys, these amateurish accounts chronicle the development of a particular student corporation. Reflecting nostalgia, career listings are used as a recruiting tool to impress newcomers with the graduates’ success.2 In cultures with less academic migration and more general institutional loyalty such as Great Britain, universities sometimes edit biographical registers of their famous alumni. Based upon address lists used largely 1 2

G. Steiger, R. Lange, E.-G. Schmidt and I. Taubert (eds.), Die Promotion von Karl Marx – Jena 1843 (Berlin, 1983). ¨ ¨ M. Dreßler (ed.), Festschrift zur Feier des funfzigj ahrigen Bestehens der Verbindung ¨ Halle-Wittenberg (Halle, 1910). Cf. also the printed CorpslisThuringia an der Universitat ten and Burschenschaftslisten as well as K. H. Jarausch, Deutsche Studenten, 1800–1970, Edition Suhrkamp, n.s. 258 (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1984). Fraternity lists are inadequate sources for career data, since they only cover a small and atypical part of the student body.

363

Konrad H. Jarausch for the purpose of soliciting donations, these dictionaries are a potentially important source for investigating the subsequent role of graduates prosopographically. If they are linked with matriculation records, such alumni directories allow the comparison of inputs with outputs of higher education, thereby revealing patterns of social hierarchy and mobility.3 Such sources are preferable to declarations of intent of high-school leavers, since they deal with actual outcomes rather than anticipated hopes.4 Yet in spite of their interesting material, such volumes of alumni history lack a theoretical thrust which would make their conclusions generally interesting. Current studies of higher education and occupation in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries are also of little help, since they are preoccupied with labour market control.5 If it were linked more closely to higher education, professionalization theory might provide a conceptual focus, since it systematically addresses the role of academic careers. Without help from university history, this approach was developed by social historians interested in the emergence of the learned professions and by social scientists intent on generalizing about their increasing importance in society.6 While the radical perspective on the intellectuals or intelligentsia captures only a minority of politically committed literati, a professions’ focus can address the problems of all higher education graduates.7 Since most definitions include references to tertiary training and the acquisition of credentials by examination, this approach poses systematic questions about the relationship between higher learning and subsequent careers.8 Although there has been some discussion of the professionalization of professorial pursuits, most accounts of lawyers, doctors and the like are practitioner centred and remote from the academy. In order to become fruitful for university 3

4

5

6 7

8

P. Harrigan, Mobility, Elites and Education in French Society of the Second Empire (Water¨ loo, Ont., 1980), 32; D. K. Muller and B. Zymek (eds.), Sozialgeschichte und Statistik des Schulsystems in den Staaten des Deutschen Reiches, 1800–1945, Datenhandbuch zur ¨ ¨ deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. II: Hohere und mittlere Schulen 1 (Gottingen, 1987). History of Oxford, VI. There has also been considerable work on the graduates of the French grandes e´ coles, such as J. Weiss, The Making of Technological Man: The Social Origins of French Engineering Education (Cambridge, Mass., 1982). However, these studies only give information on a single institution so that the wider national pattern still remains to be explored. ¨ U. Teichler, ‘Forschung uber Hochschule und Beruf’, in D. Goldschmidt et al. (eds.), ¨ Forschungsgegenstand Hochschule: Uberblick und Trendbericht (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1984), 193ff. M. Burrage and R. Thorstendahl (eds.), The Professions in Theory and History, 2 vols. (London 1990). See vol. II, 398ff. and notes 132–5 (W. Frijhoff, ‘Graduation and Careers’). C. Charle, Les intellectuels en Europe au XIXe siècle. Essai d’histoire comparée (Paris, 1996); J. Kuczynski, Die Intelligenz. Zur Soziologie und Geschichte ihrer Grossen (Cologne, 1987). C. E. McClelland, ‘Zur Professionalisierung der akademischen Berufe in Deutschland’, in ¨ Bildungsburgertum, 233ff.

364

Graduation and careers history, research on professions therefore has to engage in questions of training and certification more systematically.9 Recent shifts in professionalization theory from an a priori knowledge-based conception to a critical debunking of professional egotism have made such a rapprochement difficult.10 But greater attention to continental experiences has not only drawn attention to the crucial role of the state but also increased appreciation of the importance of formal education as opposed to the apprenticeship training of the British system.11 It might therefore be useful to explore such academic issues as training, organization, labour market and institutional tradition from a professionalization perspective, although in the absence of systematic information about the subsequent careers of European university graduates between 1800 and 1939, the following remarks can only provide a preliminary sketch of developments which still needs to be completed with further national and occupational detail.12 t h e ro l e o f k n ow l e d g e i n t h e r i s e o f the professions The role of knowledge in the rise of the professions has become somewhat disputed. While functionalists assume that professionals are its living embodiment, critics concede only a rhetorical utility for justifying professional claims. Such differences persist, since the structure of that expertise is rarely discussed in detail. The distinctions of the German philosopher Max Scheler between religious, meritocratic and political knowledge (Heils-, Leistungs- und Herrschaftswissen) are not particularly helpful.13 A comparative look at nineteenth-century universities and professions suggests a different typology. A prerequisite of higher learning and of academic occupations was some form of general cultivation. Known variously as liberal education, Allgemeinbildung or culture générale, this generalized cultural capital functioned both as common ground for the educated and as a social divide 9

10

11

12 13

See the chapters by A. Engel, C. E. McClelland and C. E. Timberlake in K. H. Jarausch (ed.), The Transformation of Higher Learning, 1860–1930: Expansion, Diversification, Social Opening, and Professionalization in England, Germany, Russia and the United States, Historisch-sozialwissenschaftliche Forschungen 13 (Stuttgart, 1983), 293ff.; E. J. Engstrom, ‘The Birth of Clinical Psychiatry: Power, Knowledge and Professionalization in Germany, 1867–1914’ (Ph.D. diss., University of North Carolina, 1997). T. Parsons, ‘Professions’, in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (New York, 1968), vol. XII, 536ff. vs. R. Collins, The Credential Society: A Historical Sociology of Education and Stratification (New York, 1979). M. Burrage, K. H. Jarausch and H. Siegrist, ‘An Actor-Oriented Framework for the Study of the Professions: Prerequisites for a Theory’, in Burrage and Thorstendahl (eds.), Professions (note 6), 203–25. Cf. the chapters ‘Graduation and careers’ in vols. I and II. ¨ J. Kocka, ‘Einleitung’, in Bildungsburgertum, 17ff.

365

Konrad H. Jarausch to those below. More peculiar to tertiary institutions and professions was specialized scientific knowledge, involving a mastery of the dynamic principles of a scholarly discipline. Such Fachwissen was the specific property of its initiates, providing insights beyond the grasp of the layman and thereby justifying professional prerogatives. Though usually underestimated in academic rhetoric, there was, finally, practical competence, applied in professional work. Consisting of a set of experiential rules and codes of behaviour, such Berufswissen was the foundation of practice, often considerably more important than claimed scholarly expertise.14 During the course of the nineteenth century emphasis shifted from liberal education to scientific instruction while practical training grew ever more elaborate. Not surprisingly, these different aspects of knowledge have resulted in distinctive arrangements for professional training. Liberal education was generally located in classical secondary institutions such as the Gymnasium, lycée or public school, concluded by a recognized examination such as the Abitur or the baccalaureate. However, some remnants of medieval tradition survived on the post-secondary level in the arts faculty of British colleges with the Bachelor degree. Actual scientific instruction largely took place in tertiary institutions such as the universities or grandes e´ coles, usually concentrated during the middle or later years of study. Hence the MA or first state examination (Erstes Staatsexamen) emerged as the degrees ratifying its achievement. The pursuit of the doctorate was usually reserved for academic careers although in medicine and law it became also a professional badge around the turn of the last century. While some practical training was included in university or technical institute courses, the bulk of professional socialization tended to take place in apprenticeship systems of learning on the job, usually following the completion of scholarly education. Hence certification of this third stage generally involved a larger practitioner influence, whether as corporate self-government in qualifying associations or in mixed academic, government and practical commissions for a second state examination (zweites Staatsexamen). While secondary schooling prerequisites increased everywhere, the course of scientific study became more extensive and informal apprenticeship was integrated into a formal higher education sequence.15 14

15

¨ P. Lundgreen, ‘Wissen und Burgertum. Skizze eines historischen Vergleichs zwischen Preußen/Deutschland, Frankreich, England und den USA, 18.–20. Jahrhundert’, in H. ¨ Siegrist (ed.), Burgerliche Berufe: Zur Sozialgeschichte der freien und akademischen ¨ Berufe im internationalen Vergleich. Acht Beitrage, Kritische Studien zur Geschichtswis¨ senschaft 80 (Gottingen, 1988), 106ff. K. H. Jarausch, ‘Higher Education and Social Change: Some Comparative Perspectives’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation (note 9), 9ff.

366

Graduation and careers During the nineteenth century, the examination system gradually evolved into the crucial link between training and practice. For professional careers, it was not expertise as such, but its certification, which created cultural capital. The shingle on the wall and the title on the calling card symbolically represented a licence which permitted the holder to practise and at the same time assured the public of a minimum standard of competence. In bureaucratized countries, the importance of state approved credentials gave rise to a veritable entitlement system, known by its German term as Berechtigungswesen. Despite considerable public criticism of its rigidity, this set of government decrees and informal practices regulated the relationship between training and occupation through a series of increasing thresholds, requiring a certain degree for a specific level of employment. At its pinnacle stood the licensing of highly trained professionals who were thereby guaranteed a market monopoly.16 In more openly capitalistic societies, the qualifying associations of practitioners themselves assumed similar functions of creating professional examinations. Controlling career access, tests such as the bar exam, medical boards, etc., did not necessarily guarantee a monopoly, but at least they conveyed powerful competitive advantages. Not only testing academic achievement or practical experience, such examinations also regulated entry into a profession. Hence their standards and passing rates tended to vary with the state of the job market.17 Though the relationship is complex, the social constitution of the professions came to rest on the superior performance of abstract knowledge and the market control guaranteed by licensed expertise. Owing to the bourgeois belief that ‘knowledge is power’, the control of expertise sparked incessant struggles between professionals and professors, mediated by bureaucrats and clients. Usually preliminary liberal education was relatively uncontroversial, even if aspiring occupations, such as dentists, veterinarians or engineers, tried to use increases in their career prerequisites as a strategy for gaining professional status. Conflicts have focused rather on the amount and kind of scientific instruction, with practitioners more sceptical than professors about its work value. Often clients resisted the academization of expertise and agitated for lay jurisprudence, folk healing and the like. The practical stage provoked constant quarrels between academics, insisting on its location within universities, and 16

17

¨ D. K. Muller, Sozialstruktur und Schulsystem. Aspekte zum Strukturwandel des Schul¨ wesens im 19. Jahrhundert, W. Ruegg and O. Neuloh (eds.), Studien zum Wandel von ¨ Gesellschaft und Bild, 9 (Gottingen, 1977). M. Ramsey, ‘The Politics of Professional Monopoly in the 19th Century Medicine: The French Model and its Rivals’, in R. Geison (ed.), Professions and the French ¨ State (Philadelphia, 1984), 225ff. Cf. H. Titze et al., ‘Prufungsauslese und Berufszu¨ ¨ gang der Akademiker 1880–40’, in P. Losche (ed.), Gottinger Sozialwissenschaften heute, ¨ Fragestellungen, Methoden, Inhalte (Gottingen, 1990), 181–233.

367

Konrad H. Jarausch practitioners, demanding a greater share of training relevant to actual job situations.18 During the late nineteenth century the state increasingly intervened with its own interests for legally trained civil servants or government technicians, thereby bureaucratizing the final phase of apprenticeship. While the interests of university and profession somewhat coincided in relation to the amount of scientific expertise demanded, they clashed about its character and the location of its instruction. In the course of these struggles, the once-dominant clients slowly lost their power of patronage and became passive consumers of professional services. Though accepting the increase of competence standards as salutary, many users began to resent ‘medicalization’ or ‘legalization’ which left them at the tender mercies of the experts.19 The growth of knowledge increased during the nineteenth century the importance of formal training for the professions. The much-debated transition from classical to modern liberal education somewhat facilitated this development. However, the shift from reproduction to the discovery of knowledge after 1800 was the crucial breakthrough in reshaping traditional scholarship into modern science. Though in practice a more gradual transition from citing the classics to empirical investigation, this change transferred academic priority from teaching to research. With the gradual breakdown of the philosophical unity of knowledge, scholarship was organized increasingly along disciplinary lines around different central questions and distinctive methods. Reflected in the university chair system, journals and scientific organizations,20 such communities of discourse began to fragment the traditional faculties and dominate academic life.21 This explosion of science also forced a redirection of practical training. In bureaucratic regimes on the Continent, the final phase of occupational initiation was more strongly integrated into academic procedures and examination. Even in countries with apprenticeship traditions, professional instruction gradually returned to formal institutions of higher learning. Moreover, a whole new hybrid sector of applied research emerged in technical or commercial colleges.22 By 1900 the different corporate 18 19

20 21

22

M. Burrage, ‘Practitioners, Professors and the State in France, the USA and England’, in S. Goodland (ed.), Educating for the Professions (London, 1986). ¨ ¨ H. Siegrist, ‘Burgerliche Berufe. Professionen und das Burgertum’, in Siegrist (ed.), ¨ Burgerliche Berufe (note 14), 28ff. For medicalization cf. also R. Spree, Soziale Ungleichheit vor Krankheit und Tod: Zur Sozialgeschichte des Gesundheitsbereichs im deutschen ¨ Kaiserreich, Kleine Vandenhoeck-Reihe 1471 (Gottingen, 1981), 138ff. Cf. part IV, e.g. chapter 11. R. S. Turner, ‘The Growth of Professorial Research in Prussia, 1818 to 1848’, Historical Studies in the Physical Sciences, 3 (1971), 137ff.; J. Ben-David, The Scientist’s Role in Society: A Comparative Study (Englewood Cliffs, 1971). R. Locke, The End of the Practical Man: Entrepreneurship and Higher Education in Germany, France, and Great Britain, 1880–1940, Industrial development and the social fabric 7 (Greenwich, Conn., 1984).

368

Graduation and careers and bureaucratic systems began to converge. Recapturing the ground lost by its corporate predecessor, the research university became, in Harold Perkin’s phrase, the central powerhouse of modern society.23 the process of professionalization Though closely related to this transformation of higher learning, the process of professionalization during the nineteenth century also derived from other powerful impulses. In contrast to the functionalist interpretation, professionalization was not an automatic result of scientification, but a complex product of practitioner desires, state policies and client wishes, interacting with a renewed university system. In an increasingly open market for professional services in capitalist countries, university graduates needed some proof of their meritocratic superiority. What would be more convincing than an impressive educational diploma or professional certificate? At the same time, governments intent on upgrading public welfare were interested in raising the standards of professional practice in such areas as law, health or teaching, not to mention the emerging industrial pursuits. Hence continental bureaucracies instituted a complicated system of state examinations, with ever higher demands on scientific instruction and practical skill.24 Finally clients also clamoured for protection against charlatanism and, in an increasingly impersonal society, some generalized standards, since professional performance was essentially based on trust. Once again, improved training and credentialing proved the most attractive answer. From a professionalization perspective, the debate about the actual contribution of scientific knowledge to the improvement of health is therefore largely irrelevant. The success of the profession project derived less from a demonstrated superiority of scientific performance than from practitioner, government and public belief in its greater potential for solving problems.25 The promoters of the new professional ideal were to be found both inside and outside of academe. A key group in the process of ‘professionalization’ was the academic profession which served not only as knowledge producer but also as role model for practical pursuits. During the nineteenth century, university teaching gradually became a full-time career, not just a stepping stone for dons to higher clerical office. 23 24 25

H. Perkin, ‘The Pattern of Social Transformation in England’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation (note 9), 207ff. ¨ Titze et al., ‘Prufungsauslese’ (note 17). T. McKeown, ‘A Sociological Approach to the History of Medicine’, in T. McKeown and G. McLachlan (eds.), Medical History and Medical Care: A Symposium of Perspectives, Arranged by the Nuffield Provincial Hospitals Trust and the Josiah Macy Jr. Foundation (London, 1971), 6ff.; T. McKeown, Die Bedeutung der Medizin. Traum, Trugbild oder Nemesis? (Princeton, 1979).

369

Konrad H. Jarausch Instead of being passed on in the family (academic nepotism), professorial appointment gradually came to rest on free competition of academic excellence.26 In accordance with more stringent scientific training, the examination requirements for admission to a university career also increased from a sometimes perfunctory dissertation to a second, extensive piece of original research, called thèse d’état in France, Habilitationsschrift in Germany. Practice shifted from laborious teaching and recitation to primary research and publication, providing more objectifiable standards of performance than lecturing popularity. The new research ethos also endowed professors with a higher mission than before and demanded a different kind of inner-worldly asceticism, no longer based on religion but on secular enlightenment. Finally, a dense network of mostly scholarly associations promoted the new gospel of scientific discovery within a bewildering and ever-increasing variety of new disciplinary specialities.27 In the long run this professional conception of scholarship proved irresistible because of its enormous success in promoting empirical discovery and a secular scientific world-view. Hence it was passed on to students who entered the bureaucracy, academic occupations or the general public. Outside of academe, graduates paralleled the professorial example by reorganizing their traditional callings such as the Church, law or medicine into modern professions. Across all national differences in institutional arrangements, higher training was lengthened beyond the classic triennium. The content of teaching shifted from an introduction into the received authorities to an initiation into scientific methods. Moreover, practical instruction gradually became more academic. Certifying examinations grew more elaborate and rigorous, testing became an everexpanding field of specialized scholarship and of occupational skill.28 Though much corporate custom and rhetoric survived, the self-image of practitioners gradually evolved from a learned craft consciousness to a spirit of science-based service to mankind.29 Even remote country doctors slowly moved away from tried herbal nostrums to the new chemical

26 28

29

27 See chapter 1, 9. See chapter 5, 130–40. R. S. Turner, ‘University Reformers and Professional Scholarship in Germany, 1760– 1806’, in L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society (London, 1974), vol. II, 495–532; V. Karady, ‘Teachers and Academics in 19th Century France: A Socio-Political Overview’, ¨ in Bildungsburgertum, 458ff.; S. Rothblatt, The Revolution of the Dons: Cambridge and Society in Victorian England (New York, 1968); A. J. Engel, From Clergyman to Don: The Rise of the Academic Profession in 19th Century Oxford (Oxford and New York, 1983). See the essays by S. Rothblatt, ‘The Diversification of Higher Education in England’, P. Lundgreen, ‘Differentiation in German Higher Education’ and J. McClelland, ‘Diversification in Russian-Soviet Education’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation (note 9), 131ff.

370

Graduation and careers remedies derived from the scholarly investigation of bacteriology and biochemistry.30 Spurred by the reform of academic institutions, this transformation of callings was not at all foreordained but the result of prolonged struggles between traditionalists and reformers.31 In countless meetings and speeches the new breed of professionals championed a novel ideal of learning and service. For the sake of improving performance, bureaucrats disenfranchized untrained competitors such as surgeons, while clients supported innovative movements based on promises and sometimes even proof of improved competence. The majority of practitioners was eventually won over to the cause of science-based professionalism, since the new practice also yielded rising incomes and improved social status.32 This attractive recipe for success was soon imitated by new callings, aspiring to professional prestige. Previously marginal graduates of the propaedeutic philosophical faculty began to clamour for a professionalized teaching career.33 Graduates of freshly created post-secondary institutions like technical colleges also agitated for turning the emerging engineering occupation into a full-fledged profession.34 Such rising groups insisted on academizing their training, either by establishing their speciality within the university canon or by demanding the creation of equivalent institutions such as the Technische Hochschulen. After a long struggle, they also achieved the recognition of examinations that carried with them credentials, be they state-sanctioned (such as the teaching Staatsexamen), academic (such as the engineering diploma) or private (such as the Verbandsexamen of chemists).35 In order to achieve their end, reformers developed a new professional self-image of their calling 30

31 32 33

34

35

¨ C. Huerkamp, Der Aufstieg der Arzte im 19. Jahrhundert. Vom gelehrten Stand zum professionellen Experten. Das Beispiel Preussens, Kritische Studien zur Geschichtswis¨ ¨ senschaft 68 (Gottingen, 1985). For law see D. Ruschemyer, Lawyers and their Society: A Comparative Study of the Legal Profession in Germany and the US (Cambridge, 1973). Cf. K. H. Jarausch, The Unfree Professions: Lawyers, Teachers and Engineers, 1900– 1950 (New York 1990), 8ff. For a fictionalized account of these struggles cf. A. J. Cronin, The Citadel (London, 1937). H.-E. Tenorth, ‘Professionen und Professionalisierung. Ein Bezugsrahmen zur historischen Analyse des “Lehrers und seiner Organisationen”’, in M. Heinemann (ed.), ¨ Der Lehrer und seine Organisation, Veroffentlichungen der historischen Kommission ¨ Erziehungswissenschaft 2 (Stuttgart, 1977), 457ff. The der Deutschen Gesellschaft fur rise of the teaching profession has yet to be analyzed comparatively. P. Lundgreen, ‘Engineering Education in Europe and the USA, 1750–1930: The Rise to Dominance of School Culture and the Engineering Professions’, Annals of Science, 47 (1990), 33–75. K. Gispen, New Profession, Old Order: Engineers and German Society, 1815–1914 (Cambridge, 1989); K. Gispen, ‘Engineers in Wilhelmian Germany: Professionalization, Deprofessionalization and the Development of Non-Academic Technical Education’, in G. Cocks and K. H. Jarausch (eds.), German Professions 1800–1950 (New York, 1990), 104ff.

371

Konrad H. Jarausch and founded countless pressure groups such as teachers’ associations, for example the deutsche Philologenverein, founded 1837 which became ¨ the Verein deutscher Philologen, Schulmanner und Orientalisten36 in 1844 or engineering organizations, for example the Verein Deutscher Ingenieure.37 Established professions often tried to resist the claims of the newcomers, fearing that their own superior standing would be damaged if the benefits of professionalism were conceded to fresh groups. Hence reformers had to fight on two fronts, against traditional practitioners within and rival competitors without. In this conflict, recourse to scientific advances was a powerful rhetorical weapon, since demands for material improvement and greater prestige were more persuasive, if based on public benefit. Innovative scholars and reform practitioners therefore often worked hand in hand.38 By no means all claimants to professional status were successful in their endeavour. Primary school-teachers, pharmacists and veterinarians long remained ‘semi-professions’, while nurses or social workers also failed to reach their goal.39 Their lack of success partly stemmed from deficiencies in knowledge and partly from other socio-political constraints. Though requiring post-primary education, such semi-professions were not able to lift their seminar training to recognized tertiary status. Sometimes, as in pedagogy or social work, the cognitive content of the discipline was also considered weak and confusing. Often fiscal limitations or insufficient revenue for lifting an entire occupation on to a new level of the civil service scale played an important role.40 The questionable composition of the occupation also proved to be a handicap if it were known as a woman’s field like nursing or a pursuit attracting religious minorities (Jews) such as psychotherapy.41 36 37

38

39

40 41

¨ See. K. A. Schmid (ed.), Encyclopadie des gesammten Erziehungs- und Unterrichtswesens (Gotha, 1865), vol. IV, 260ff., s.v. ‘Lehrerversammlungen’. ¨ K.-H. Ludwig and W. Konig (eds.), Technik, Ingenieure und Gesellschaft, Geschichte ¨ des Vereins Deutscher Ingenieure 1856–1981 (Dusseldorf, 1981). Cf. C. E. McClelland, The German Experience of Professionalization: Modern Learned Professions and their Organization from the Early 19th Century (Cambridge, 1991). J. Johnson, ‘“Academic, Proletarian, . . . Professional”: Shaping Professionalization for German Industrial Chemists, 1887–1920’, in Cocks and Jarausch (eds.), German Professions (note 35), 123ff. D. Skopp, ‘Auf der untersten Sprosse. Der Volksschullehrer als “Semi-Professional” im Deutschland des 19. Jahrhunderts’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 6 (1980), 383ff.; C. Florin, Kampen om Katedern. Feminiserings- och professionalisieringsprocessen inom ¨ ˚ 1860–1906 (Umea, 1987); M. Lamberti, The Politics den svenska folkskolans larark ar of Education (New York, 2003). A. J. LaVopa, Prussian School-Teachers: Profession and Office, 1763–1848 (Chapel Hill, 1980). J. Schneider, ‘Volksschullehrerinnen: Women Defining Themselves and their Profession’, Young Sun Hong, ‘Femininity as Vocation: Gender and Class Conflict in the

372

Graduation and careers Such failures illustrate the fact that the advancement of knowledge alone did not create the modern professions but only provided a powerful stimulus and a compelling argument for practitioners to organize themselves in pursuit of a new professional ideal. Professors as generators of scientific progress often played an important role as mid-wife in this process, but success depended ultimately upon the vigour and commitment of the practising reformers themselves. In the end, the state had to sanction the new dispensation and the clients had to accept the innovations by actually preferring them to older customs. The professional ideal proved so attractive that it radiated beyond the actual or would-be professions into other sectors of society. The meritocratic transformation of bureaucracies from noble courtiers to bourgeois experts made the recruitment and practice of the civil service more ‘professional’. While their political dependency and hierarchical organization differed from those of free practitioners, bureaucrats increasingly derived their authority from expertise in problem solving rather than feudal loyalty or state power. With the exception of British generalists, civil servants successively claimed legal, technological or social service credentials. In the commercial and industrial sector the emergence of white-collar employees formed an analogue to bureaucratization, thereby also professionalizing the large corporation. Though dependence on profits limited the autonomy of businessmen, professional skills such as managerial, technical or scientific know-how began to loom ever larger around the turn of the century. This broader diffusion of professionalization shifted training patterns so that administrative courses were added to legal curricula, service specialities like social work gained university recognition, and managerial or accounting subjects complemented technological instruction. As a result, a new set of entrance examinations to the bureaucracy, such as the concours in France and the Civil Service Examination in Great Britain (analogous to the second Staatsexamen in Germany), were added after the completion of university study. Eventually, the growth of government bureaucracy and white-collar employees in industry slowly began to shift the careers of university graduates away from the classical liberal professions to public service and business.42

42

Professionalization of German Social Work’, and G. Cocks, ‘The Professionalization of Psychotherapy in Germany, 1928–1949’, in Cocks and Jarausch (eds.), German Professions (note 35), 85ff., 232ff., 308ff. R. Torstendahl, Bureaucratisation in Northwestern Europe 1880–1985: Domination and Governance (London, 1991), especially 18ff and 199–249. Cf. also J. Caplan, ‘Profession as Vocation: The German Civil Service’, in Cocks and Jarausch (eds.), German Professions (note 35), 163–82.

373

Konrad H. Jarausch the numerical expansion of the professions Statistics on graduates are notoriously incomplete, since universities were more concerned with the input of matriculations than the output of leavers. While the professions themselves often kept figures on members, the double slippage between student numbers and graduation rates as well as between university leavers and careers entrants complicates the linkage to prior enrolment figures.43 The rudimentary numbers that are available suggest an impressive expansion: in England the size of eight professions rose by half, from 127,354 to 191,384 between 1880 and 1911; in France the number of liberal professionals and intellectuals similarly swelled from 83,359 to 121,257 between 1876 and 1906; in Germany the number of those educated multiplied from about 63,000 (31,418 in Prussia) in 1852 to 335,252 in 1933; finally, in Russia higher education leavers increased from 133,600 to roughly 233,000 between 1897 and 1926.44 Though the absolute growth of the professions was considerable, the relative share of professionals in the workforce hardly exceeded 5 per cent by 1930, depending on whether one includes the higher bureaucracy. Hence, the growing importance of the professions derived less from their absolute weight in the labour force than from their influential position in the work process. It was the authority, autonomy and gentlemanly life style of the professional that made this role so attractive not only to their subordinates but also to rivals in business and government.45 Where figures do exist (as at Oxbridge, see Table 9.1), the careers of graduates suggest several interrelated developments: first, owing to the fixed number of estates the occupation of landed proprietor declined in relative terms throughout the nineteenth century. Second, with secularization the clergy decreased in importance, since teaching gradually emerged as an independent pursuit. Third, the share of the liberal professions in law and medicine among graduates rose considerably, but eventually reached a plateau because of strong competition among practitioners. Fourth, with the institutional growth of tertiary and secondary education, more and more university trained men entered academic life or the teaching profession, so that educational expansion propelled itself to some degree. Fifth, 43 44

45

For some imaginative tabulations of the aspirations of secondary school graduates, cf. Ringer, Education and Society, 165, 280–1. Figures from H. Perkin, The Rise of Professional Society: England since 1880 (London, ¨ 1989), 80; C. Charle, ‘Professionen und Intellektuelle’, in Siegrist (ed.), Burgerliche Berufe ¨ und die burgerliche ¨ (note 14), 132; K. H. Jarausch, ‘Die neuhumanistische Universitat Gesellschaft, 1800–1870’, in C. Probst (ed.), Darstellungen und Quellen zur Geschichte der deutschen Einheitsbewegung, 11 (Heidelberg, 1981), 11–58; Jarausch, Unfree Professions (note 31); Jarausch, ‘Higher Education’ (note 15), 33. Jarausch, ‘Higher Education’ (note 15), 33.

374

Graduation and careers Table 9.1 Careers of Oxbridge men in the nineteenth centurya Year of admission 1818/19

1848/49

1878/79

1897/98

Total

Career

N

%

N

%

N

%

N

%

N

%

(1) Landed (2) Church (3) Professions (4) Teaching (5) Government (6) Business (7) Unknown Total

123 410 56 16 18 6 164 793

15.5 51.7 7.1 2.0 2.3 0.8 20.7 16.2

105 438 71 65 45 13 154 891

11.8 49.2 8.0 7.3 5.1 1.5 16.3 18.2

145 453 279 167 87 54 297 1482

9.8 30.6 20.0 11.3 5.9 3.6 20.0 30.3

82 298 357 275 283 153 293 1723

4.8 17.3 20.7 16.0 16.4 7.8 17.0 35.2

455 1599 763 523 433 208 908 4889

9.3 32.7 15.6 10.7 8.9 4.3 18.6

a

The figures are recomputed from M. Curthoys, ‘Oxford and the Nation: The Careers of Oxford Men, 1800–1914’, in History of Oxford, VI, tables 1 and 2. Cambridge figures are in Ringer, Education and Society, 236. Landed = landed and independent means; Church = clergy and other religious work; Teaching = higher education, school teaching; Government = armed forces, government service; Business = commerce, finance, industry, engineering; Unknown = died young, unknown.

the establishment of national, state or local bureaucracies drew ever more graduates to the civil service beyond a traditional military career. Sixth, the professionalization of business also gradually broke down the pronounced aversion of educated men against going into commerce and/or industry, slowly creating a regular path between academe and practical affairs. Fragmentary career data from other countries seem to point into a similar direction of increasing professionalization. In France the rich information of the Duruy enquiry of 1864 suggests the importance of professional careers as well as the persistence of petit bourgeois occupations for secondary-school graduates (see Table 9.2). Occupational data for the individual grandes e´ coles show their orientation towards one specific career such as tertiary and secondary teaching for the normaliens (4/5), the military for the polytechniciens (4/5), and industry for the graduates of the arts et métiers (2/3). But aside from some broadening into government service and leading positions in business, it is difficult to discern any overriding trends in the absence of comparable information on university leavers.46 Similarly limited information on

46

Weisz, Emergence, 236, has numbers of degrees. Cf. R. J. Smith, The Ecole Normale Supérieure and the Third Republic (Albany, 1982), 51–2; Shinn, Savoir scientifique, 185; C. R. Day, ‘The Making of Mechanical Engineers in France’, French Historical Studies (1978), 439–60.

375

Konrad H. Jarausch Table 9.2 Careers of French secondary school leavers in 1864a Career

Lycées %

Collèges %

(1) Landed/farm (2) Professional (3) Teaching (high) (4) Government (5) Business (6) Lower occupation Total Number

7.8 48.4 1.8 8.2 4.4 29.6 6,974

15.3 30.8 1.2 9.8 9.8 38.7 9,048

a

The figures are recomputed from Harrigan, Mobility (note 3), table 18. The category Landed also includes farming (4.4 per cent and 11.4 per cent respectively). Professional includes both major and minor professions, but Teaching comprises only secondary education and above. Lycées were more secular and elitist institutions in contrast to the more Catholic collèges.

Table 9.3 Career plans of German students in 1928–1931a Careers

High schools %

Universities %

Technical colleges %

(1) Church (2) Profession (3) Teaching (4) Government (5) Business (6) Unknown Total Number

13.9 40.4 14.2 7.1 17.1 7.0 5,843

8.7 36.5 31.3 11.9 7.9 2.8 99,432

9.6 15.5 18.0 51.8 5.0 20,280

a

¨ The figures are recomputed from Muller and Zymek (eds.), Datenhandbuch (note 3), Ii 213, tables 78.1 and 79 as well as from Ringer, Education and Society, 315, table VIII.3. The high school percentages pertain to Prussia for 1928 while the university and technical colleges percentages pertain to 1931. For the categories see Table 9.1.

German student preferences also reveals the importance of the professions and the rising attraction of bureaucracy and business (see Table 9.3). Despite some commonality in trends, the importance of specific careers varied with national context. In France the legal professions became the most influential (45,512); in Germany doctors expanded most rapidly (from 13,728 in 1876 to 30,558 in 1909); in Britain school teachers formed the largest occupation (68,651); and in Russia engineers became the most frequented pursuit.47 Hence the degree of professionalization differed between countries, with England leading the way, followed by France and Germany; Russia followed way behind, owing to its later start. 47

Huerkamp, Aufstieg (note 30), 151; P. L. Alston, ‘The Dynamics of Educational Expansion in Russia’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation (note 9), 89ff.

376

Graduation and careers The rise of the professions was accompanied by periodic labour market crises. In economic terms, the increase in the number of graduates could be supply driven through an expansion of higher learning or demand induced through a growth in the need for expertise.48 In fact, manpower supply and demand were only rarely in balance. While lack of trained graduates could be met by lowering standards, an excess of educated men repeatedly raised the spectre of an ‘academic proletariat’ and contributed to political unrest.49 Since academic overproduction has been studied only for Germany (and Austria), this particular case raises the question whether the growth of the professions was accompanied by similar problems elsewhere. The postHumboldtian expansion of the universities ran out of steam in the 1830s, creating an oversupply that fed directly into the Revolution of 1848. Stagnating enrolments eventually created a new demand in the 1860s which fuelled another expansion leading to renewed overcrowding by the 1880s, the famous Qualifikationskrise that prompted students and graduates to turn to illiberalism. Resumed in the last decade before the war, the enrolment explosion peaked in the 1920s, provoking yet another, politically more disastrous oversupply, since it provided grist for the Nazi mill.50 Individual careers therefore displayed regular cycles, teetering from excess to deficit and back. In an entitlement system in which government hiring was crucial for academic employment, this seemingly inevitable succession of crises created considerable political resentment.51 Time and again, professionals called for a closure of their career through a numerus clausus while professors favoured continued growth. The recurrent job market difficulties proved remarkably impervious to control. During the overcrowding of the 1830s, the Central European bureaucracies raised entry requirements to the university (making the 48

49

50

51

R. Torstendahl, ‘Engineers in Industry, 1850–1910: Professional Men and New Bureaucrats’, in C. G. Bernhard et al. (eds.), Science, Technology and Society in the Time of ¨ Alfred Nobel: Nobel Symposium 52 held at Bjorborn, Karlskoga, 17–22 August 1981 (Oxford, New York and Frankfurt-am-Main, 1981), 253ff. L. O’Boyle, ‘The Problem of an Excess of Educated Men in Western Europe, 1800–1850’, Journal of Modern History, 42 (1970), 471–95; K. H. Jarausch, ‘The Sources of German Student Unrest’, in Stone (ed.), University in Society (note 28), vol. II, 533ff.; D. Brower, Training the Nihilists: Education and Radicalism in Tsarist Russia (Ithaca, 1975). Cf. chapter 7, 238 and chapter 8, 339. ¨ D. K. Muller, ‘Quantifikationskrise und Schulreform’, in U. Herrmann (ed.), Historische ¨ ¨ Padagogik, Studien zur historischen Bildungsokonomie und zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte ¨ ¨ zur Bildungstheorie und zur Analyse padagogischer ¨ der Padagogik, Beitrage Klassiker, ¨ Padagogik ¨ Literaturberichte und Rezensionen, Zeitschrift fur Beiheft 14 (Weinheim, ¨ 1977), 13–35; D. K. Muller et al., ‘Modellentwicklung zur Analyse von Krisenphasen ¨ ¨ im Verhaltnis von Schulsystem und staatlichem Beschaftigungssystem’, ibid., 37–77. Cf. P. Windolf, Expansion and Structural Change: Higher Education in Germany, the United States and Japan, 1870–1990 (Boulder, 1997). Jarausch, Deutsche Studenten (note 2), 71ff., 129ff.

377

Konrad H. Jarausch Abitur mandatory), issued repeated warnings and ceased hiring graduates. These drastic measures did deter new enrolment for one generation at the price of blocking careers for the excess of educated men.52 During the oversupply of the 1880s, the government sought a firmer information ¨ basis by charging the Gottingen economist Wilhelm Lexis with compiling exact labour market statistics – an impossible task, since the demand for graduates could not be measured exactly. Due to the contraction of scholarship support, bureaucratic countermeasures only served to aggravate the crisis, leading officials to abandon all attempts to steer academic manpower after 1900.53 During the excess of graduates of the 1920s, resumption of government hiring as well as the partial closure of entry into the teaching career initially succeeded in reducing the post-war overhang. But the normalization of the mid-twenties proved to be fleeting when the Great Depression dried up public or private employment opportunities. Liberal measures such as official warnings, more rigorous selection during training and increased competition proved unattractive to those who lost out in the struggle for academic survival.54 While placement bureaux, labour service schemes or fraternity contacts could help individuals, they failed to alleviate the collective plight. In the short run, universities could shift some students from teaching into theology or from law into medicine. But in the long run overcrowding engulfed all careers until the forced drop in enrolments created a new demand, thus starting the cycle all over again. The continued structural expansion of numbers in higher education overwhelmed all organized efforts to limit the number of graduates. Though in the long run, the demand for qualified labour generally increased, the opening of access of higher education in the short run produced more educated men than government hiring, free professional practice or industrial employment could absorb. First, in all European countries the output of secondary institutions grew rapidly during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. This expansion was fuelled through the growth of traditional types of schools such as the Gymnasium, 52

53

54

¨ See H. Titze, Der Akademikerzyklus. Historische Untersuchungen uber die Wiederkehr ¨ ¨ ¨ von Uberf ullung und Mangel in akademischen Karrieren (Gottingen, 1990), 485ff. H. Titze, ‘Der historische Siegeszug der Bildungsselektion: The Victorious Process of Educa¨ Soziologie der Erziehung und Sozialisation, 18 (1998), tional Selection’, Zeitschrift fur ¨ Padagogik, ¨ ¨ 66–81; H. Titze, ‘Wie wachst das Bildungssystem?’ Zeitschrift fur 1/45 (1999), 103–120, presents a summary of the research accomplished since 1980; H. Titze, ‘Die Tiefenstruktur des Bildungswachstums von 1800 bis 2000’, Die deutsche Schule, 2/95 (2003), 180–196. ¨ und Jarausch, Students Imperial Germany, 23–77; K. H. Jarausch, ‘Universitat Hochschule’, in C. Berg (ed.), Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. IV: ¨ 1870–1918, Von der Reichsgrundung bis zum Ende des Zweiten Weltkriegs (Munich, 1991), 314–19. Jarausch, Unfree Profesions (note 31), 27–111.

378

Graduation and careers as well as through the creation of or granting of university access to modern branches such as the Realgymnasium or the Oberrealschule.55 Second, structural analyses of the composition of student bodies have shown that new social groups began to participate in higher education in significant numbers. In Germany and Austria, for instance, academic self-recruitment in the first half of the nineteenth century gave way to an influx of the old and eventually the new middle class, making the petite bourgeoisie the dominant parental stratum.56 Third, religious and cultural minorities began to gain access to advanced training. Hence the Catholic educational deficit declined in the first decades of the twentieth century while the Jewish minority showed an enormous desire for cultivation.57 Finally, the limited opening of higher learning eventually also led to the reluctant admission of women into universities and other tertiary institutions.58 Motivated by a desire for social advancement and equity, this massive incursion of new groups changed both the composition of the universities and increased competition among the emerging professions. Though creating recurrent crises, the expansion of student numbers advanced professionalization by facilitating institutional differentiation and practitioner organization. Universities adapted to the growing influx not only by expanding existing programmes, but by following specialization in opening up new research fields. Pushed on by professorial selfinterest and student demands, these novel programmes such as chemistry eventually clamoured for their own examinations as a basis for careers.59 But when traditional universities were too slow to take up the challenges of economic advance in areas like technology, entire new tertiary institutions arose such as the Technische Hochschulen.60 Although many professors resisted and practitioners remained sceptical of further academization, even newer forms of higher learning crystallized

55 56

57

58

59 60

J. C. Albisetti, Secondary School Reform in Imperial Germany (Princeton, 1983) and the comparative literature listed on 292ff. H. Kaelble, ‘Educational Opportunities and Government Policies in Europe in the Period of Industrialization’, in P. Flora and A. Heidenheimer (eds.), The Development of Welfare States in Europe and America (New Brunswick, 1981), 239ff. Cf. G. B. Cohen, Education and Middle Class Society in Imperial Austria, 1848–1918 (West Lafayette, Ind., 1996). N. Kampe, Studenten und ‘Judenfrage’ im deutschen Kaiserreich. Die Entstehung einer ¨ akademischen Tragerschicht des Antisemitismus, Kritische Studien zur Geschichtswis¨ senschaft 76 (Gottingen, 1988). Cf. also Jarausch, Deutsche Studenten (note 2), 90. J. C. Albisetti, Schooling German Girls and Women: Secondary and Higher Education in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton, 1988); P. Mazon, Gender and the Modern Research University (Stanford, 2003). See J. A. Johnson, The Kaiser’s Chemists: Science and Modernization in Imperial Germany (Chapel Hill, 1990). ¨ Technische Hochschule und Industrie, Schriften zur K.-H. Manegold, Universitat, ¨ Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte 16 (Berlin, 1970); K.-H. Ludwig and W. Konig (eds.), Technik, Ingenieure und Gesellschaft (note 37).

379

Konrad H. Jarausch such as the commercial colleges (Handelshochschulen).61 Professionals responded to the rising output of graduates by more vigorous collective action. Increasing demand for expert services made it possible to raise their status and influence. Yet even an excess of academically trained men spurred greater co-operation. During phases of relative overcrowding, free professionals like doctors and lawyers organized themselves to restrain competition and persuade the public to resort to their services. During periods of absolute oversupply, bureaucratically employed professionals such as teachers closed ranks in order to push the government into further hiring. During moments of economic depression, practitioners working in industry or trade banded together to seek job security by controlling professional entry.62 Though it blocked some advances, oversupply also demonstrated the need for more rigorous training and entry requirements. national variations While the secular process of professionalization was universal in character, its institutional pattern varied considerably according to national context. Ironically, the British experience, often taken as the classic case, is quite peculiar when viewed in comparative perspective, differing even from the Scottish arrangements. Except for the clergy which remained linked to Oxford and Cambridge, professional training had moved away from the universities during the early modern period. While most British practitioners went through public or grammar schools and many attended colleges for general cultivation, they were essentially apprenticed by fellow professionals at the Inns of Court or the Royal Colleges of Physicians. The famous ‘qualifying associations’ controlled the professional examinations and licensing was a matter of corporate self-government, independent of any bureaucracy.63 Only after the middle of the nineteenth century did the reform of the British universities gradually begin to pull training back into higher education. Though the influence of continental German examples as well as the rapid progress of science led to the return of instruction in the universities, testing and validation remained the prerogative of the professional associations. Even the expansion of higher education through the teaching-orientated redbricks and polytechnics did not break this mould, 61

62 63

A. Hayashima, ‘Die Absolventen der Leipziger Handelshochschule, 1900–1920’, Kwansei Gakuin University Annual Studies, 36 (1987), 113ff.; A. Hayashima, ‘Die Absolventen der Preußischen Handelshochschulen’, Kwansei Gakuin University Annual Studies, 37 (1988), 23ff. See also, ‘European Universities and Similar Institutions in Existence Between 1812 and the End of 1944’. Jarausch, Unfree Professions (note 31), passim. G. Millerson, The Qualifying Associations: A Study in Professionalization (London, 1964); Burrage, ‘Practitioners’ (note 18), 26ff.

380

Graduation and careers as the new organizations emulated the legal and medical pattern.64 As a result the professions were smaller and displayed more solidarity than elsewhere. While popularizing the aspiration for autonomy regulated by ethics and self-government, the freedom of the British model from university and bureaucracy proved surprisingly unique. The French case of bureaucratic control is more typical of the continental pattern, albeit with a peculiar competitive twist. During the ancien régime the professions were organized into proud, self-governing corporations which controlled access and practice with semi-public authority. In the enthusiasm of the Revolution, reform professionals abolished all such restrictions on les carrières ouvertes aux talents, introducing unregulated competition and destroying solidarity. During the Consulate, Napoleon gradually re-established the professions under tight government supervision, conceding collective representation only to the advocates, but leaving competition between fragmented practitioners free. The establishment of the grandes e´ coles also created privileged sectors of professionals, especially in technology (higher engineers) and teaching, while the more traditional pursuits such as law and medicine continued to be taught at the dilapidated universities. Before 1848 the result was a considerable excess of educated men, feeding into the radicalism of the Revolution.65 Only in the second half of the nineteenth century did professionals manage to restore some of their associations and regain a sense of collective identity. At the same time, the reform of the universities also revitalized their training institutions. More favourable legislation restricted competition and improved the professional standard of living as well. Lawyers in particular became so prominent in the political process that critics talked about a République des avoués. Less successful in gaining corporate privileges was the rapidly growing group of intellectuals with some academic training, in the arts, literature and journalism, thereby splitting the capacités into two rivalling groups.66 The German variant of professionalization also displays strong state power, but adds an important university role as well. Since the corporatism ¨ of the akademische Berufsstande was static, modernization came through government involvement as ‘professionalization from above’. From the early eighteenth century on the establishment of a series of rigorous 64

65

66

R. Lowe, ‘English Elite Education in the Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries’, ¨ in Bildungsburgertum, 147ff.; A. Engel, ‘The English Universities and Professional Education’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation (note 9), 293ff. F. K. Ringer, ‘Education and the Middle Classes in Modern France’, in Bildungs¨ burgertum, 109ff.; M. Ramsey, ‘Review Essay: History of a Profession, Annales Style’, Journal of Social History, 17 (1983), 319ff.; Burrage, ‘Practitioners’ (note 18), 26ff. Charle, ‘Professionen und Intellektuelle’ (note 44), 127ff. Cf. Geison (ed.), Professions (note 17), passim. While Charle’s book on Les Elites (note 7) presents much elite material, it does not address the question from the perspective of the hautes e´ coles or universities.

381

Konrad H. Jarausch state examinations for lawyers, doctors, clergymen and eventually also for teachers created bureaucratically controlled academic occupations. Upgrading the theoretical and practical training of practitioners, the government also supervised licensing, fees and ethics, leaving only the economic risk private. It is all the more astounding that in the middle of the nineteenth century liberal professional reformers succeeded in disestablishing the medical (1869) and legal (1879) professions. The creation of a freie Advokatur and of the free practice of medicine allowed powerful professional associations to emerge that managed to emulate the Western pattern of autonomy to a considerable extent.67 In the wake of the overcrowding crisis of the 1880s, professionals gravitated to a kind of neo-corporatism, characterized by self-governing chambers (Anwaltskammern) with public authority that tried to use the state to regulate competition without being dominated by it. In contrast to Britain, the universities played a much greater role in the emergence of the German professions, since academic recognition of a field brought with it the legal and social acceptance of a new career. The Central European pattern therefore did not consist of complete bureaucratic dependence but was characterized by practitioner self-assertion within a framework established by bureaucratic fiat and professorial influence.68 Although state power was strongest in Russia, a kind of professionalism nevertheless emerged there in the second half of the nineteenth century. The Tsarist educational system was top heavy, with a roof of respectable universities resting upon the shaky columns of secondary institutions (similar to their German namesakes), standing in turn on a severely underdeveloped primary foundation. The structure of estate society with its elaborate table of ranks left little room for the emergence of knowledgebased middle class pursuits, since it ennobled all higher officials. The few academic practitioners began to band together after the Alexandrine reforms of the 1860s created some public space for their activities, such as the foundation of a college of advocates. Professionals played a leading role in the liberal zemstvo movement that tried to reform Russian society by providing modern services in health care, legal advice, schooling and 67

68

H. Siegrist, ‘Gebremste Professionalisierung – Das Beispiel Schweizer Rechtsanwaltschaft ¨ im Vergleich zu Frankreich und Deutschland im 19. und fruhen 20. Jahrhundert’, in ¨ ¨ Bildungsburgertum, 301ff.; C. Huerkamp, ‘Arzte und Professionalisierung in Deutsch¨ land. Uberlegungen zum Wandel des Arztberufs im 19. Jahrhundert’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 6, 3 (1980), 349ff. Cf. also the essays in Cocks and Jarausch (eds.), German Professions (note 35), 27–160. K. H. Jarausch, ‘The German Professions in History and Theory’, in Cocks and Jarausch (eds.), German Professions (note 35), 9–24. Cf. C. E. McClelland, ‘Professionalization and Higher Education in Germany’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation (note 9), 306ff. and C. E. McClelland, S. Merl and H. Siegrist (eds.), Professionen im modernen Osteuropa (Berlin, 1995).

382

Graduation and careers the like. Frustrated by the slow pace of change and often unemployed, many higher education graduates also joined the radical intelligentsia in its effort to overthrow the repressive system.69 Nonetheless, in the early twentieth century an associational life gradually emerged that clustered around scholarly rather than practical pursuits. During the revolution many idealist professionals joined the Bolshevik onslaught on bourgeois privileges, unaware that they might eventually endanger their own prerogatives. When the Party realized that professionals wanted to retain their autonomy, it ruthlessly disbanded all associations and only permitted lawyers to continue in government controlled collegia. Ironically enough, both the Tsarist and Bolshevik regimes preferred docile technological cadres to liberal self-governing professionals.70 In the smaller European countries, professionalization tended to reflect the pattern of one of the larger states, albeit with a special accent governed by local tradition. Resemblances were usually produced either by direct political control, indirect cultural influence or similar structural conditions. The ancient version of learned professional self-government survived longest in societies with strong corporate traditions, such as Italy.71 In contrast, similarities to the British practitioner-control model seem to be rare outside of the unbureaucratic grass-roots democracy of Switzerland.72 The French mixture of state control and market freedom, characterized by government qualification but open competition, is somewhat reflected in the arrangements in Belgium.73 The German manner of ‘professionalization from above’ closely linked to higher learning proved influential in Austria, the Netherlands, Scandinavia and Greece.74 Finally, the Russian experience of late professionalization coupled with a radical 69

70 71

72

73

74

¨ D. Geyer, ‘Zwischen Bildungsburgertum und Intelligentzija: Staatsdienst und akademi¨ ¨ sche Professionalisierung im vorrevolutionaren Russland’, in Bildungsburgertum, 207ff. Cf. Brower, Training the Nihilists (note 49), passim. C. E. Timberlake, ‘Higher Learning, the State and the Professions in Russia’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation (note 9), 321ff. Cf. also Kassow, Students Tsarist Russia. M. Barbagli, Education for Unemployment: Politics, Labor Markets and the School System – Italy, 1859–1973 (New York, 1982); cf. also M. Malatesta (ed.), Society and the Professions in Italy, 1860–1914 (Cambridge, 1995). ¨ Siegrist (ed.), Burgerliche Berufe (note 14), 20ff.; H. Siegrist, ‘Die Genfer Advokaten im ¨ ¨ 19. und fruhen 20. Jahrhundert’, in S. Brandli et al. (eds.), Schweiz im Wandel. Studien zur neueren Gesellschaftsgeschichte (Basle, 1990), 229–57. J. Art, ‘Les Rapports triennaux sur l’état de l’enseignement supérieur: un arrière-fond pour des recherches ultérieures sur l’histoire des e´ lites Belges entre 1814 et 1914’, Revue belge d’histoire contemporaine, 17 (1986), 187–224. Cohen, Education and Middle Class Society (note 56); M. M. Kovacs, Liberal Professions and Illiberal Politics: Hungary from the Habsburgs to the Holocaust (Washington, 1994); W. J. Frijhoff, ‘The Netherlands’, in B. R. Clark and G. R. Neave, The Encyclopedia of Higher Education vol. I: National Systems of Higher Education (Oxford, New York, Seoul and Tokyo, 1992), 491–505, and the Swedish contributions to Burrage and Thorstendahl (eds.), Professions (note 6).

383

Konrad H. Jarausch intelligentsia seems to have been somewhat paralleled in emerging Eastern European and Balkan countries. Instead of revealing one master pattern of professionalization, cross-national comparison shows a bewildering variety of sequences and arrangements. Much more detailed information on the relationship between higher learning and the emergence of the professions in individual countries such as Spain is necessary, before the confusing mosaic will yield an intelligible picture. Nonetheless, scientifically trained, publicly validated, prosperous and highly regarded, competently practising, ethically orientated and tightly organized professions emerged by the early twentieth century in all European countries. concluding remarks The transformation of higher learning made a crucial contribution to the process of professionalization. The shift from traditional liberal education to scientific training created a dynamic knowledge base which transcended mere occupational know-how. Thus older callings such as medicine were reinvigorated and new pursuits such as psychotherapy multiplied thanks to continued scholarly specialization. Even practical apprenticeship was formalized and reattached to higher education in a more systematic form. The increasing professionalization of academic careers also served as an influential role model for the reform of practitioner pursuits along scientific lines; expanding knowledge provided not only superior solutions for some practical problems (such as public hygiene or building bridges) but also appealed to the popular scientism of the age for arguments in favour of occupational prerogatives. The growing and diversifying tertiary institutions produced increasing numbers of graduates, clamouring for certification for professional careers. Professorial interest in training ever larger numbers of students clashed with practitioner desires for protection from excessive competition. The uneven capability of the careers to absorb newcomers created a cyclical pattern of excess or deficit of skilled manpower that raised the unsettling spectre of an academic proletariat. While the institutionalization of knowledge, the organization of the professions and the structure of the labour market differed from country to country, the ties between the university and the professions grew stronger everywhere during the nineteenth century. Since professionals increasingly influenced academic instruction and practical training, the transformation of higher learning and the emergence of modern professions depended upon each other.75 75

See the introductions to Burrage and Thorstendahl (eds.), Professions (note 6) as well as R. Thorstendahl, ‘Knowledge and Power: Constraints and Expansion of Professional Influence in Western Capitalist Society’, in M. Trow and T. Nybom (eds.), University and

384

Graduation and careers The rise of the modern professions profoundly altered the careers of university graduates. While in 1800 many still went into the Church or worked the land, by 1900 most higher education leavers entered law and medicine or completely new callings such as teaching or engineering. Beyond the liberal professions beckoned government service and increasingly also business opportunities. Not only was their scientific training superior but it also conveyed certified credentials that often provided market monopoly or at least offered great competitive advantages. No wonder that professional incomes improved across the board and that the social status of professionals rose sharply, putting many practitioners into the upper and middle strata of society. Only when demand did not grow quickly enough, leading to overcrowding, were some professionals proletarianized. Practice also changed drastically from a craft, governed by custom and experience, to a more intellectual pursuit in which scholarly knowledge and practical skills combined. This trained competence served as the basis for continuing claims for professional autonomy from government or client control. Simultaneously, the self-image of professionals evolved from that of a self-centred dispenser of traditional nostrums to a scientific reformer, improving the lives of fellow men. The concept of ethics changed its meaning, therefore, from regulating competition to defining an ethos of public service. Finally, the formerly convivial and corporate organizations transformed themselves into knowledge-based advocacy groups for professional interest and social change. Professional associations therefore curiously combined egotistical demands with altruistic rhetoric. Produced by academic leaders and progressive practitioners, this professional ideal proved so powerful that it became the new lode-star of the non-economic middle class. To some observers ‘the massive expansion of size and influence’ had carried the professional class ‘to domination in the twentieth century’. Building on the sociological cult of the expert, they claim with some hyperbole that ‘professionalism permeates society from top to bottom’. In contrast to industrialism, ‘professional hierarchies . . . reach much further down the social pyramid than ever landlordship or even business capital did’. Moreover ‘a professional society is one permeated by the professional social ideal’, transcending the narrow confines of the professions themselves.76 In purely quantitative terms, the assertion of professional dominance is misleading since university graduates hardly

76

Society: Essays on the Social Role of Research and Higher Education (London, 1991), 35ff. Perkin, Professional Society (note 44), xiiff., 3ff., echoing D. Bell, The Coming of PostIndustrial Society: A Venture in Social Forecasting (New York, 1976), cf. D. Bell, The Third Revolution: Professional Elites in the Modern World (New York, 1996).

385

Konrad H. Jarausch exceeded 5 per cent of the labour-force by 1933. Even if one adds secondary school pupils and students as proto-professionals and white-collar occupations such as elementary school teachers or non-academic engineers as semi-professionals, their share would at best triple to one-sixth of the gainfully employed. The qualitative argument is harder to assess, since the entitlement system, stratifying society on the basis of education and merit rather than inherited title or accumulated capital, has become quite pervasive. Because of its disdain for monetary gain, professionalism only marginally invaded the business world before 1945 and hardly touched the working classes. Nonetheless there is no need to exaggerate professionalization into the leading social principle in order to recognize that it provided a much envied organizational model of modern work. More modestly and accurately put, professionalism came to dominate the life of the educated middle class in the first third of the twentieth century. National differences and ideological preconceptions have made it exceedingly difficult to define precisely who belongs to this group, set off from the nobility and working class by distinctive values and life-styles.77 In Western European countries the ascendancy of commerce and industry created a bourgeoisie strong enough to overshadow the educated pursuits. In Central Europe, lagging economic development and an even stronger ¨ state presence facilitated the emergence of a peculiar Bildungsburgertum, marked by classical cultivation, public employment and an aversion to material gain. In Eastern European societies, even slower industrialization, the foreign character of many middle-class occupations and political oppression led to the emergence of a petite bourgeois intelligentsia of educated radicals.78 During the last decades of the nineteenth century, these diverse educated middle-class groups not only rapidly increased in size but also fundamentally changed their outlook towards the professional ideal, owing to the professionalization of their component academic occupations. In England the free professions became the dominant form of the non-economic middle class; in France professionalized officials vied with ¨ literati; in the German-speaking countries, the akademische Berufsstande reorganized themselves along professional lines; in the Slavic societies national and liberal professionals began to emerge as alternatives to radical intellectuals. Across lingering national differences, one very important 77 78

¨ ¨ ¨ J. Kocka, ‘Burgertum und burgerliche Gesellschaft im 19. Jahrhundert. Europaische ¨ Entwicklungen und deutsche Eigenarten’, in Bildungsburgertum, 11ff. See e.g. the essays by E. Hobsbawm, ‘Die englische middle-class, 1780–1920’, H. Kaelble, ¨ ¨ ¨ ‘Franzosisches und deutsches Burgertum im Vergleich’, B. Strath, ‘Die burgerliche Gesellschaft Schwedens im 19. Jahrhundert’ and W. Dlugoborski, ‘Das polnische ¨ ¨ Burgertum vor 1918 in vergleichender Perspektive’, all in Bildungsburgertum, 79ff.

386

Graduation and careers result of the transformation of higher learning was therefore the emergence of the modern professions.79 Since educational scholars tend to stop at the university doors while social historians are preoccupied with the bourgeoisie, the impact of professionalization has yet to be fully understood. This process was critically important for institutions of higher learning, because the rise of the academic profession provided a powerful impetus for the continued expansion, differentiation and scientific advancement of higher learning. Moreover, the reformation of academic practitioner careers not only guaranteed an intermittently growing market for university graduates, but also produced powerful pressure on the elaboration of applied training. Some of the emerging professionals such as chemists or physicists contributed enormously to the economic growth of the second or third phase of industrialization. For many, the professional ideal was attractive because it represented a meritocratic compromise between unrestricted competition and financial security, offering the opportunities of les carrières ouvertes aux talents coupled with some assurance of a decent livelihood. After the development of a scientific base, professionals also succeeded in addressing social problems more convincingly than laymen or untrained competitors.80 Frequent abuses of professional knowledge notwithstanding, university graduates made important contributions to human welfare in general. No doubt, the involvement of well-trained specialists in the crimes of the Holocaust and the Gulag was a moral scandal on which members of the professions too often tend to draw the curtain.81 Nevertheless, in more liberal settings they were instrumental in promoting societal rationalization, whether in law, health, education or technology. While usually not in direct political control themselves, leading professionals such as lawyers were a crucial group of elites, controlling over one-third of the posts of representative government in countries such as France and Belgium by 1900.82 For the conduct of research, the growth of economies, the solution of social problems and the government of states, competent experts were becoming indispensable. 79 80

81 82

Jarausch, ‘Higher Education’ (note 15), 28ff. ¨ Gemeinwohl In 1896 the Jewish industrialist Wilhelm Merton established an Institut fur (Institute for the public weal) in Frankfurt-am-Main in order to apply scientific methods ¨ Sozialto his important philanthropic activities. In 1901 he founded the Akademie fur und Handelswissenschaften which became the University of Frankfurt-am-Main in 1914. See e.g. M. Kater, Doctors Under Hitler (Chapel Hill, 1989). Charle, ‘Professionen und Intellektuelle’ (note 44), 127ff.; Art, ‘Rapports’ (note 73), 204–5. Cf. W. Best, ‘Abweichungen vom Sonderweg? Politische Modernisierung und Par¨ lamentarische Fuhrungsgruppen in Deutschland, 1867–1918’, Historical Social Research, 13 (1988), 5–74; P. Lundgreen, ‘Akademisierung – Professionalisierung – Verwissenschaftlichung’, Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht, 53 (2002), 678–87.

387

Konrad H. Jarausch select bibliography Burrage, M. and Thorstendahl, R. (eds.) The Professions in Theory and History, 2 vols., London, 1990. Charle, C. Les intellectuels en Europe au XIXe siècle. Essai d’histoire comparée, Paris, 1996. Cocks, G. and Jarausch, K. H. (eds.) The German Professions 1800–1950, Oxford and New York, 1990. Cohen, G. B. Education and Middle Class Society in Imperial Austria, 1848–1918, West Lafayette, Ind., 1996. ¨ Conze, W. and Kocka, J. (eds.) Bildungsburgertum im 19. Jahrhundert, vol. I: Bildungssystem und Professionalisierung in internationalen Vergleichen, Stuttgart, 1985. Geison, R. (ed.) Professions and the French State, Philadelphia, 1984. Goodland, S. (ed.) Educating for the Professions, London, 1986. ¨ Huerkamp, C. Der Aufstieg der Arzte im 19. Jahrhundert. Vom gelehrten Stand zum professionellen Experten. Das Beispiel Preussens, Kritische Studien zur ¨ Geschichtswissenschaft 68, Gottingen, 1985. Jarausch, K. H. Students, Society and Politics in Imperial Germany: The Rise of Academic Illiberalism, Princeton, 1982. Deutsche Studenten, 1800–1970, Edition Suhrkamp, n.s. 258, Frankfurt-amMain, 1984. Jarausch, K. H. (ed.) The Transformation of Higher Learning, 1860–1930: Expansion, Diversification, Social Opening, and Professionalization in England, Germany, Russia and the United States, Historisch-sozialwissenschaftliche Forschungen 13, Stuttgart, 1983. Johnson, J. A. The Kaiser’s Chemists: Science and Modernization in Imperial Germany, Chapel Hill, 1990. Kassow, S. D. Students, Professors and the State in Tsarist Russia, V. E. Bonnell and L. Hunt (eds.), Studies on the History of Society and Culture 5, Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1989. Kovacs, M. M. Liberal Professions and Illiberal Politics: Hungary from the Habsburgs to the Holocaust, Washington, 1994. Locke, R. The End of the Practical Man: Entrepreneurship and Higher Education in Germany, France, and Great Britain, 1880–1940, Industrial Development and the Social Fabric 7, Greenwich, Conn., 1984. Malatesta, M. (ed.) Society and the Professions in Italy, 1860–1914, Cambridge, 1995. ¨ Technische Hochschule und Industrie, Schriften zur Manegold, K.-H. Universitat, Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte 16, Berlin, 1970. McClelland, C. E. State, Society and University in Germany 1700–1914, Cambridge and New York, 1980. McClelland, C. E. The German Experience of Professionalization: Modern Learned Professions and their Organization from the Early 19th Century, Cambridge, 1991.

388

Graduation and careers ¨ Muller, D. K. Sozialstruktur und Schulsystem. Aspekte zum Strukturwandel des ¨ Schulwesens im 19. Jahrhundert, W. Ruegg and O. Neuloh (eds.), Studien ¨ zum Wandel von Gesellschaft und Bildung 9, Gottingen, 1977. Perkin, H. The Rise of Professional Society: England since 1880, London, 1989. Ringer, F. K. Education and Society in Modern Europe, Bloomington and London, 1979. ¨ Ruschemyer, D. Lawyers and their Society: A Comparative Study of the Legal Profession in Germany and the US, Cambridge, 1973. ¨ Siegrist, H. (ed.) Burgerliche Berufe: Zur Sozialgeschichte der freien und akademi¨ schen Berufe im internationalen Vergleich. Acht Beitrage, Kritische Studien ¨ zur Geschichtswissenschaft 80, Gottingen, 1988. Stone, L. (ed.) The University in Society, 2 vols., Princeton, 1974. ¨ Titze, H. Der Akademikerzyklus. Historische Untersuchungen uber die ¨ ¨ Wiederkehr von Uberf ullung und Mangel in akademischen Karrieren, ¨ Gottingen, 1990. Torstendahl, R. Bureaucratisation in Northwestern Europe 1880–1985: Domination and Governance, London, 1991. Trow, M. and Nybom, T. (eds.) University and Society: Essays on the Social Role of Research and Higher Education, London, 1991.

389

PA RT I V

LEARNING

CHAPTER 10

THEOLOGY AND THE ARTS


introduction* Theology and the arts have been closely linked since late antiquity. Both are principally based on works of language; the former on Holy Writ, the Bible, to biblion, the book of books, the latter on the secular use of language and its objective manifestations, letters, writings and books. The artes liberales with the three sciences of language, grammar, rhetoric, dialectics, and the four mathematical sciences, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, music, as well as the three forms of philosophy based on them, physics, ethics and metaphysics, were known in the Middle Ages as the ancillae theologia, the ‘handmaids of Theology’. This scarcely changed with the advent of humanism, when a philological and historical methodology was added to that of scholasticism and dialectics in the field of theology. The newly founded chairs of Greek, Hebrew, and later Arabic and other oriental languages both inside and outside the theological faculties were concerned in particular with biblical and other religious writings. The appearance of patristic in the seventeenth century meant that the humanist concern with the Fathers of the Church was raised to a systematic discipline within the theological faculty. Similarly, the interest in profane history on the part of the humaniora led in the seventeenth century to the establishment of ecclesiastical history as a theological discipline. ∗

Besides the National Correspondents mentioned in the Preface, the following colleagues helped me by providing information or revising the relevant parts of my text: Carlo ¨ Bo, Urbinoe (†); Peter Brang, Zurich; Rudiger von Bruch, Berlin; Carl Joachim Classen, ¨ Gottingen; Jean-Baptiste Duroselle (†), Paris; Thomas Finkenstaedt, Augsburg; Herbert Franke, Munich; Friedrich Wilhelm Graf, Munich; Willy Hirdt, Bonn; Axel Horstmann, ¨ Hamburg; Rudolf Sellheim, Frankfurt-am-Main; Stig Stromholm, Uppsala; Michael Werner, Paris.

393

¨ Walter Ruegg The arts faculty was on the one hand limited to a propaedeutic function, as for example within the Protestant universities of Germany, where until the nineteenth century students could only complete their studies within one of the higher faculties, usually theology or law. When Friedrich August Wolf (1759–1824), who was to become famous later as a scholar ¨ of antiquity, began his studies at the University of Gottingen in 1777, he was said to have insisted on being registered as a student of philology and not, as was usual until then, of theology. On the other hand, to have completed studies in the faculty of arts in the early part of the modern era in France and England was a satisfactory academic qualification for the lower offices in the Church. Practical theological training came later in the college or the seminary.1 From the thirteenth century onwards, when the faculties of arts were forbidden to occupy themselves with theologically relevant questions, disputes arose repeatedly because of the close links with respect to content between them and philosophy, and metaphysics and theology in particular, which Aristotle called the prima philosophia (first philosophy).2 In 1798 Kant, after he had been reprimanded by the king in 1794 for his philosophical writings on religion, produced his ‘Conflict of the Faculties’ in which he defended the independence, indeed the scholarly superiority of the arts faculty over the higher faculties, where the content of the courses was controlled by the government and whose needs they were meant to serve.3 In the nineteenth century the arts faculty no longer needed to emancipate itself from the role of handmaid of Theology. On the contrary advances in the arts and sciences were forcing Catholic theology on to the defensive, whilst Protestant theology went on the offensive and took the lead in the philosophically and historically orientated arts subjects. In all these developments the mutual connection is clearly evident, so that it makes sense to take theology together with those disciplines of the arts faculty which as arts, humanities, lettres, letras, lettere e filosofia, Geisteswissenschaften are concerned with language products. History, whose emergence as an independent subject within the arts faculty was an achievement of humanism, is in this volume treated together with the social sciences according to the UNESCO classification. The close connection between the two ‘book sciences’ is not only shown in the important contributions of classical philologians to New Testament 1

2 3

On France: Verger, Universités en France, 191. In England it was only at the beginning of the nineteenth century that giving a theological lecture became a requisite for the priesthood (History of Oxford, V, 401–11). B. Uhde, ‘Katholische Theologie und neuere Philosophie’, in G. Stephenson, Der Religionswandel unserer Zeit im Spiegel der Religionswissenschaft (Darmstadt, 1976), 248ff. ¨ ¨ I. Kant, Der Streit der Facultaten in drey Abschnitten (Konigsberg, 1798); quotation in I. Kant, Studienausgabe, vol. VI (Darmstadt, 1964), 263–393, esp. 300.

394

Theology and the arts studies, such as the critical edition of the text by Karl Lachmann (1793– 1851) or the establishment of the Hellenistic context of St Paul’s writings by Richard Reitzenstein (1861–1931). It is also reflected in the biographies of important theologians. The classical translation of Plato’s writings into German, which is still in print today, is the work of a theology professor, Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768–1834). Some theologians moved more or less willingly into the philosophical faculty, such as Eduard Zeller (1814– 1908) and Julius Wellhausen (1844–1918). Through their biblical criticism both had provoked a rabies theologica among their colleagues – Zeller, in fact, provoking even a riot in Bern in 1847. Wellhausen continued his pioneering researches into the Old Testament as professor of semitic languages, whereas it was as a professor of philosophy that Zeller became famous far beyond Germany, especially because of his monumental work on Greek philosophy. In 1914 Ernst Troeltsch (1865–1923), professor of systematic theology at Heidelberg and one of the leading representatives of religious liberalism, accepted a chair in philosophy at the University of Berlin. Until well into the second half of the nineteenth century Catholic theology owed crucial impulses to the work of both philologists and hommes de lettres, as will be shown in the next section. catholic theology and the inf luence of ultramontanism The French Revolution, shaking Europe like a mighty earthquake, produced those deep fault lines in the university landscape which were described in chapter 2. The most profound effect was on Catholic education. Secularization brought about two important changes: with the confiscation of Church lands, the financial basis of the papacy was undermined, and, with the victory of the Enlightenment, its role as the intellectual and spiritual guardian of the Church was challenged. As a result, during the period covered in this volume the papacy, with few exceptions, barricaded itself and confronted the new movements not so much with theological arguments as with repressive measures. ¨ In 1863 the famous Munich ecclesiastical historian, Ignaz von Dollinger (1799–1890), declared that German theologians were defending Catholicism with ‘guns’ whilst the Romans were using ‘bows and arrow’.4 His 4

H. Jedin (ed.), Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte (HKG), vol. VI: Die Kirche in der Gegenwart, Erster Halbband: Die Kirche zwischen Revolution und Restauration, 2nd edn (Freiburg, Basle and Vienna, 1985), 673. If not otherwise indicated, the following information on the history of the Catholic Church is taken from this work, including the second part ‘Die Kirche zwischen Anpassung und Widerstand (1878–1914)’, 2nd edn (Freiburg, Basle and Vienna, 1985). The chapters on theology are written in the first part ¨ by R. Aubert, Louvain, in the second by O. Kohler, Freiburg im Breisgau.

395

¨ Walter Ruegg strictures were aimed primarily at ultramontanism, that is, the Curia’s anti-Enlightenment traditionalism and centralist view of Church politics, which had begun with the restoration of the authority of Rome after the fall of Napoleon, and which reached its apogee in the pontificate of Pius IX with the dogmatization of papal infallibility at the First Vatican Council (1870). In the universities, ultramontanism first showed itself in the condemna¨ tion of those professors who were opposed to it. Dollinger, who fiercely attacked the infallibility of papal teaching, was excommunicated in 1871 and gave up his theological teaching at the university, whereupon King Ludwig II promptly appointed him President of the Bavarian Academy of Sciences for life. Other professors had either to recant their teachings or renounce their posts. Following the pontificate of Leo XIII (1878–1903), who had been more receptive to the modern spirit, Pius X (pontiff from 1903 to 1914) condemned modernism as the ‘source of all heresies’ in the encyclical Pascendi dominici gregis of 1907, and in 1910 demanded that all priests active in pastoral care and teaching should take the so-called anti-modernist oath. It was ‘designed to flush out those theologians who were guilty of secret modernist thinking and to lead to their removal from teaching and pastoral service and thus to prevent an internal erosion of the faith and life of the church’.5 The oath was not officially abolished until the Second Vatican Council; but in the German universities it met with such strong opposition that it was not applied. A further institutional consequence of ultramontanism was the widespread retreat of theology into the seminaries run by bishops and the religious orders. Here orthodoxy could be better guaranteed than in the university faculties, for there the professors of theology were allowed a greater freedom of teaching, despite the Church’s right to exercise supervision. The popes refused to recognize the theological faculties in Paris, Bordeaux, Lyon and Rouen, which were reopened between 1806 and 1808, with the result that their degrees had no practical value and they initially produced fewer than ten graduates a year, rising to a mere twenty by the middle of the century. When these faculties were closed in 1885 they could hardly muster 50 students between them.6 A more fruitful alternative source of scholarship appeared in 1886 with the introduction of the Ve Section des sciences religieuses in the Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes in Paris.7 In Spain the theological faculties survived the liberal and anti-clerical reforms. In 1854 they were reintroduced into the universities of Madrid, 5 6 7

¨ Theologie und Kirche (LThK), 2nd edn W. Reinhard, ‘Modernismus’, Lexikon fur (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1934), vol. VII, 253. Verger, Universités en France, 274–5. E. Durkheim (ed.), La vie universitaire a` Paris (Paris, 1918), 188–91.

396

Theology and the arts Santiago, Zaragoza and Seville in order to educate the higher ranks of the clergy. Yet they were so ossified that their abolition in 1868 merely served to put them out of their misery. In the previous decade only one single professor had published books. ‘Theological studies had taken refuge in the seminaries; for a decade the state university made possible studies which had remained in the first rank for centuries, filling the lecture halls.’8 In Italy, too, theological teaching was concentrated in the priests’ seminaries. Before unification the theological faculties remained in existence in the various mini-states, such as the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.9 In the Vatican state itself it was suspended by the decrees of the Sacra congregazione degli studi of 1831 and 1833, and teaching was moved to the bishops’ seminaries and to the schools of the various Orders.10 After 1861 the Kingdom of Italy abolished all theological faculties at the state universities.11 In special circumstances the Curia approved the founding of Catholic universities with theological faculties. One of these came into being in 1834/35 in Louvain as a result of an initiative on the part of the Belgian bishops. In 1875 the French bishops used the new law on the freedom of teaching in order to found Catholic universities or theological faculties modelled on Louvain in Angers, Lille, Lyon, Paris and Toulouse. In Switzerland the Catholic university of Freiburg, which was founded in 1889, was given permission by the pope to introduce a theological faculty run by the Dominicans.12 In Germany and Austria-Hungary, Rome could only partly enforce ultramontane control over theology. In 1805 a bishop’s seminary was founded in Mainz to take the place of the university which had disappeared in the course of secularization. The seminary became and remained, even after temporary closure, a leading proponent of strict church theology. Until the end of the nineteenth century the training of priests took place for the most part in seminaries. But in contrast to 8 9 10

11 12

˜ Peset, Universidad Espanola, 712–28: for the reintroduction of faculties see 723ff.; for publications 514ff., quotation 717. G. Libertini, ‘La Universita` di Catania dal 1805 al 1865’, in M. Catalano et al., Storia della Universita` di Catania dalle origini ai giorni nostri (Catania, 1934), 314–17. A. Sorbelli, ‘L’Universita` di Bologna e la rivoluzione del 1831’, Studi e Memorie per la storia dell’Universita` di Bologna, 9 (1926), 166–87; for the text of the decree dating from 12 September 1831 see 167ff. P. Nardi, ‘Italie’, in J´ılek (ed.), Historical Compendium, 84. From 1880 on, in France the title Université only applied to the state universities, and the Catholic universities were called Faculté libre or Institut catholique. See Appendix: ‘European Universities and Similar Institutions in Existence Between 1812 and the End of 1944’. Concerning the influence of ultramontanism on the foundation of the University of ¨ Fribourg: M. Zurcher, ‘G. Ruhlands “Wirtschaftspolitik des Vaterunsers”. Genese, Logik und Wirkung’, in N. Graetz and A. Mattioli (eds), Krisenwahrnehmungen im Fin de siècle. ¨ Judische und katholische Bildungseliten in Deutschland und der Schweiz (Zurich, 1997), 211–29.

397

¨ Walter Ruegg the Latin countries, the German faculties of Catholic theology found themselves engaged in an intensive and – in some universities – direct intellectual discussion with the equivalent Protestant faculties, which were thought to be much more scholarly in their approach, being able not only to maintain their position but also to build on it, as the following numbers of students studying Catholic theology show:

Cracow ¨ Tubingen ¨ Munster Innsbruck

1891/92

1912/13

1937/38

66 172 264 275

90 160 308 429

230 592 453

They offered professorships in Old and New Testament exegesis, in apologetics and in general and sometimes also special dogmatics, together with church history, church law, practical, moral and pastoral theology, and at times also general religious studies, Christian archaeology, and missionary studies.13 The sixteen Catholic theological faculties in Germany and AustriaHungary did not merely train priests. They were also responsible for key theological initiatives. They offered ‘the advantage of closer contacts between Catholic scholars and non-Catholic studies, which had a fruitful effect on their work’, but which of course also made possible – because of the greater autonomy they afforded – ‘real deviations from correct doctrine’.14 The school of the dogmatist Georg Hermes (1775–1831), who taught in Bonn from 1819 to 1831, found so many important devotees both at German and foreign universities that his teaching was condemned for decades, first of all in 1835/36 by breves and decrees from Gregory XVI, then in 1846 through the encyclical Qui pluribus from Pius IX, and finally by the first Vatican Council of 1870. Hermesians were forced either to recant their teachings or to lose their professorships. Hermes founded his theology on the evidence of reason and considered faith to be the product of the autonomous human being as a moral, rational entity.15 ¨ In contrast the Tubingen school, combining as it did Schelling’s transcendental idealism and his high regard for mystical knowledge with Hegel’s concept of the living spirit and its progressive realization through history, remained rooted in the Catholic theology of the Romantics. Its 13

14 15

See the information for the universities concerned in: Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten ¨ Welt, 22 (1912/13) (Strasburg, 1913); 33 (1938), Abteilung Universitaten und Fachhochschulen, 1. Bd: Europa (Berlin, 1938). HKG VI, 1 (note 4), 290. ¨ C. Andresen and G. Denzler, dtv Worterbuch der Kirchengeschichte (Munich, 1982), 258ff.

398

Theology and the arts ¨ influence extended to Munster, Freiburg in Breisgau, and in particular to Giessen, where between 1830 and 1851 the Mainz seminary had been ¨ replaced by a Catholic faculty of theology. The Tubingen school introduced an historical dimension into dogmatics. It found its characteristic expression in the monumental ‘Conciliengeschichte’ (Conciliar History) ¨ in seven volumes by the Tubingen historian Karl Hefele (1809–83). The University of Munich which replaced Landshut in 1825 exerted an influence on European Catholicism which extended beyond theology. It was here that the Protestant philosopher Schelling (1775–1854) developed a synthesis of Christianity which came close to Catholicism. The historian ¨ Dollinger mentioned earlier gave new life to Catholic Church history, and the theosophist and philosopher Franz Xaver von Baader (1765–1841) did ¨ the same for speculative dogmatics. Joseph von Gorres (1776–1848), in his twin roles as cultural historian and ‘political prophet’,16 found an academic sounding board here for his manifold and wide-ranging publishing ventures. Germany was later instrumental in the development of a ‘Reformed Catholicism’, which strove for a dialogue with modern science and liberal ideas. In attempting this it provoked strong opposition from the ultramontanists, who, after 1879, found a new dogmatic basis in New Scholasticism. This movement was given an historical dimension through the research into medieval scholastics of the Munich professors Klemens ¨ Baumer (1853–1924) and Martin Grabmann (1875–1949), the Louvain professor Maurice de Wulf (1867–1947), the head of the Vatican Libraries and Archives Cardinal Ehrle (1845–1934), together with the Tirolean Dominican and for a time professor at the University of Graz Heinrich Denifle (1844–1905), who also wrote the first history of medieval universities to be based on full source materials.17 In 1911 Joseph Schmidlin ¨ (1878–1944) introduced Catholic missionary studies in Munster as a university subject. As a result, in the period between the two world wars, professorships in this new subject were founded in a variety of countries. Indeed, in 1932 faculties in missionary studies were established both in the Gregoriana and in the Propaganda College in Rome.18 In France, as we have already noted, the training of priests was until 1875 entirely in the hands of the seminaries. In his Souvenirs d’Enfance et de Jeunesse Ernest Renan (1823–92), with considerable reverence for his former teachers, described it as being based theologically on traditional dogmatics and the corresponding textbooks,19 yet in the Saint Sulpice seminary in Paris the learning of semitic languages as a basis for study of 16 17 19

¨ Achim von Arnim, quoted by H. Raab, ‘Gorres’, in Staatslexikon, 7th edn (Freiburg, Basle and Vienna, 1986), vol. II, 1081ff. 18 See vol. I, p. xxiii. HKG VI, 2 (note 4), 593–7. See especially the chapter entitled ‘Le séminaire d’Issy’.

399

¨ Walter Ruegg the Bible was encouraged. As for the seminary in Strasburg and its asso´ ´ ciated Ecole des Hautes Etudes in Molsheim, they were influenced even more strongly by developments at German universities. The remaining 80 schools for priests did not pursue a scientific approach to theology. Any theological initiatives came therefore – at first with apologetic intent – from writers such as Chateaubriand (1789–1848), Bonald (1754–1810), and from the Dane Ferdinand von Eckstein (1790–1861), who had been ¨ influenced by Gorres, and above all from the private scholar Félicité de Lamennais (1782–1861). His works were written in a passionate inspiratory style, and in particular his Essai sur l’indifférence en matière de religion (Treatise on Religious Indifference), published in four volumes between 1817 and 1823, not only had a huge influence on Catholic philosophy and theology over half a century in France, Belgium, Italy and England but also provoked the development of Hermesianism in Germany. He based theological knowledge on the original revelation of God in the sens commun, that is in the general rationality of the human race, and developed ideas about the separation of Church and state, which bore fruit in the foundation of Catholic universities in Louvain, Dublin and France. Initially hailed as a confederate of the ultramontanists, he attracted papal condemnation especially for his revolutionary social teachings, which were published in 1834 and were a huge success with the public. He nevertheless remained true throughout to his religious socialism.20 The life and works of Ernest Renan were just as exceptional and influential. He had learned Hebrew at the seminary of Saint Sulpice, but, having become disaffected with Catholic dogma through his philological studies of the Bible, decided to leave the seminary. After a pioneering work on Averroes, the Arab commentator on Aristotle, and following excavations in Palestine, he was elected in 1862 to a professorship in Hebrew at the Collège de France. His inaugural lecture and his Vie de Jésus of 1863, which developed in an original way German research on the life of Jesus, depicting Him not as the Son of God but as a man of genius who changed the course of history, both provoked so much controversy that, after the intervention of the French episcopacy in 1864, he was deprived of his post and only regained it in 1871 after the fall of the Empire. He was less influential with his specialist works on semitic languages than with his splendidly written volumes on the history of religion and his philosophical, cultural and political writings, in which he not only defended the freedom of research and teaching, but also religious and political liberalism.21 20 21

J.-B. Duroselle, Les débuts du catholicisme social en France 1822–1870 (Paris, 1951). I. Goldziher, Ernest Renan als Orientalist (Zurich, 2000) (German translation of Renan Mint Orientalista, commemorative address, delivered in 1894 at the Hungarian

400

Theology and the arts t h e pa pacy ’ s py r r h i c v i c to r i e s ov e r m o d e r n i s m In 1864 Pope Pius IX published the Syllabus errorum in Europa vigentium and condemned as the latest of the 80 ‘heresies current in Europe’ the reconciliation of the Church with progress, liberalism and modern civilization. The main representative of modernism, Alfred Loisy (1857–1940), who had provoked Pius X into the condemnations of 1907 and 1910 mentioned above, had been professor of Hebrew at the Institut Catholique in Paris since 1881 and professor of Exegesis from 1889. In 1893 he lost his professorship, but he was able to continue teaching in 1900 in the Section ´ des sciences religieuses at the state Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes, and later from 1909 at the Collège de France. He supported the autonomy of ` biblical criticism vis-a-vis theological doctrine and attempted to produce an apologetics based on the New Testament, which relativized the dogmas of the church. The results of his work brought the pope’s condemnation and in 1908 excommunication, but at the same time found widespread resonance both within France and beyond. The application of historical methods to the Old Testament by the Dominican Albert Lagrange (1855– 1938) was just as critical in terms of its scholarly approach, but its impact remained limited to specialists. In 1890 Lagrange, at the instigation of ´ his Order, founded the Ecole pratique des e´ tudes bibliques in Jerusalem, but in 1912 he was removed from his post following the condemnation of several of his writings.22 At the Catholic University of Louvain, founded in 1834, prominent followers of Lamennais were in leading positions. Xavier de Ram (1804– 65), who had been the first to produce a history of the national church using original source material, led the university as rector for 31 years until his death. In the field of religious studies the new foundation had an outstanding reputation for its prowess in oriental studies. Thanks to De Ram’s initiative the Jesuits were allowed to continue the monumental Bolland edition of the Acta Sanctorum after a gap of fifty years. The head of the ‘Louvain School’, the professor of philosophy Gerhard Ubaghs (1800–75), attempted with some success to produce a metaphysics founded on Platonic and Augustinian traditions. His ontological equation of all intellectually perceivable truth with the unlimited Being of God was a continuation of the ideas of Lamennais. Out of consideration for the newly founded Catholic institution, Ubaghs’ teachings were at first not publicly criticized in Rome, but after the death of De Ram, they were in 1869

22

¨ Academy), Introduction by F. Niewohner; O. Chadwick, The Secularisation of the European Mind in the Nineteenth Century, The Gifford Lectures in the University of Edinburgh for 1973–4 (Cambridge, London, New York and Melbourne, 1975), 212–24. C. Theobald, ‘L’exégèse catholique au moment de la crise moderniste’, in C. Savart and J.-N. Aletti (eds.), Le monde contemporain et la Bible (Paris, 1985), 387–459.

401

¨ Walter Ruegg condemned, with the result that Ubaghs was forced into submission and had to resign his post. In Italy, as a consequence of the Risorgimento, attacks on the Papal States, and, finally, their abolition, the Church faced stronger political and theological challenges than in other countries. Count Antonio Rosmini (1797–1855), who had had a philosophical education and in 1826 had founded the Congregation Institutum Charitatis, combined in his metaphysics the supernatural nature of the Church with its task of substantiating the inner freedom of individual human beings and of social institutions. He attacked the involvement of the Church with the state, its alienation from the people and all forms of intellectual and political absolutism, and developed a philosophically coherent system for the inner renewal of the Church in dialogue with civil society. Pius IX’s desire to appoint him to the post of Cardinal State Secretary at the beginning of his pontificate was thwarted by the opposition of the ultramontanists. Indeed, in 1849 they succeeded in having Rosmini’s writings on church politics condemned, and in 1887 had some 40 sentences censored, after his ideas had not only spread in numerous Rosmini circles but had also ‘conquered the professorial chairs of universities and numerous seminaries in Northern Italy’.23 Despite all the sanctions introduced by the ultramontanists, which Rosmini had already castigated as counterproductive, modernism could not be prevented even in Rome itself. Its most prominent representative, Ernesto Buonaiuti (1881–1946), a church historian at a Roman seminary for priests, had a stimulating effect on the Italian reform movement with his teachings on the purely spiritual, community orientated, role of the Church and a radically evangelical ethic. He was removed from office in 1906, and in 1915 he was granted a chair in the history of Christianity at the state university in Rome. During the period 1924–26 he was excommunicated. As an internationally esteemed authority on the history of the Church and its dogmatics he refused to take the Fascist oath of loyalty in 1932, lost his chair and did not regain it in 1944 because of his previous excommunication. Another renewal movement within Catholic theology, the revival of the original teachings of St Thomas Aquinas culminating eventually in the victory of neo-Scholasticism, met with unqualified papal support. From Piacenza, where Vincenzo Buzzetti (1777–1824) taught Thomism, Jesuits brought it to the attention of the man who was to become Leo XIII. Once installed as pope in an encyclical Aeterni Patris of 1879, Leo declared it to be the official teaching of the Church ‘in order to respond adequately to the problems of the modern world’.24 As a result neo-Scholasticism, which also caught up other thinkers of medieval scholasticism, began to spread, 23

HKG VI, 1 (note 4), 307.

24

HKG VI, 2 (note 4), 316–27, quotation 317.

402

Theology and the arts partly through the papal university the Gregoriana, and partly through a range of institutes, editions and conferences supported by the pope. On the one hand it led to a number of sterile polemics, such as the one referred to earlier against Rosmini’s 40 sentences, but to a widespread renewal of Catholic dogmatics on the other. The main protagonist between the two world wars was the philosopher Jacques Maritain (1882–1973), who had converted from Protestantism in 1906 and had taught from 1914 at the Catholic Institute in Paris and then in Canada and America. Following influential works on the theory of knowledge and on moral and social philosophy, his Humanisme intégral of 1936 provided the philosophical basis for the increasingly important confrontation between Catholicism and Marxism. It was also in France during the twentieth century that a moderate form of anti-scholastic Modernism flourished, largely thanks to the Jesuit Teilhard de Chardin (1881–1955), who sought a renewal of theology through the scientific theories of evolution. There was also Henri de Lubac (1896–1991) whose Nouvelle Théologie was condemned as recently as 1950 in the encyclical Humani generis by Pope Pius XII and who was then rehabilitated in 1983 by John Paul II and made a cardinal. In general the papacy found itself theologically in a beleaguered city. The image was in fact used by Leo XIII. In an encyclical letter to the French bishops in 1899 he accused the modernists of breaching the walls of the city they were supposed to be defending.25 Significantly the only pioneering work of scholarship that Pius IX had supported was an archaeological investigation into the early Church in Rome, which had a crucial bearing on the question of the primacy of the pope. In the course of this Giovanni de Rossi (1822–94) managed to put the Catholic investigation of Christian archaeology and epigraphy on a scientific footing. ¨ If Dollinger, as already stated, had been able to accuse Rome in 1869 of mounting an inadequate ‘bows and arrows’ theological defence of Catholicism, this was no longer completely true later on. Even Leo XIII engaged in, to use his image, theological raids through the defensive walls of ultramontanism in order to ward off modernism, opening up the urbs for developments which in the end led to the Second Vatican Council. For outside the Vatican the tension between ultramontanism and modernism had given way to mutually stimulating discussion and research. It found expression in numerous scholarly journals and handbooks,26 in 25

26

Theobald, Exégèse (note 22), 400; cf. H. Gazelles, ‘L’exégèse scientifique au XXe siècle: l’Ancient Testament’, in Savart and Aletti (eds.), Monde contemporain (note 22), 454: ‘En fait, comme on l’a dit, l’Eglise catholique se mettait “en e´ tat de siège”.’ The bibliographical abbreviations in HKG VI, 1 and 2 (note 4) include 85 journals published between 1838 and 1939, as well as for the same period more than twenty handbooks on Catholic theology; cf. Savart and Aletti (eds.), Monde contemporain (note 22), 454.

403

¨ Walter Ruegg lexica,27 in discussion fora involving lay and professional researchers28 as well as in a series of international congresses of scholars. The first of these was organized in 1888 by the founding rector of the Catholic Institute in Paris, Maurice d’Hulst (1841–96), and the last, which took place in 1891 in Swiss Freiburg, involved some 3,000 participants.29 No one played a more prominent and progressive role between modernism and ultramontanism than John Henry Newman (1801–90), whom ¨ Dollinger characterized as Roman Catholicism’s most important intellectual gain in the modern era.30 The Oxford university preacher had converted to Catholicism after an intensive study of the Church Fathers and after vain attempts to introduce reforms into the Anglican Church. Disqualified by the ultramontanists as a ‘liberal’, he was even denounced in 1859 by an English spokesman for the pope as ‘the most dangerous man in England’, although he often opposed modernist tendencies and accepted the infallibility of papal teaching. In short, both his thinking and his actions testified to an independent theological intellect, which, though deeply anchored in a dogmatically secure faith, took contemporary scientific discoveries seriously and attempted to take account of them in theological works. In doing so Newman isolated himself from his earlier comrades both to the left and the right. He disappointed his liberal ¨ ally Lord Acton (1834–1902), who remained true to his teacher Dollinger both as a historian and a reformed Catholic. Until he was made a cardinal by Leo XIII in 1879 Newman was also viewed with suspicion by his fellow convert in Oxford, the ultramontanist Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Manning (1808–92).31 Appointed the first Rector of the Catholic University in Dublin, founded in 1851, he found himself unable to realize his ideas for an ideal university set out in his Discourses on the Idea of a University of 1852, and he resigned in 1858. Whilst this particular work 27

28 29 30 31

¨ H. J. Wetze and B. Welte (eds.), Kirchenlexikon oder Encyclopadie der kath. Theologie und ihrer Hilfswissenchaften, 13 vols. (Freiburg, 1847–56) (predecessor of the HLK (note 4)); J. Gillow (ed.), A Literary and Bibliographical History, or Bibliographical Dictionary of the English Catholics from the Breach with Rome in 1534 to the Present Time, 5 vols. (London and New York, no date [1885– ]; rpt. New York, 1968; Tokyo and Bristol, 1999); F. Vigouroux (ed.), Dictionnaire de la Bible, 5 vols. (Paris, 1895–1912); C. Herbermann et al. (eds.), The Catholic Encyclopedia, 17 vols. (New York, 1907–22); A. d’Alès (ed.), Dictionnaire apologétique de la foi catholique, 4 vols. (Paris, 1911–28); A. Baudrillart et al. (eds.), Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastique (Paris, 1912–); A. Vacant, E. Mangenot and E. Amann (eds.), Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, 15 vols. (Paris, 1930–50). ¨ ¨ In 1876, on the 100th anniversary of Gorres’ birth, the ‘Gorres – Gesellschaft’ was founded, in 1891 the ‘Leo-Gesellschaft’, which took its name from Pope Leo XIII. HKG VI, 2 (note 4), 263–4. Quoted by V. Conzemius, ‘Kirchenvater der Neuzeit. Zum 100. Todestag von John Henry ¨ Newman’, Neue Zurcher Zeitung, 178 (4–5 August 1990), 49. E. Norman, The English Catholic Church in the Nineteenth Century (Oxford, 1984), 287–344 (ch. 7: ‘Catholic learning’).

404

Theology and the arts remained rooted in the ideas of the nineteenth century his theological thinking which revolved around the sanctity of conscience had an enduring influence on the renewal of Catholic theology right up to the Second Vatican Council.32 protestant theology as a subject of university research Barely 100 European universities survived the French Revolution and its consequences up to 1850 and of these two-thirds were in Catholic countries.33 The remaining third consisted of the four orthodox universities in Russia, the ten reformed universities in Scotland, Holland and Switzerland, the Anglican universities of Oxford and Cambridge together with the seventeen Lutheran universities in Scandinavia and Germany. This minority, and in particular the German faculties, turned theology into an academically respectable university subject in the nineteenth century. The reason for this is not primarily to be found in the fact that Protestant pastors as state officials received their education in the universities. In 1893 out of 4,870 students at the University of Berlin 620 were studying evangelical theology, in Halle it was 585 out of 1,472: in 1891/92 ¨ in Leipzig 451 out of 3,307, in Uppsala 347 out of 1,476, in Tubingen 306 out of 1,185 as against 172 students of Catholic theology.34 A more important reason for this predominance was the lack of universally binding dogmas and the variety of church regulations, which allowed the faculties from an early stage to reflect a diversity of opinion in their teaching and for professors, who had been dismissed for their teaching in one state, to be re-engaged in another. Thus a dogmatic pluralism developed, not so much within as between the universities, which did not merely exhaust itself in absolutist squabbles but led to academically fruitful debates and encouraged tolerant princes to offer and guarantee freedom of teaching. In the course of the nineteenth century academic freedom generally prevailed, though not without suffering reverses such 32 33 34

J. Roberts, ‘The Idea of a University Revisited’, in I. Ker and A. G. Hill (eds.), Newman after a Hundred Years (Oxford, 1990). See the maps in vol. II, pp. 102ff. See the information on the universities concerned in: Minerva, Jahrbuch (note 13), 2 (1892/93). After 1918 the relations were reversed. In 1928/29 the German universities trained 2,166 students in Catholic theology and 1,895 in Protestant theology; in 1938/9 2,971 were studying Catholic and 878 Protestant theology (Empfehlungen des Wissenschaftsrates zum Ausbau der wissenschaftlichen Einrichtungen, vol. I: Wis¨ senschaftliche Hochschulen (Tubingen, 1960), 462). For figures relating to the development of the teaching body and the students in German Protestant faculties until 1914: ¨ F. W. Graf, ‘Rettung und Personlichkeit, Protestantische Theologie als Kulturwissenschaft ¨ des Christentums’, in R. vom Bruch, F. W. Graf and G. Hubinger (eds.), Kultur und Wissenschaften um 1900, Krise und Glaube an die Wissenschaft (Stuttgart, 1989), 104ff.

405

¨ Walter Ruegg as the Carlsbad Decrees of 1819, together with later reactions on the part of orthodoxy in the populace or in the faculties,35 and this gradual development is also reflected in Protestant theology. The development was introduced and shaped over a long period by Friedrich Ernst Daniel Schleiermacher, of whom his theological counterpart in the twentieth century, Karl Barth (1886–1968), said that he was rightly called the father of the nineteenth-century Church. He not only founded a school but also an age.36 This is also true of his role in the foundation of the University of Berlin. It is thus quite possible to trace the development of theology into an academic university subject on the basis of the new foundation in Berlin. In 1808 Schleiermacher produced a detailed account of a modern university.37 Wilhelm von Humboldt, in the course of the sixteen months when he was in control of the Prussian Education system, brought it to the brink of realization with a series of pregnant and practical memoranda in 1810, before handing over responsibility for carrying it out to a ‘start-up commission’ under the leadership of Schleiermacher. The model role of Berlin as a modern university linking teaching and research, and which is associated with the name of Humboldt, is dealt with in chapter 2. Here we are concerned with the effects on the theological faculty. Schleiermacher composed the essential report for the establishment of the latter on 24 May 1810, and at the same time initiated the appointment of his – in the first instance two – colleagues.38 One of his favourite ideas, the introduction of a special form of worship at the university, could not be realized, but it illustrates his understanding of theology as an academic discipline and the way it should be converted into practice: ‘If we are able here to unite the spirit of scholarship with a sense of religion and turn it into an objective reality, then we will have laid the best possible foundation for the removal of the apparent division between the world of religion and that of science and commerce, indeed we will also have brought about an inner improvement in those who have devoted themselves to this task.’ On the one hand theological practice had the goal of giving science 35

36 37 38

¨ On the history of academic freedom in Germany: R. A. Muller, ‘Vom Ideal der “libertas philosophandi” zum Dogma der “Freiheit der Wissenschaft” (1848/9–1918/9)’, in ¨ Erlangen-Nurnberg ¨ C. Friedrich (ed.), Die Friedrich-Alexander-Universitat 1743–1993, Geschichte einer deutschen Hochschule, Ausstellungskatalog (Erlangen and Nuremberg, 1993), 65–76. K. Barth, Die protestantische Theologie im 19. Jahrhundert. Ihre Vorgeschichte und Geschichte (Zurich, 1947; 6th edn 1994), 379. ¨ ¨ F. Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken uber Universitaten im deutschen Sinn. Nebst ¨ einem Anhang uber eine neu zu errichtende (Berlin, 1808). ¨ ¨ zu Berlin, vol. I: M. Lenz, Geschichte der koniglichen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universitat ¨ Grundung und Ausbau (Halle, 1910); on the ‘start-up-commission’ see p. 220; for the quotations from the report, 221–3; on the nomination of his colleagues Marheineke and De Wette see 224–7.

406

Theology and the arts and practical life a religious sense. Thus even more important than the education in school for the implantation of religion as a centre of moral education are ‘the academic years, for what the young persons absorb then is acquired in freedom, and it enters fully into their characters’.39 On the other hand the ‘combination of scientific spirit with a sense of religion’ forms the basis of a theology grounded in the principle of freedom, as understood and given institutional form by Schleiermacher. This is evident from the first in the appointments to professorial chairs: ‘the more opposing views and approaches prevail in theology, the greater the number of young people for whom study is something merely vocational and the more necessary it is to use a range of teaching modes so as to stimulate the students in a variety of ways and, by introducing competition, to maintain a stimulating spirit of rivalry among the teaching staff.’ To achieve this he felt it was not necessary to have a particular subject area represented by various approaches – as became the case later in many faculties. It was better to choose professors who, as exegetes, could teach dogmatics, for dogmatists could teach history just as historians could also teach exegesis, so that Berlin initially could manage with three professors of theology; Schleiermacher himself was obliged to teach dogmatics, which then became one of his major areas of achievement in theology. The difference between Reformed and Lutheran theology was not acknowledged by Schleiermacher, who came from the reformed church, and in 1817 he achieved the union of the two churches, something which had also been desired by the king. The professors who, in addition to Schleiermacher, were the speculative dogmatist and ecclesiastical historian Philipp Marheineke (1780–1846), the Bible exegist Wilhelm de Wette (1780–1849) and from 1813 the ecclesiastical historian August Neander (1789–1850) lectured on the various branches of theology, partly supplementing each other and partly in parallel. The traditional components of theology – Bible study, ecclesiastical history, systematic theology with dogmatics, ethics and apologetics – were augmented by Schleiermacher with practical theology, homiletics and catechetios. The increase in student numbers, the introduction of double professorships in order to represent conservative theology, and the specialization of branches of teaching led in the course of the century to an increase in theology chairs throughout the whole of Germany. At the University of Berlin in 1892, Old Testament exegesis and ecclesiastical history were each represented by three chairs, New Testament exegesis, dogmatics and the philosophy of religion by two chairs, practical theology and Christian archaeology by one. At the same time individual professors also covered 39

¨ Ibid., 222. On Schleiermacher’s pedagogics see Friedrich Schleiermacher, Padagogische ¨ Schriften, ed. E. Weniger (Dusseldorf and Munich, 1957; 2nd edn, Berlin, 1983).

407

¨ Walter Ruegg neighbouring subjects. For instance, the Old Testament specialists took care of the semitic languages, a New Testament specialist looked after religious pedagogics, the philosophers of religion were responsible for apologetics or systematic theology, while a Privatdozent read on missionary studies. By 1938 the number of professors had not increased, but in addition there were now seven lecturers to cover the core subjects and five teaching staff for subsidiary subjects such as church architecture and church music.40 The opening of a theological seminar in the summer term of 1812 was to have an enduring influence on theological studies in the whole of Europe. The Gelegentliche Gedanken had viewed academic seminars of the sort that already existed in classical philology as the institutional heart of the link between teaching and research at the university, and for this reason had opposed – successfully – the transfer of research to the Academy of Sciences, of which Schleiermacher was a member.41 The ‘activities’ of the theological seminar should thus be directed ‘mainly’ to matters ‘of theological scholarship’.42 The seminar consisted of two sections, the philological, with subsections for Old and New Testament studies, and the historical, which was limited to ecclesiastical history. The seminar was under the control of the Dean. The directorship of the sections and sub-sections was also supposed to rotate among the members of the teaching body, but, in practice, was soon held – often for decades – by the incumbents of the various professorial chairs. The 20–30 students who were accepted as full members were eligible to receive grants and prizes. In the philological department they had to produce oral interpretations of difficult texts, which, until the middle of the century, was done in Latin. In the ecclesiastical history department they were required to write essays which, under the first Dirigent (‘Conductor’) Neander, covered a particular area of study and, between 1888 and 1910 under Adolf von Harnack (1851–1930), were based on source material relating to ecclesiastical history. Until 1884 prizes and awards were offered for treatises composed in Latin. Their quality varied over the years, but under a strict ‘Conductor’ they were often of publishable quality. With the removal of the prizes the seminar lost its function as an institution providing scholarships, but in 1887 it received the means to build up its own library and thus to become in every sense a place for serious academic work, where not only the student members of the seminar could learn to 40 41 42

Minerva Jahrbuch (note 13), 33 (1938), 54. Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken (note 37), 87–91. ¨ ¨ zu Berlin, vol. III: M. Lenz, Geschichte der koniglichen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universitat Wissenschaftliche Anstalten, Spruchkollegium, Statistik (Halle, 1910), 3. The next paragraphs are based on the descriptions of the theological seminaries and collections given on pp. 4–24.

408

Theology and the arts contribute independently to the common solution of problems, but also where the professors could be stimulated in their research by collaborative work with future scholars. Through the Berlin University model the theological seminar found its way into the modern, research-based university. A practical seminar was added to the theological one in 1876, in order to train students in homiletics and catechetics. Until then Schleiermacher’s view had prevailed, according to which ‘exercises’ that ‘were not conducive to the deepening of scholarly research and knowledge, but which merely practised certain skills and abilities’ should be performed outside the university. There was a different attitude to the ‘Christian Archaeological and Epigraphic Collection’. A report in 1810 introduced lectures on church antiquities but limited them for the most part to literary source materials, until in 1843 Ferdinand Piper (1811–89) set the monuments themselves in the foreground and in 1848 received permission to establish a ‘Collection of Church Monuments’ to serve the teaching of theology. In this way the study of Christian archaeology and epigraphy was founded as a scholarly discipline. The principle of freedom not only formed the basis of the daily routine of lectures and teaching on theology. Schleiermacher consistently argued for the freedom of theological teaching and research from interference by the state or Church authorities. His colleague De Wette was dismissed in September 1819 because, in a consolatory letter to the mother of the recently executed student Sand, the murderer of Kotzebue, he had praised ‘the firmness and purity of her son’s convictions’ and had excused his deed. The theological faculty appealed to the government in a letter drafted by Schleiermacher. It not only intervened on behalf of the colleague, but gave a very full justification for the need for that ‘unlimited freedom to teach in theology’ which had been removed by Metternich’s decrees. Schleiermacher also insisted that De Wette should publish the documents concerning his dismissal, in order to achieve his academic rehabilitation. This both opened the way for him to go to the University of Basle and exposed the reactionary stance of the Prussian state. Schleiermacher also played a leading role in the resistance of the university Senate and the Academy of Sciences to the Carlsbad Decrees. Reactionary circles in both the church and state bureaucracy tried for years to silence him through denunciations, police summonses and other attacks. The witch-hunt continued until 1823 when a motion was drafted by the government to remove Schleiermacher from the university and the pulpit but was not carried out.43 43

¨ ¨ zu Berlin, vol. IV: M. Lenz, Geschichte der koniglichen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universitat Urkunden, Akten und Briefe (Halle, 1910). On De Wette’s dismissal see pp. 358–72; for

409

¨ Walter Ruegg p o s i t i v e a n d l i b e r a l w i n g s i n t h e s t u dy o f theology and religion Schleiermacher’s reputation as the founder of a new age stemmed not only from his contribution to the foundation and development of the University of Berlin. On the contrary, this has largely been forgotten, overshadowed by the philosophical splendour of Fichte’s ingenious but unrealized plan and above all by the – for the most part justified – fame of Humboldt. Schleiermacher was known as the ‘Father of the nineteenth-century Protestant Church’ because of his concept of religion and theology, which developed over stages. It took from those movements which determined theological discussion at the end of the eighteenth century, that is, the Enlightenment, Rationalism, Supranaturalism, and Pietism the elements of a theology, which, as we have already noted, combined a sense of religion with a scholarly intellect founded on the principle of freedom. Schleiermacher was indebted to Rationalism to the extent that he submitted Christian tradition to the criticism of methodical thought and was not afraid to interpret sections of the Bible, such as the story of Creation, in a mythological way, as ‘a pious legend’. But he rejected the rational justification of religion and enclosed reason in a deeper religious experience, which he called the ‘feeling of total dependence’. He owed this experience, and the ethics of responsibility and love derived from it, to Pietism, but distanced himself from its forms of fundamentalist, often ecstatic, piety. Indeed, in his very first published work which initially appeared anonymously, he made this feeling the basis of a concept of religion, which as a result has been called romantic, but which now, however, seems very modern. For him the essence of religion was ‘neither thought, nor action, but contemplation and feeling’. On the one hand there was contemplation of the natural universe, of history, of the individual, symbolized in the cosmos, and its ‘infinite chaos, whose every point represents a world’. The cosmos is indeed the ‘highest symbol of religion’, for in both only ‘the individual is true and necessary’. On the other hand there was feeling arising from the inner sense of awe before the revelation of the infinite in the finite, a feeling which does not determine human action but accompanies it; ‘the human being should do everything with a sense of religion not because of religion’.44

44

the letter of the theological faculty see pp. 366–70; on the university’s and the academy’s protest against restrictions on academic freedom see pp. 372–80; on the witch-hunt against Schleiermacher see pp. 380–444. ¨ ¨ [F. Schleiermacher], Uber die Religion. Reden an die Gebildeten unter ihren Verachtern ¨ (Berlin, 1799), 50, 60, 69; cf. K. Novak, Schleiermacher und die Fruhromantik. Eine ¨ literaturgeschichtliche Studie zum romantischen Religionsverstandnis und Menschenbild ¨ am Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts (Weimar and Gottingen, 1986), 119–229.

410

Theology and the arts Religion as a fundamental manifestation of human intellectual life comes before any systematization of it, be it sacral, mythological or rational. In this sense the Christian religion is not the only true one. To show that it is in fact the highest among many, each of them being also ‘true and necessary’, is theology’s task, though, like any scholarly system subject to human limitations and a propensity to error, it can never lay claim to absolute certainty. Theology as an all-embracing system and at the same time as a positive scientific study of the Christian Church was founded by Schleiermacher on ethics as a science of the principles of history, on a philosophy of religion derived from this, and, finally, on a philosophical theology incorporating the general doctrine of the Church.45 There was a very clear distinction between this doctrine of faith and the theological systems of the Enlightenment, but it inherited the principle of the central ground, already present in Johann Gottfried von Herder (1744–1893) and the idea of reconciliation between theological divisions, in particular between the rationalist party in Halle and the orthodoxpietistic party led from 1826 onwards in Berlin by Ernst Wilhelm Hengstenberg (1802–69), both in his role as a faculty member and as editor of the newspaper of the Evangelical Church. The pietistic faction remained, to borrow a term from Schleiermacher,46 a ‘positive direction’ in faculties and churches until the Second World War. Theological and political efforts towards reconciliation and union between the evangelical churches led to a situation where one ecclesiastical historian could write in 1908 that ‘to describe fully the effects of Schleiermacher’s doctrine of faith, would be to write a history of Protestant theology since Schleiermacher’.47 It was in the ‘theology of mediation’, represented by colleagues, successors, and students from Kiel to Basle and Zurich, that Schleiermacher’s most potent influence was to be found. Individual initiatives, radicalized, had an effect that he could never have dreamed of. Beginning with his concept of the pious individual and the rejection of theological rationalism which this implied, the Erlangen School developed the most fruitful ¨ departure for confessional theology. The Tubingen School with Ferdinand Christian Baur (1792–1860) and his student David Friedrich Strauss 45

46 47

¨ Individualitat, ¨ Barth, Protestantische Theologie (note 36), 396; cf. Th. Lehnerer, ‘Religiose Friedrich Daniel Schleiermacher (1768–1834)’, in F. W. Graf (ed.), Profile des neuzeitlichen ¨ Protestantismus (Gutersloh, 1990), vol. I, 195–202, with extended bibliography. Schleiermacher, Religion (note 44), 242–5. Quoted by H. Peiter, ‘Friedrich Schleiermacher’, in H. Fries and G. Kretschmann (eds.), Klassiker der Theologie (Munich, 1983), vol. II, 87. For the state of the art in this ¨ field see F. W. Graf, ‘Die Spaltung des Protestantismus. Zum Verhaltnis von evange¨ lischer Kirche, Staat und “Gesellschaft” im fruhen 19. Jahrhundert’, in W. Schieder (ed.), Religion und Gesellschaft im 19. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 1973), 157–90; K. Nowak, Geschichte des Christentums in Deutschland. Religion, Politik und Gesellschaft vom ¨ Ende der Aufklarung bis zur Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts (Munich, 1995).

411

¨ Walter Ruegg (1808–74) in particular used Hegelian categories to found a biblical criticism based on the de-mythologization of New Testament writing.48 His first work ‘The Life of Jesus’ of 1835/36, in which over 1,500 pages he reduced the biblical image of Christ to the idea of divine World Spirit, provoked a revolt from the conservative populace when he was appointed to a chair at the University of Zurich in 183949 and turned its author into a premature pensioner, freelance teacher and a most successful writer, whose works attained extremely high publication figures. In Paris too, translated by Littré, he caused a furore and provoked Renan into an intensive debate. Ludwig Feuerbach (1804–72) in his Wesen des Christenthums (‘Essence of Christianity’), published in 1841, took the non-objectivity of God in Schleiermacher and Hegel as the starting point of his anti-theological anthropology and in so doing influenced the young Marx. Religious liberalism was able to count Schleiermacher as one of its founders, because it developed his ideas in various directions. In opposition to a combination of the critical analysis of historical sources with speculation based on the philosophy of history as practised by the ¨ ¨ Tubingen School, the Gottingen School under Albrecht Ritschl (1822– 89) stressed the ethical and cultural basis of theology to the exclusion of metaphysics. For Adolf von Harnack, both a professor at the university and member of the Berlin Academy from 1888 to 1930, the Gospel as the ‘sole basis of all moral culture’ formed the driving force and criterion of his important theological research and teaching as a historian of dogma and initiator of the patristic collection. It also lay behind his initiatives in the area of religion and society and his interest in the furtherance of research by the state, which culminated in the foundation of the KaiserWilhelm-Society for the Promotion of Science in 1911.50 In the twentieth century the History of Religion School, comprising the Old Testament scholar Hermann Gunkel (1862–1932) and the New Testament specialist Wilhelm Bousset (1865–1920) in Giessen, together with the Heidelberg theologian Troeltsch, mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, examined Christianity as one of many religions from the perspective of a comparative science of religion. In the crisis 48

49

50

F. W. Graf, Kritik und Pseudo-Spekulation, David Friedrich Strauss als Dogmatiker im ¨ (ed.), HistorischKontext der positionellen Theologie seiner Zeit (Munich, 1982); U. Kopf ¨ kritische Geschichtsschreibung. Ferdinand Baur und seine Schuler, 8. Blaubeurer Kollo¨ quium (Contubernium 40) (Tubingen, 1984). ¨ ¨ Offentlichkeit ¨ H. H. Schmid, Universitat, und Staat. 150 Jahre Zurcher Wirren um David Friedrich Strauss (Zurich, 1989); H. J. Loibl (ed.), Annahme der Endlichkeit (Zurich, 1993), 301–417. Quoted by W. Schneemelcher, ‘Harnack’, in Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ¨ ¨ Theologie und Religionswissenschaft (RGG), 3rd edn (Tubingen, ¨ Handworterbuch fur 1959), vol. III, 79.

412

Theology and the arts situation after the First World War liberal Protestantism provoked a reaction in the form of dialectical theology, which had as its starting point the dichotomy between the absolute rule of God and the human world, and sought a radically new understanding of theology in the biblical belief in revelation. For Karl Barth the acceptance of the world as God’s creation qua thesis, and the questioning of the world as a new creation in Christ qua antithesis led to the freedom of the Gospel and to a theology based entirely on the interpretation of the scriptures, whereas Rudolf Bultmann (1884–1976) with his focus on the historical situation and his de-mythologization of the Christian message harked back to Schleiermacher. The German Schools of Theology were models throughout the whole of Europe (and North America), and often seedbeds for the academic development of theology. In England there was the Cambridge school, where the leading scholars were Brooke Foss Westcott (1825–1901), James Barber Lightfoot (1829–89), and Fenton John Anthony Hort (1828–92), ‘of whom it has been said that they raised English theology, and particularly English New Testament scholarship, from a condition of intellectual nullity up to the best German work, whilst infusing it with a characteristic English spirit of caution and sobriety’.51 This standard was kept up in the twentieth century in the person of the New Testament scholar and orientalist F. C. Burkitt (1864–1935), and later especially thanks to Charles Harold Dodd (1884–1973), who had studied in Berlin with Harnack and Wilamowitz.52 Oxford too could boast theologians of international stature. Yet ‘their work did not influence Christian theology or the Church of England’.53 The same could be said for the Scottish, Dutch and Scandinavian universities, which certainly valued a serious theological training, but which made no particular contributions to the scholarly development of theology. This was not so with the scientific study of religion. In the introduction to this chapter it was noted that, from the period of Humanism onwards, semitic languages had entered the universities in conjunction with Bible interpretation. Later they were joined by other oriental languages, again as sources of religious literature, and they were particularly studied at Leiden, Oxford and Cambridge, where colonial ties increased interest 51

52

53

H. Rashdall, Principles and Precepts, ed. H. D. A. Major and F. L. Cross (Oxford, 1927), quoted by B. M. G. Reardon, Religious Thought in the Victorian Age: A Survey from Coleridge to Gore (London and New York, 1971; 2nd edn, 1980), 346. ¨ W. G. Kummel, Das Neue Testament, Geschichte der Erforschung seiner Probleme (Freiburg and Munich, 1958), 493ff.; Brooke, University of Cambridge, IV, 124–46, 409–17. P. M. Turner, ‘Religion’, in History of Oxford, VIII, 309.

413

¨ Walter Ruegg and made it easier to build up libraries. And yet it was the linguist and ¨ Sanskrit specialist Max Muller (1823–1900) who gave the scientific study of religion a particular boost. Born in Dessau and educated in Leipzig he moved to Oxford in 1850 and, whilst teaching at the university, produced works on the ethnology of religion and his 51-volume collection of the Sacred Books of the East – the result of international co-operation. Since the period 1810–1812 when the founder of the philological seminar at the University of Heidelberg, Georg Friedrich Creuzer (1771–1858), stimulated a heated discussion with his four-volume work Symbolik und ¨ Mythologie der alten Volker, besonders der Griechen (‘The Symbolism and Mythology of Ancient Peoples, in Particular the Greeks’), research into pagan religions had become a matter for departments of archaeology and philology. That this development was not restricted to Germany is evidenced by the names of the Belgian Franz Cumont (1868–1947), the Dane Vilhelm Peter Gronbech (1873–1918), and the Swede Martin Persson Nilsson (1874–1967). Stimuli also came from anthropologists like Sir Edward Burnett Tyler (1832–1917) in Oxford and Sir James George Frazer (1854–1941) in Cambridge, as well as from sociologists, like Emile Durkheim (1858–1917) at the Sorbonne and his student Marcel Mauss ´ (1882–1950) at the Section des Sciences Religieuses of the Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes. With its twenty Directeurs d’études in the most varied areas of religious studies, this institution made possible specialized scientific studies of the type found in the German seminars.54 The study of other religions was – as already noted – a concern of liberal theologians, and certain of them like the Berlin Professor of Systematic Theology, Otto Pfleiderer (1839–1908), carried out important research ¨ into the history of religion. Nathan Soderblom (1866–1931), who was the vicar of a Swedish community in Paris before he became a professor first at Uppsala in 1901 and later also at Leipzig in 1912 established the study of comparative religious history as a university subject. Joachim Wach (1898–1955) taught religious studies at Leipzig from 1924 onwards, ¨ until he had to emigrate in 1935 to the United States. Soderblom’s student, the Reform-Catholic Friedrich Heiler (1892–1967) introduced the subject in 1920 as a Lutheran professor to the University of Marburg. He had been preceded there by the systematic theologians Martin Rade (1857– 1940) and Rudolf Otto (1869–1937) whose epoch-making Das Heilige (‘The Sense of the Holy’), published in 1917, had attempted to develop Schleiermacher’s concept of religion in a scientific way. 54

See Durkheim, Vie universitaire (note 7); on the development of religious studies see W. den Boer, ‘Les historiens des religions et leur dogmes’, in W. den Boer (ed.), Les e´ tudes classiques aux XIXe et XXe siècles et leur place dans l’histoire des idées, Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique 26 (Vandoeuvres-Genève, 1979), 1–53; on Otto 30ff.

414

Theology and the arts philology as a geisteswissenschaft It was not only in theology that the German faculties during the nineteenth century became the measure, Mecca, model or monstrosity of academic teaching and research. Renan gave up his calling as a priest because of philology. Its fundamental importance as a life-long task dedicated to the application of scholarly criticism had been revealed to him after reading German publications.55 In his Vie de Jésus the starting point was German research into the life of Jesus. He was also influenced by the German cult of classical Greece and in alliance with the historian Victor Duruy (1811–94), he rejected the prevailing rhetorical tradition in the Facultés des Lettres of elegant, ingenious, and sympathetic textual interpretation in favour of philological criticism.56 As Minister of Education Duruy had ´ founded the previously mentioned Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes as a legally independent institution which was nevertheless linked to the Sorbonne through shared staff and rooms and was dedicated purely to the training of researchers on the model established by the German university seminars. In Italy, too, there was a decisive move from rhetoric to literary studies under the influence of German philology and philosophy.57 German scholarship was not only valued by English researchers (‘the inestimable aid of German erudition’),58 but was also accepted as a model in the universities.59 ‘Germany was the bona patria of nearly all intellectuals’ was how George Saintsbury (1845–1933) began with delicate irony his description of the failure of attempts to introduce philological seminars into Oxford.60 As Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature at the University of Edinburgh he was not convinced of the usefulness of philology for his subject area: ‘German opinion of English poetry has never been of 55

56

57 58

59 60

G. Pflug, ‘Ernest Renan und die deutsche Philologie’, in M. Bollak and H. Wismann (eds.), ¨ Philologie und Hermeneutik im 19. Jahrhundert (Gottingen, 1983), vol. II, 156–85, esp. 164. M. Jacob, ‘Etude comparative des systèmes universitaires et la place des e´ tudes classiques au 19ème siècle en Allemagne, en Belgique et en France’, in Bollak and Wismann (eds.), Philologie (note 55), 112; cf. J. Seznek,‘Renan et la philologie classique’, in R. R. Bolgar (ed.), Classical Influence on Western Thought A.D. 1650–1870 (Cambridge, 1979), 349–62. For an excellent comparison between the French rhetorical tradition and German philology: M. Werner, ‘(Romanische) Philologie in Frankreich? Zu Geschichte und ¨ Problematik eines deutsch-franzosischen Wissenschaftstransfers im 19. Jahrhundert’, in ¨ Hans Zeller G. Martens and W. Woesler (eds.), Edition als Wissenschaft, Festschrift fur ¨ (Tubingen, 1991), 31–43. F. Schalk, Introduction to F. De Sanctis, Geschichte der italienischen Literatur (Stuttgart, 1941), vol. I, xviii–xxvi. U. Muhlack, ‘Die deutschen Einwirkungen auf die englische Altertumswissenschaft am Beispiel George Grotes’, in Bollak and Wismann (eds.), Philologie (note 55), 376–93, quotation 379. University of Cambridge, IV, 25, 84ff., 240, 428. G. Saintsbury, A Scrap Book (London, 1922), 289–93.

415

¨ Walter Ruegg much real value. . . . On the points in Hamlet’s soul, or the origin of the Tempest, the Germans may be useful; but these things have nothing to do with poetry’. And again in more general terms: ‘As a matter of fact, I do not think analysis at all a suitable word for literary research. It is good for science, but not for art.’61 In France German philology also met with criticism: ‘on veut faire de nous des Allemands’, stated an article in 1892 in the Revue des Deux Mondes, and Proust in his A la recherche du temps perdu said of a character in the novel: ‘D’ailleurs, il avait peu de sympathie pour la nouvelle Sorbonne ou` les idées d’exactitude scientifique a` l’allemande commençaient a` l’emporter sur l’humanisme’ (‘moreover he had little sympathy for the new Sorbonne, where German ideas of scientific precision were beginning to gain ground over humanism’).62 In the introduction to his Histoire de la Littérature française, which remained the authoritative textbook for decades, Gustave Lanson (1857–1914), wrote: ‘la littérature ˆ plaisir. On ne la sait pas, n’est pas objet de savoir: elle est exercice, gout, on ne l’apprend pas: on la pratique, on la cultive, on l’aime. Le mot le plus vrai qu’on ait dit sur elle, est celui de Descartes: “la lecture de bons livres est comme une conversation qu’on aurait avec les plus honnêtes gens de siècles passés et une conversation ou` ils ne nous livrent que le meilleur de leurs pensées ”’ (‘literature is not an object of knowledge: it is a matter of practice, taste, pleasure. One cannot “know” it or “learn” it, one creates it, cultivates it, one loves it. Nothing characterizes it better than Descartes’ sentence: “the reading of good books is like a conversation with the noblest personalities of past ages, a conversation in the course of which they only transmit to us the best of their thoughts”’).63 This sentence repeats almost word for word the educational idea of dialogic humanism, whose importance for the reform of the arts faculties and higher education in general was dealt with in the first and second volumes of this series. In the nineteenth century the humanist tradition remained dominant in the faculties of arts, lettres, lettere, letrados, and in the colleges of the Latin and Anglo-Saxon countries, and was only supplanted or replaced towards the turn of the century by German philology. The transition to the scientific method was called a ‘conversion’ ´ by Lanson on taking up the chair of Eloquence française at the new Sorbonne.64 In 1902 he attacked ‘la rhétorique et les mauvaises humanités’ 61 62 63 64

G. Saintsbury, A Last Scrap Book (London, 1924), 50, 78. Jacob, ‘Etude comparative’ (note 56), 131, note 26. G. Lanson, Histoire de la Littérature française, 12th edn (Paris, 1912), viii. Lanson, ibid. In his Avertissement to the eleventh edition (1909) he announced some notes de repentir ou de conversion when important changes in his judgement had taken place; but this did not occur in the judgement quoted in note 63.

416

Theology and the arts ˆ historique, which by using the historical and developed the concept of gout method would make it possible to ‘distinguish, evaluate, check, and limit’ the subjective response to the beauty of a literary work,65 thus enabling the students to see Greek tragedy for example as the product and mirror of a certain culture.66 This sentence – as will be shown in what follows – picks up a fundamental principle of the German study of the humanities. It made such a successful impact on the Facultés des lettres, that as late as 1938 German was still being recommended as the key language for such study.67 Thus an attempt will be made in what follows to sketch in the causes, basic characteristics and effects of the German study of the humanities. The notion of Geisteswissenschaften has no exact counterpart in other languages. In England and America it is translated as humanities, in French by sciences humaines or sciences de l’homme. It arose in 1849 as a translation of moral science,68 but it only began to spread after 1883 thanks to Wilhelm Dilthey, who understood it in the sense of ‘all of the sciences, whose subject is historical and social reality’.69 In the twentieth century the social sciences or Sozialwissenschaften gradually became independent so that the Geisteswissenschaften were limited to the philological disciplines and to the associated philosophical and historical studies.70 Philology, however, was understood as a Geisteswissenschaft long before it was actually labelled as such. In an essay of 1848 on the ‘Assembly of German Philologists and Schoolmen’ (founded in 1837) Renan stressed the strictly scientific nature of philology as an exact science, comparable with the natural sciences, for the matters of the spirit. ‘La philologie est la science exacte des choses de l’esprit. Elle est aux sciences de 65

66 67

68

69

70

R. Ponton, ‘Durkheim et Lanson’, in M. Espagne and M. Werner (eds.), Philologiques, vol. I: Contribution d’histoire des disciplines littéraires en France et en Allemagne au XIXe siècle (Paris, 1990), 252–67, quotation 261. G. Gengembre, ‘L’esthétique des idéologues et le statut de la littérature’, ibid., 89–104, quotation 103. In the philosophy lectures at the Sorbonne and in the philological seminars at the Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes which I attended in 1938/39, MM. Bréhier and Rivaud, Ernout and Marouzeau made similar recommendations. ‘In the last chapter of J. S. Mill, System of Logic, Ratiocinative and Inductive, I–II (London, 1843), translated into German by J. Schiel, System der deductiven und inductiven Logic, I–II (Braunschweig 1839)’, by M. Riedel, ‘Geisteswissenschaften’, in J. Mittel¨ strass (ed.), Enzyklopadie Philosophie und Wissenschaftstheorie (Mannheim, Vienna and Zurich, 1980), vol. I, 725. ¨ das W. Dilthey, Einleitung in die Geisteswissenschaften, Versuch einer Grundlegung fur Studium der Gesellschaft und der Geschichte (Leipzig, 1883). Reprinted in his Gesammelte Schriften (Leipzig and Berlin, 1923), vol. I, 4. W. Prinz and P. Weingart (eds.), Die sog. Geisteswissenschaften: Innenansichten ¨ (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1990); W. Fruhwald, H. R. Jauss, R. Koselleck, I. Mittelstrass and B. Steinwachs, Geisteswissenschaften heute. Eine Denkschrift (Frankfurt-am-Main, ¨ 1991); H. Ritter (ed.), Werksbesichtigung Geisteswissenschaften, Funfundzwanzig ¨ Bucher, von ihren Autoren gelesen (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1990).

417

¨ Walter Ruegg l’humanité ce que la physique et la chimie sont a` la science philosophique des corps’.71 By philology as la science de l’humanité Renan understood the exact study of the historical development of the spirit72 and so, with an understanding sharpened by his crisis of faith, changed the German idea of philology into the – somewhat positivistically coloured – notion of a philosophically based study of the humanities. Already by 1725 the Neapolitan professor of Rhetoric, Giambattisto Vico (1668–1744), had developed this idea.73 Under the heading of ‘philology’ he grouped together all those areas of study later called Geisteswissenschaften, which together with philosophy form such a unity ‘that every single event/fact can be derived from a general law and every general law from a single event’.74 He linked this with the unifying notion of the ‘spirit of the people’, which had originally come from poetry. Vico’s importance was only recognized after 1820, when the same ideas developed independently in the classical philology of Friedrich August Wolf, in the language and literature studies of the Romantics and in the idealist philosophy of history.75 This development was strongly influenced by the cult of the Greeks, which during the second half of the eighteenth century had arisen in Germany as a reaction to the Latin rhetorical tradition in France. As a means to German national education, Neo-Hellenism took on a political dynamism during the Prussian wars of liberation.76 The leading philologist and for many years director of the philolog¨ ical seminar at the University of Berlin, August Bockh (1785–1867), in his lectures on methodology repeated over 26 terms, reproached the humanities with a lack of philosophical and historical stringency (Wissenschaftlichkeit). With their ‘linear approach’, the great Dutch philologists, he argued, had journeyed as it were on a main road through antiquity and in the process had collected only surface things. ‘Such an 71

72 73

74 75 76

E. Renan, L’Avenir de la science: Pensées de 1848, 4th edn (Paris, 1890), 148, quoted by Pflug, ‘Renan’ (note 55), 161–4, who also mentions the article on Les congrès philologiques en Allemagne written by Renan in 1848 (Œuvres complètes d’Ernest Renan, ed. H. Psichari (Paris, 1948), vol. II, 620–31). Renan himself displayed science exacte by means of italics. Cf. E. W. Said, ‘Renan’s Philological Laboratory’, in Bollak and Wismann (eds.), Philologie (note 55), esp. 195. Pflug, ‘Renan’ (note 55), 172. G. Vico, Principj d’una scienza nuova d’intorno alla natura delle nazioni. (In later editions Vico changed the title to Principj di una scienza nuova d’intorno alla comune natura delle nazioni.) ¨ E. Auerbach, ‘Vorrede des Ubersetzers’, in Giambattista Vico, Die Neue Wissenschaft ¨ ¨ uber die gemeinschaftliche Natur der Volker (Munich, 1924), 29. E. Auerbach, ‘Vico und der Volksgeist’, in G. Eisermann (ed.), Wirtschaft und Kultursystem (Erlenbach-Zurich and Stuttgart, 1955), 46–60. ¨ W. Ruegg, ‘Rhetoric and Anti-Rhetoric in the Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Human Sciences in Germany’, in R. H. Roberts and J. M. M. Good (eds.), The Recovery of Rhetoric: Persuasive Discourse and Disciplinarity in the Human Sciences (London, 1993), 87–100.

418

Theology and the arts approach does not lead one to the heart of things. The only real method is the cyclical one, where one brings everything back to a point and from ¨ this point then goes out on all sides to the periphery.’ Bockh located this centre in the ‘principle of a people or an age’ that is, in the ‘innermost nucleus of its total being’ .77 Whilst he was the head of a Nuremberg Gymnasium in 1809, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770–1831) made the idea of relating everything to such a central point the basis of his philosophical theory of education and culture. He argued that the ‘soul’s centrifugal instinct’ alienates man from his natural being and explains the need to ‘introduce a distant strange world into the youthful intellect’ . This world is to be found in the language and world of the ancients: ‘their world, which divides us from ourselves, contains at one and the same time all the starting points and threads for a return to ourselves, for a friendly intimacy with it, and the rediscovery of ourselves, but ourselves in the true general being of the spirit’.78 For Hegel, however, ‘the friendly intimacy’ with the ‘language and world of the ancients’ meant something quite different from that humanist friendship between educated human beings which was envisaged in Descartes’ conversation with the noblest personalities of earlier ages.79 Hegel compared the study of the ancients to enjoying an intellectual bath, a baptism, ‘which gives the soul its first and permanent tone and tincture for a sense of taste and scientific investigation’. Moreover we must share ‘with them both food and dwelling in order to absorb their air, their ideas, their customs, even if you will, their errors and their prejudices and to become at home in their world, the most beautiful that has ever existed . . . If the first paradise was that of human nature, this is the second, a higher one, the paradise of the human spirit, which in its more beautiful naturalness, freedom, depth and joyfulness steps forth like a bride from her chamber.’80 According to Hegel it was the Greeks amongst all the ancient peoples who were closest to the Germans as a philosophical nation and with whom ‘we at once feel at home’. ‘Greece offers us a joyous vision of the youthful freshness of intellectual life. This is where the maturing spirit receives itself as the content of its desire and its knowledge, but in such 77 78

79

80

¨ A. Boeckh [‘oe’ according to his numerous Latin writings], Encyclopadie und Methodologie der philologischen Wissenschaften, ed. E. Bratuscheck (Leipzig, 1877), 47, 56. ¨ G. W. F. Hegel, Werke, Vollstandige Ausgabe durch einen Verein von Freunden des ¨ Verewigten, Ph. Marheineke u.a., vol. xvi: Vermischte Schriften, ed. Friedrich Forster and Ludwig Boumann (Berlin, 1834), 159, 144. ¨ ¨ Concerning the humanistic notion of friendship see W. Ruegg, ‘Christliche Bruderlichkeit ¨ und humanistische Freundschaft’, in W. Ruegg, Bedrohte Lebensordnung, Studien zur humanistischen Soziologie (Zurich and Munich, 1978), 107; written for R. Schmitz (ed.), ¨ zur Humanismusforschung 5 (Boppard am Rhein, 1979), Ethik im humanismus, Beitrage 9–30. Hegel, ‘Gymnasialrede’, in Werke (note 78), vol. xvi, 39.

419

¨ Walter Ruegg a way that state, family, law, and religion are at one and the same time the goals of individuality, and individuality itself is only realized through these goals.’81 ‘The language and world of the ancients’ were thus no longer studied and imitated as they had been in Humanism – as products of the desires and knowledge of human subjects,82 but as manifestations of the objective spirit. Thus philology in practice if not in name came into being as a ‘Geisteswissenschaft’. The study of ancient languages played a leading role in this and was a characteristic feature of many German theologians, historians and scholars of language and literature in the nineteenth century, but no longer in the propaedeutic way of the arts faculties, liberal art colleges or the highest levels of the collèges, of rhétorique and philosophie, but as the philosophical study of the spirit which had first been made objectively manifest in the world of the Greeks. For this reason it is not surprising that classical philology as the philosophically and historically based study of the ancient world became the decisive model of the Geisteswissenchaften. the breakthrough of classical philology ¨ The 26-year-old Heidelberg professor Bockh was called to Berlin to be professor Eloquentiae et Poeseos in 1811, where ‘according to a longstanding tradition he was considered by virtue of his title the leading philologist’.83 In Uppsala the same name for a professorial chair remained in existence until 1861, and it survived in Lund – limited to Latin – until ¨ 1972, but was understood in the 1870s by Einar Lofstedt, Sr. (1831–84) as a historical and philological discipline of the German kind. ‘In 1890 there occurred in Sweden a breakthrough in the modernization of classical philology.’ At the end of the period considered in this volume it reached the highest European standards in the pioneering works of Einar 81

82

83

¨ G. W. F. Hegel, Vorlesungen uber die Philosophie der Geschichte, Werkausgabe (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1970), vol. xii, 225. I dealt with this change of paradigm in ‘Die ¨ Antike als Begrundung des deutschen Nationalbewusstseins’, in W. Schuller (ed.), Antike ¨ und Forschungen 15 (Conin der Moderne, Xenia, Konstanzer Althistorische Vortrage stance, 1985), 267–87, as well as in the article quoted in note 76. See J. Ziehen, Aus der Studienzeit. Ein Quellenbuch zur Geschichte des deutschen Uni¨ versitats-Unterrichts in der neueren Zeit aus autobiographischen Zeugnissen (Berlin, 1912); K. F. Werner, ‘Historisches Seminar-Ecole des Annales, Zu den Grundlagen einer ¨ europaischen Geschichtsforschung’, in J. Miethke (ed.), Geschichte in Heidelberg, 100 Jahre historisches Seminar (Berlin and Heidelberg, 1992), 11–15. Lenz, Geschichte (note 38), vol. I, 269. Friedrich August Wolf – who had been tranferred as Professor Litt<erarum> Ant with a high salary from the disbanded University of Halle to Berlin before the foundation of its university – was so offended by the ¨ higher academic status of his former pupil Bockh that he resigned from his membership in the faculty, but continued to teach as a member of the Academy.

420

Theology and the arts ¨ Lofstedt, Jr. (1880–1955) on late Latin as well as the previously mentioned research on religion carried out by Martin Persson Nilsson, who accepted a professorship in Lund and Uppsala in ‘the Study of Classical Antiquity and Ancient History’, although there had been no shortage of criticism in Sweden at the move to German research methods.84 In the German-speaking countries the term ‘classical philology’ prevailed as the title of a professorial chair.85 Until the First World War one of the chairs in classical philology in Marburg was given special prominence by being combined with rhetoric; but this had no effect on the content of teaching, simply indicating that the bearer of the title was the university’s official orator. In France the Sorbonne kept the humanist terms e´ loquence, or poésie for the main chairs in Latin, Greek and French.86 In 1938 half of these relics of humanism had been changed into professorships in the ‘Language and Literature’ of the various cultures, which had become the norm outside the German-speaking countries. Yet the professor of poésie latine, Alfred Ernout, was no less influenced by German philology than his colleague for Langue et littérature latines, Jules Marouzeau. Both of them were responsible for philologie latine at ´ ´ the Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes, and in these subtle distinctions of terminology the distinction between the teaching and the research function was also made clear. Glasgow retained the term humanity for the professorship in Latin, whilst in Oxford the litterae humaniores was at first a section of the faculty of arts and then, after the First World War, it became an independent faculty of the literatures and languages of classical antiquity together with philosophy. A number of leading internationally respected classical philologists such as Gilbert Murray (1866–1957), Eric 84

85

86

The titles of the chairs are taken from Minerva, Jahrbuch (note 13); Bo Lindberg, Gothenburg, gave me valuable information on Sweden, not only through the German summary Humanismus und Wissenschaft, Die klassische Philologie in Schweden vom Anfang des 19. Jahrhunderts bis zum Zweiten Weltkrieg of his book entitled Humanism och veten¨ skap. Den klassiska filologin i Sverige fran 1800 – taleb borjan till andra varldskriget (Stockholm, 1987), 339–44. The term klassische Philologie was used – perhaps for the first time – for a lecture course in a ‘Guide-book to university study in all faculties’, published in 1792 by a pupil of F.-A. Wolf, Julius Koch (1764–1834). The announcements of the University of Dorpat for the second term 1803, listed an other pupil of Wolf, Karl Morgenstern (1720–1852), ¨ as Ordentl. Professor der Beredsamkeit und altclassischen Philologie, der Asthetik und der Geschichte der Literatur und Kunst (full professor in eloquence and old classical ¨ philology, aesthetics, art and literary history’), see C. J. Classen, ‘Uber das Alter der ¨ Klassische Philologie 130 (2002), 490– “Klassischen Philologie” ’, Hermes, Zeitschrift fur 7. On the history of the notion ‘Philology’ see A. Horstmann, ‘Philologie’, in J. Ritter ¨ ¨ and K. Grunder (eds.), Historischers Worterbuch der Philosophie (Basle, 1989), vol. VII, 552–72. ¨ On the humanistic notions see vol. I, p. 452, vol. II, p. 36, and W. Ruegg, ‘Der Humanismus und seine gesellschaftliche Bedeutung’, in R. C. Schwinges (ed.), Wissenschafts¨ und Wirkungsgeschichte der artistischen/philosophischen Fakultaten (13–19. Jht.) (Basle, 1999), 150ff.

421

¨ Walter Ruegg Robertson Dodds (1884–1973) and the German exile Eduard Fraenkel (1881–1970) taught within the faculty. Thus the titles of the professorial chairs only permit limited conclusions about the content of teaching and the methods used. A better insight is afforded by programmatic treatises, in which the new direction of philology is justified at length.87 Wolf understood it to be ‘the study of antiquity’ and the ‘quintessence of historical and philosophical knowledge, by means of which we learn about all possible aspects of the nations of the ancient world by means of the works they have left behind’, and listed in 24 sections the very varied disciplines which were important in this study, ranging from the philosophy of language, hermeneutics and criticism to geography, history, chronology, numismatics and archaeology.88 ¨ Bockh at Halle was a pupil not only of Wolf, but also of Schleiermacher and had published works on the philosophy of Plato. Just as Schleiermacher had derived Christian theology from an all-encompassing concept of ¨ religion, the starting point for Bockh’s thought was an all-encompassing – platonically founded – concept of science. Science as a totality was philosophy, the science of ideas, and its task was to produce knowledge of the mind, whilst that of philology was ‘to know the products of the human mind, that is, what is already known’. In its preoccupation with the ‘knowledge of what is known’ philology was at one with history: ‘That which is produced historically is a product of the mind which has been translated into action’ and which although communicated in ‘a multiplicity of signs and symbols’ is still in terms of knowledge expressed most fully through language. Proceeding from this theoretical and hermeneutical starting point, he expressly acknowledged the various cultures as being of equal value; but, just as Schleiermacher accorded to Christianity ¨ in comparison with other religions a privileged position, so Bockh gave a particular status to classical antiquity ‘because it is especially valuable to know the classical world, and the culture of the Greeks and the Romans is the foundation of our whole education’.89 The same dichotomy characterized most of the classical philologists in the German tradition until well into the twentieth century. On the one 87

88

89

¨ T. Finkenstaedt, Kleine Geschichte der Anglistik in Deutschland, Eine Einfuhrung (Darmstadt, 1983), 4, is right in stating that the designation of a discipline gives a hint of its self-understanding. See A. Horstmann, ‘Die Forschung in der Klassischen Philologie im 19. Jahrhundert’, in A. Diemer (ed.), Konzeption und Begriff der Forschung in den Wissenschaften des 19. Jahrhunderts (Meisenheim am Glan, 1978), 32–9; on pp. 35ff. Horstmann describes ¨ Wolf’s lectures on ‘Encyclopadie der Alterthumswissenschaften’ which he read regularly from 1785 to 1823 and which include a systematic classification of the disciplines. ¨ Boeckh, Enzyklopadie (note 77), 9–21; cf. A. Horstmann, ‘August Boeckh und die AntikeRezeption im 19. Jahrhundert’, in K. Christ and A. Momigliano (eds.), Die Antike im 19. Jahrhundert in Italien und Deutschland (Berlin, 1988), 39–75.

422

Theology and the arts hand they clung to the exemplary nature, or at least the profound cultural importance of classical antiquity, and especially that of the Greeks. Indeed, many of them found a substitute here for a lost Christian faith. On the other hand they made great efforts to produce scholarly and critical reconstructions of classical texts and other manifestations of life in antiquity as expressions of the historically representative spirit of the people. In the process it became inevitable that the ideal image of a fresh and youthful Hellas had to give way to a more objective analysis. Thus as early as 1817, in his masterpiece entitled Die Staatshaushaltung der Athener (‘The ¨ Budget of the Athenian State’), Bockh examined all the concrete relationships of Athenian society both in their positive and negative aspects and concludes: ‘The Hellenes were unhappier in the midst of the splendour of their art and at the height of their freedom than most people imagine. They bore the seed of their decline within themselves and, when it became rotten, the tree had to be felled.’90 This, however, did not prevent him from attempting to realize his dream of a comprehensive historically and philosophically based philology for the whole of classical antiquity through numerous individual investigations ranging from meteorology to a study of the tragic dramatists, and above all through the project he initiated at the Berlin Academy of Sciences of a Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum. With differing degrees of emphasis on the constituent parts, which ranged from the production of editions through textual criticism to the history of philosophy and economics, this idea was realized so successfully in the succeeding years that, by 1834, The Quarterly Review in London could write: ‘In the study of the dead languages in general, but more particularly of the Greek and Latin, the Germans have taken the lead, not only of us, but of all the rest of Europe, and have gained such a decided ascendancy, that their neighbours appear to have given up all hope of rivalling them, and are satisfied to follow as mere servile imitators of their triumphant career.’91 If, however, one looks more closely at the individual works of German classical philologists, there are fewer innovations than dependencies and similarities.92 How then is this German triumph to be explained? 90

91

92

A. Boeckh, Die Staatshaushaltung der Athener, 3rd edn (Berlin, 1886), vol. I, 711. On ¨ ¨ Bockh initiating research projects in the Royal Academy of Sciences see W. Ruegg, ‘Orts¨ bestimmung. Die Koniglich Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Aufstieg ¨ der Universitaten in den ersten zwei Dritteln des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in J. Kocka, R. ¨ Hohlfeld and P. T. Walther (eds.), Die Koniglich Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin im Kaiserreich (Berlin, 1999), 23–40. The Quarterly Review, 51 (1834), 144ff., quoted by P. Petitmengin, ‘Deux têtes de pont de la philologie allemande en France: Le Thesaurus linguae Graecae et la “Bibliothèque des auteurs grecs” (1830–1869)’, in Bollak and Wismann (eds.), Philologie (note 55), 76. A. Grafton, ‘Polyhistor into Philolog: Notes on the Transformation of German Classical Scholarship, 1780–1850’, History of Universities, 3 (1983), 161, 178ff.; Grafton,

423

¨ Walter Ruegg There is no doubt that it rests on a philosophically based reconstruction of the mind of the classical world in the totality of its historical manifestations. But for the change in perspective from the traditional study of the humanities to classical philology to be successful, it needed to be institutionally anchored, which is precisely what the new concept of the Berlin University was in a position to do. As it fell to the university to ‘awaken the idea of scholarship in a young people that had a certain nobility of mind and already possessed a wide range of knowledge’,93 research became a part of teaching. Institutionally this had an effect above all in seminars and in the preparation of doctorates. The seminars were no longer just devoted to the practical need to prepare students for a career as teachers; they allowed particularly interested and gifted students to practise with a professor scholarly research into textual or factual problems.94 Conversely, the doctoral the¨ of first original research,95 and also doctoral sis became the Meisterstuck students who did not become university teachers generally continued to do scholarly work in the form of contributions to annual school reports and in reviews and articles for encyclopedias. Thus the activity of the classical philologists reached the status of a profession in itself, whereas until the eighteenth century it had been merely an intermediary stage on the way to higher office. In 1837 the professional organization of the ‘Assembly of German Philologists and Schoolmen’, which was reviewed by Renan, was founded.96 In 1827 there had appeared the first classical and philological specialized journal to be anything other

93

94 95

96

pp. 176ff., following R. Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship 1300–1850 (Oxford, 1976), 182, minimizes the opposition between the Sachphilologie of the Altertumswis¨ senschaften, promoted by Wolf and Bockh, and the more traditional Wortphilologie represented by Gottfried Hermann, Professor in Leipzig. A. Grafton, Defenders of the Text: The Tradition of Scholarship in an Age of Science, 1450–1800 (Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1991; 2nd edn, 1994), 213–43, presents a thoughtful analysis of Wolf’s dependences and partly unknown novelties. Schleiermacher, Gelegentliche Gedanken (note 37), 33; cf. similar ideas expressed by Wilhelm von Humboldt in his ‘Litauische Schulplan’ (1809) and in his memorandum ¨ ¨ ¨ ‘Uber die innere und aussere Organisation der hoheren wissenschaftlichen Anstalten zu ¨ Banden, ¨ Berlin’, drafted 1810, published 1900, W. von Humboldt, Werke in funf ed. A. Flitner and K. Giel, vol. IV: Schriften zur Politik und zum Bildungswesen, 2nd edn (Darmstadt, 1969), 191ff., 255ff. Schleiermacher, ibid., 87–91. U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, ‘Philologie und Schulreform’ (1892), in U. von ¨ Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Reden und Vortrage, 3rd edn (Berlin, 1913), 107, quoted by A. Horstmann, ‘Forschung’ (note 88), 52. Grafton, ‘Polyhistor’ (note 92), 174–6, sketches a stimulating picture of the proceedings. ¨ The Association had been founded in 1837 in Gottingen, when the university was celebrating its 100th anniversary. In 1844 it was enlarged and became the Verein deutscher ¨ Philologen, Schulmanner und Orientalisten: C. G. Firnhaber, ‘Lehrerversammlungen’, in ¨ A. Schmid (ed.), Encyklopadie des gesammten Erziehungs-und Unterrichtswesens, vol. iv (Gotha, 1864), 264–8.

424

Theology and the arts than a short-lived initiative. In 1881 there were enough authors and readers for a philological weekly to be added to the three national philological journals. It continued in existence until 1944.97 Before the Second World War philology had thus come to occupy a similar position in the academic world and with a broader public to that which is held today by scientific periodicals such as Nature or Science. The Berlin University reformers expected the combination of research and teaching to lead above all to a more modern education for the social and political elite. But it also had the effect of producing a considerable increase in the number of classical philologists. From 1812 to his ¨ retirement in Berlin in 1867 Bockh counted 1,602 members of his seminar, of whom many became well-known scholars.98 As every German university introduced philological seminars, the result was a hitherto unprecedented rise in the quantity and quality of critical editions of texts, monographs, and essays on antiquity. In addition there were collections of philosophical, historical and literary fragments, major projects such as the Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, and the Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, collections of the Church Fathers, of the medical authors of antiquity and of Byzantine historians, as well as authoritative encyclopaedic overviews.99 The highpoint was reached in the decades before and after the turn of the century. In 1902 it was given highly influential shape in Berlin in the persons of the classical historian and Nobel prize-winner for Literature Theodor Mommsen (1817–1903), the Hellenist Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf (1848–1931), and Eduard Norden (1868–1941) who was honoured by the University of Harvard in 1936 as the ‘world’s most famous Latinist’. The famous Bonn school epitomized the dialectic between philological criticism, as practised in masterly fashion by Franz ¨ Bucheler (1837–1908), and the comprehensive historicization of classical scholarship, which was represented with considerable originality by his colleague Hermann Usener previously mentioned in connection with the study of religion.100 97

98

99

100

¨ Philologie, 1827– ; Philologus, 1846– ; Hermes 1866– ; PhilolRheinisches Museum fur ogische Wochenschrift, 1881–83, 1921–44; between these dates, Berliner philologische Wochenschrift. ¨ M. Hoffmann, August Bockh, Lebensbeschreibung und Auswahl aus seinem wissenschaftlichen Briefwechsel (Leipzig, 1901), 470, quoted by Horstmann, ‘Boeckh’ (note 89), 44. ¨ Paulys Real-Encyclopadie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. New edition, begun by ¨ G. Wissowa (Stuttgart and Zurich, 1894–1980), 84 vols.; I. von Muller (ed.), Handbuch der klassischen Altertums-Wissenschaft (Munich, 1886– ), 86 vols. The history of classical scholarship is well documented. Besides Pfeiffer’s History (note 92), the most complete reference book is still J. E. Sandys, History of Classical Scholarship (Cambridge 1908), vol. III, as well as, for Germany, C. Bursian, Geschichte ¨ der classischen Philologie in Deutschland von den Anfangen bis zur Gegenwart (Munich and Leipzig, 1883), vol. II. Shorter overviews can be found in U. von

425

¨ Walter Ruegg No less important was the export not only of knowledge and methods through original writings and translations, and study visits on the part of foreigners to Germany, but also of German philologists themselves. At the beginning of the nineteenth century Paris was still the Mecca for foreigners with cultural and scholarly interests. Of course personalities such as Savigny, Jacob Grimm, Alexander and Wilhelm von Humboldt, Bopp and ´ Hegel visited not the Sorbonne, but the Collège de France, the Ecole des Langues Orientales, the Cabinet des Médailles and the scholars active in these institutions.101 After 1830 numerous German philologists worked in Paris, not only as professors, such as Karl Benedikt Hase (1780–1864), a Byzantinist and linguist, on whom honours were heaped, but also for the publishing firm Firmin Didot as collaborators on the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae and the Bibliothèque des auteurs grecs.102 At the same time there appeared institutions of philological research, based on the German model. In 1868 there was created the Section des sciences historiques ´ et philologiques of the previously mentioned Ecole pratique des Hautes ´ Etudes; in 1869 the University of Montpellier introduced a seminar, and after 1880 the Faculté des lettres began to ‘germanicize’.103 In 1877 a journal on classical scholarship which had folded in 1847 after two decades of existence, was able to reappear and indeed have progeny, the last of these in 1923 devoted to Latin – an external sign that this was now an object of scholarly study and no longer of general culture. The shift was underlined by the simultaneous founding of a society for the defence of classical education.104

101 102 103 104

Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, ‘Geschichte der Philologie’, in A. Gercke and E. Norden (eds.), Einleitung in die Altertumswissenschaft (Leipzig and Berlin, 1909), 1–80; separate ¨ and complemented reprint (Stuttgart, 1998); A. Hentschke and U. Muhlack, Einfuhrung in die Geschichte der klassischen Philologie (Darmstadt, 1972); R. R. Bolgar, ‘Latin Literature: A Century of Interpretation’, in Boer (ed.), Les e´ tudes classiques (note 54), ¨ 91–120. On Berlin: B. Kytzler, ‘Klassische Philologie’, in T. Buddenstieg, K. Duwell and K.-J. Sembach (eds.), Wissenschaften in Berlin, Disziplinen (Berlin, 1987), 97– 101, quotation on Norden 100; cf. the satirical description of classical studies in Berlin before 1914 by L. Hatvany, Die Wissenschaft des Nicht-Wissenswerten, Ein Kollegienheft (Berlin, 1908); Rpt. with a Preface by J. Lloyd–Jones (Oxford and New York, 1986). On the Bonn school: W. Schmid (ed.), Wesen und Rang der Philologie. Zum Gedenken ¨ ¨ an Hermann Usener und Franz Bucheler (Stuttgart, 1969); on Gottingen: C. J. Classen, ‘Die Klassische Altertumswissenschaft an der Georgia Augusta 1837–1987’, in H.-G. Schlotter (ed.), Die Geschichte der Verfassung und der Fachbereiche der Georg-August¨ zu Gottingen ¨ ¨ Universitat (Gottingen, 1994), 92–7. Jacob, ‘Etude comparative’ (note 56), 111. Petitmengin, ‘Têtes de pont’ (note 91), 77–107. More names are given by Werner, ‘Philologie’ (note 56), 34. Jacob, ‘Etude comparative’ (note 56), 125. Revue de philologie, de littérature et d’histoire anciennes, 1877– , Revue des e´ tudes grecques, 1888–, Revue des e´ tudes anciennes, 1899– , Revue des e´ tudes latines, 1923– , Bulletin de l’Association Guillaume Budé, 1923– .

426

Theology and the arts After 1850 ‘Oxford went German, when the Oxford Movement was defeated’: Mark Pattison (1813–84) came back from his travels in Germany with a ‘strong bias on German Wissenschaft’ and in his capacity from 1859 onwards as Inspector by the Education Committee of the Privy Council, and from 1861 to 1884 as Rector of Lincoln College in Oxford, he made every effort to stem the scholarly deficit in the litterae humaniores, which were supposed to produce the social elite. He attempted to do this through training college tutors to become researchers in the German sense.105 Despite considerable opposition Pattison’s views gradually won support. In 1880 the first specialist journal for classical philology began to ¨ appear.106 German researchers, such as the Sanskrit scholar Max Muller referred to earlier, taught at the University of Oxford in the second part of the nineteenth century. After 1933 many excellent classical philologists were driven out of Germany. Together with the previously mentioned Eduard Fraenkel, who was active as a university professor, other famous emigrants such as Felix Jacoby (1876–1959), Paul Maas (1880–1964), Rudolf Pfeiffer (1889–1979) and Richard Walzer (1900–1975) were able to carry out scholarly work in Oxford, in part for the editions of the classics produced by Oxford University Press, until they eventually gained an academic post.107 In the Netherlands the traditional form of classical philology was successfully defended against the new German scholarship by the outstanding classical philologist Carl Gabriel Cobet (1819–89) in particular. In the newly independent Belgium, however, the universities of Ghent, Louvain and Liège – all three reorganized around 1834 – were initially dependent on foreign teaching staff. In the case of the ancient languages the teachers were Germans, and the philological seminar gained entry, though not under this name. ‘Scholarship’ became the official goal of education for ` Belgian universities, too; but this only made their backwardness vis-avis the German universities even more apparent. Journals reflecting this change only appeared after the First World War.108 In Italy, after unity had been achieved and especially following the Franco-German war, German scholarship became the ideal for university 105

106 107 108

‘Oxford went German when the Oxford Movement was defeated’: A. Momigliano, ‘Jacob Bernays’, in A. Momigliano, Quinto Contributo alla Storia degli studi classici e del mondo antico, part I (Rome, 1975), 128; cf. University of Cambridge, 212; P. Slee, ‘The Oxford Idea of Liberal Education 1800–1860: The Invention of Tradition and the Manufacture of Practice’, History of Universities, 5 (1988), 69–87. Journal of Hellenic Studies, 1880– , Classical Review, 1887– , Classical Quarterly, 1907– . History of Oxford, VIII, 461. Jacob, ‘Etude comparative’ (note 56), 113–17; Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire, 1922– , Philologische studien, 1929– , Antiquité classique, 1932– , Etudes de philologie, d’archéologie et d’histoire anciennes, 1934– , Latomus, 1937– .

427

¨ Walter Ruegg education.109 The same was also true of classical philology. In 1878 Cobet noted that 40 years previously, when carrying out studies into manuscripts in Italian libraries, he had come across no Italian who was interested in such research, but that this was now beginning to change. Around the turn of the century il risveglio degli studi dell’antichita` classica (the awakening of classical studies) became a reality. In 1873 the German publisher Hermann Loescher (1831–92) founded the first philological journal in Italy110 and began the translation of German standard works. Soon Florence and other university towns followed suit. Leading professors interested themselves in the methods and achievements of German classical philology or, as in the case of Giorgio Pasquali (1885–1952) one of the most important Italian philologists in the first half of the twentieth century, were actually educated in Germany. In general terms, and taking into account the other European countries as well, it is true to say that the German model of scholarly philology only became dominant towards the end of the nineteenth century. And even then one could say, as was said of English theology: ‘they infused into it a characteristic . . . spirit of caution and sobriety’. Whereas in Germany it was not until the twentieth century that Latin literature and culture was recognized as having its own value, in other countries it had never been downgraded to a mere pale imitation of the Greeks. Cicero, whose central significance for the humanist aims of the universities has been demonstrated in the previous volumes of this History, had fallen victim to condemnation by Mommsen. On the other hand his complex private life and controversial political activity received a sympathetic and balanced treatment from the French Latinist Gaston Boissier (1823–1908), ´ ´ professor at the Collège de France, at the Ecole Normale and at the Ecole ´ pratique des Hautes Etudes, and the extraordinary, enduring influence of Cicero received an appropriate appreciation from the internationally famous philologist Tadeus Zielinski (1859–1944), who taught from 1887 to 1922 in St Petersburg and afterwards in Warsaw.111 109

110

111

Here I follow mostly A. Penna, ‘L’influenza della filologia classica tedeca sulla filologia classica italiana dell’unificazione d’Italia alla prima guerra mondiale’, in Bollak and Wismann (eds.), Philologie (note 55), 232–74; cf. B. Bravo, ‘Giorgio Pasquali e l’eredita` del XIX secolo’, ibid., 333–56; A. Momigliano, ‘Capitano de Sanctis e Augusto Rostagni’, in Quinto contributo (note 105), 187–201. Rivista di filologia e d’istruzione classica, 1873– , Studi italiani di filologia classica, 1893– , Atene e Roma. Bolletino della societa` italiana per la diffusione e l’incorraggiamento degli studi classici, 1898–1943, Athenaeum, Studi periodici di letter` 1913– , Aevum, Rassegna di scienze storiche, linguistiche atura e storia dell’ antichita, e filologiche, 1927– . ¨ Cf. my essay, quoted in note 81, and W. Ruegg, ‘Cicero – Person und Wirkung in der ¨ abendlandischen Geschichtete’, in B. Schefold (ed.), Vademecum zu einem Klassiker des ¨ ¨ ¨ romischen Denkens uber Staat und Wirtschaft (Dusseldorf, 2001), 57–74. G. Boissier, Cicéron et ses amis. Etude sur la société romaine du temps de César (Paris, 1866);

428

Theology and the arts the origin of modern philologies ¨ The philosophically and historically based philology in Bockh’s sense also became the pattern for scholarship in modern philology.112 First of all in Germany and then from the beginning of the twentieth century in the rest of Europe it supplanted the rhetorical and humanist tradition of belles lettres and this sequence will therefore determine our treatment of it. The litterae humaniores had as their goal the general education of members of the social elites, of the gentleman, the honnête homme, the cultivated man of the world. It was for this reason that the reformed University ¨ of Gottingen was so attractive to members of the aristocracy in the eighteenth century. It not only educated them academically, particularly in law, but also in the aristocratic skills of fencing, dancing and the knowledge of modern languages. Towards the end of the century, however, the university began to change from the polyhistorical ‘Literary History’ ¨ (Literargeschichte) to literary history as the history of the human intellect and something that could be taught in philosophy and aesthetics. In 1806 the classical philologist Georg Friedrich Benecke, an associate and, after 1814, a full professor of philosophy, gave the first academic lectures on German literature of the Middle Ages.113

112

113

T. Zielinski, Cicero im Wandel der Jahrhunderte (Leipzig and Berlin, 1897; 4th edn, 1926); on his booklet Driewnij mir i my (Antiquity and us) which was translated into six languages, see my article ‘Antike als Epochenbegriff’, Museum Helveticum, 16, 4 ¨ ¨ ¨ zur dialogis¨ (1959), 309–18, reprinted in W. Ruegg, Anstosse, Aufsatze und Vortrage chen Lebensform (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1973), 216–25; G. Walther, ‘Der Restaurierte Klassiker, Barthold Georg Niebuhrs wissenschaftliche Revolution am Beispiel seiner Cicero-Rezeption’, Philologus, 137 (1993), 308–19, analyzes the differentiated image of Cicero given by the pioneer of critical studies on Roman history at the University of Berlin. On the position of Latin literature: Bolgar, ‘Latin Literature’ (note 100), with ¨ Momigliano’s remark (p. 120) that four of the five German scholars (Friedlander, Traube, Leo, Norden, Heinze) who re-evaluated Latin literature, were Jews. On classical studies in Russia: W. I. Kuenschin (ed.), Istoriografija antischnoi istorii (Moscow, 1980). ¨ K. Stackmann, ‘Die Klassische Philologie und die Anfange der Germanistik’, in H. ¨ Flashar, K. Grunder and A. Horstmann (eds.), Philologie und Hermeneutik im 19. ¨ Jahrhundert. Zur Geschichte und Methodologie der Geisteswissenschaften (Gottingen, 1979), 240–9, refers on p. 242 to the unsatisfactory state of the art in this whole field. This judgement no longer holds after the publication of valuable congress proceedings ¨ like F. Furbert et al. (eds.), Zur Geschichte und Problematik der Nationalphilologien in Europa. 150 Jahre Erste Germanistenversammlung in Frankfurt am Main (1846–1996) ¨ (Tubingen, 1999) and the initiatives of the Marbacher Arbeitskreis zur Geschichte der Germanistik which prepared an ‘Internationales Germanistenlexikonn 1800–1950’ in ¨ 3 vols., ed. by C. Konig (Berlin and New York, 2003). The first use of the term moderne philologie (modern philology) was found in Carl Mager, Drei Hefte moderner Humani¨ tatsstudien, Heft 1: Die moderne Philologie und die deutschen Schulen (Zurich, 1840). ¨ K. Stackmann, ‘Die Germanistik an der Georgia Augusta – ein historischer Ruckblick’, in Schlotter, Verfassung (note 100) 98; A. P. Frank, ‘Die Entwicklung der Neueren ¨ ¨ Fremdsprachen in Gottingen’, ibid., 107; cf. E. Marsch (ed.), Uber Literaturgeschichtsschreibung. Die historisierende Methode des 19. Jahrhunderts in Programm und Kritik (Darmstadt, 1975), 17ff.

429

¨ Walter Ruegg For the Berlin reformers professorial chairs were all premissed on education through scholarship. Foreign languages could be acquired through ‘language teachers’, who appeared in the prospectus under the same rubric as teachers of riding, physical exercise, and fencing.114 An exception was made for the oriental languages, since they were important for theology, and also for German literature. The latter, and in particular the medieval period, had already been a subject for the German humanists, ¨ and it became of major interest for German Romantics such as Gorres in Heidelberg in 1808, Friedrich von Schlegel (1772–1829) in Vienna in 1812, and his brother August Wilhelm (1767–1845), who as early as 1803/04 had made it a factor in the assertion of national identity in his Berlin private lectures. In addition to this there was the philosophical and scholarly confrontation with the phenomenon of language inaugurated by Wilhelm von Humboldt and Franz Bopp (1791–1867). In 1810 the lawyer Friedrich von der Hagen (1780–1856), who was more noteworthy for his patriotically motivated editions of medieval literature than for his scholarship, was awarded an associate professorship in German language and literature at the University of Berlin. The brothers Grimm, Jacob (1785–1863) and Wilhelm (1786–1859), were also educated as lawyers, but, as pupils of Savigny they were familiar with the historical critical method, and thus, both before and after their removal ¨ from office in 1837 as two of the ‘Gottingen Seven’ (professors) protesting against the suspension of the constitution, they became the founders of research into German language and popular literature. In 1840 they were given modest pensions and called to Berlin as members of the Prussian Academy, where they also taught at the university. Here German studies were systematically and methodologically developed into a university subject, because the classicist Karl Lachmann (1793–1851) taught German language and literature from 1825 onwards in addition to classical philology. He also produced critical editions of the most important Middle High German texts, such as the Nibelungenlied, Walter von der Vogelweide, Parsifal, and an edition of the complete works of Lessing, using throughout the same critical methods as for his editions of the works of antiquity, works which included, as has been already noted, his edition of the New Testament. He managed to combine his philological textual criticism with the conviction (later outdated), that great epics, such as Homer’s Iliad or the Nibelungenlied had emerged through ‘common poetic composition . . . out of the spirit of the whole’, that is from the spirit of the people at a particular time. 115 114 115

Lenz, Geschichte (note 38), vol. I, 272. Quoted by Stackmann, ‘Klassische Philologie’ (note 112), 249.

430

Theology and the arts This combination of German and classical philology continued with Lachmann’s successor Moritz Haupt (1808–74), who, as a pupil of the famous Leipzig classicist Gottfried Hermann, edited classical texts and as late as 1846 still viewed German philology as merely an ‘ancillary science for classics’. Nevertheless, in 1841 he founded the earliest of the German journals still in existence today and edited numerous Middle High German texts.116 ‘The philologization of German studies proved a decisive step on the way to the recognition and establishment of the subject as a university discipline’.117 How painfully slow and long the way to recognition was, is revealed in the accounts of important Germanists such as Konrad Burdach (1859–1936), who was advised against German studies as, from a career point of view, it was a dead-end.118 In 1861 the ‘Assembly of Philologists, Schoolmen and Orientalists’ admitted a German section. Soon the corresponding journals began to multiply.119 However it was not until the period 1872–94 that university seminars in German studies – on the model of the one set up in Rostock in 1858 – began to be generally accepted.120 In the decades after the foundation of the Reich, modern German literary studies gained its own professorships, in Munich in 1874 and in Berlin in 1877.121 In the past, literature, as an expression of the national spirit in interaction with other European literatures, had been presented ‘for the nation’. ¨ Georg Gottfried Gervinus (1806–71), who as the third of the ‘Gottingen Seven’ was deprived of his chair in history and literature, used this phrase in the introduction to his Geschichte der Poetischen Nationalliteratur der Deutschen (‘History of the poetical national literature of the Germans’) in 1835. As a contribution to the ‘Science of Literary History’ he maintained that the work was also intended to show how the ‘idea’ of poetry permeates all world history. Poetry had found its culmination in ancient Hellas and the ensuing history was ‘a single great pathway leading back to the source of all true poetry, on which all the nations of Europe accompany

116

117 118 119 120

121

¨ I. Denneler and N. Miller, ‘Germanistik’, in Buddenstieg, Duwell and Sembach (eds.), ¨ deutsches Altertum und deutsche LiterWissenschaften (note 100), 90; Zeitschrift fur atur, 1841– . J. Jahota (ed.), Texte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Germanistik, vol. III: Eine ¨ Wissenschaft etabliert sich (Tubingen, 1960), 36. Ibid., 2. ¨ deutsche Philologie 1869– , Anzeiger fur ¨ deutsches Altertum und Ibid., 9. Zeitschrift fur deutsche Literatur, 1876– , Germanistische Abhandlungen, 1881–1934. ¨ Jahota (ed.), Texte, 51ff.; cf. U. Tewes, ‘Die Grundung germanistischer Seminare an ¨ den preussischen Universitaten (1875–1896)’, in J. Fohrmann and W. Vosskamp (eds.), ¨ ¨ ‘Von der gelehrten zur disziplinaren Gemeinschaft’, Deutsche Viertelsjahresschrift fur Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte, 61 (1967), Sonderheft, 69#–122#. Jahota (ed.), Texte (note 117), 10.

431

¨ Walter Ruegg the Germans, often overtaking them, but in the end dropping behind one after the other’.122 There was a similarly historical and philosophical, though less chauvinistic view of literary history in 1856 expressed by Hermann Hettner (1821–82). Originally qualified as a professor in aesthetics, art and literary history he became director of the Museum and professor of art history in Dresden. He described the literary history of the eighteenth century as the ‘history of ideas and their scientific and artistic forms’, ranging from the flourishing of the natural sciences, of the philosophy of experience, and of Deism in seventeenth-century English literature, by way of the French Enlightenment to the heyday of German Classicism. ‘First come the periods of highly important political and religious developments, to be followed by the reaction and reflection of these in the sciences, in art and poetry’.123 It was in this way that German studies as a particular subject in the Geisteswissenschaften was inaugurated, and, as a result, despite all the philologization, it never lost an underlying national or even nationalist conception of itself. During the Second World War the Zurich Germanist Emil Staiger (1908–87) gave German literary studies a new direction through his application of work immanent interpretation to literary productions.124 r o m a n c e s t u d i e s at first developed for scholarly reasons and then later as a result of pressure from the modern philologists among the grammar (Gymnasium) teachers, who wanted to have an equal status to the classical philologists, and thus demanded an education that was held in the same scholarly esteem. For decades the dispute with classical philology continued, and often those fighting the romanist cause were the same people as the ones teaching Germanic philology and the German language. The holder of the chair in ‘the History of Medieval and Modern 122

123

124

G. G. Gervinus, Geschichte der poetischen Nationallitteratur der Deutschen, 5 vols. (Leipzig, 1835–42), introduction, reprinted in Jahota (ed.), Texte (note 117), quotations 184, 179–81. H. Hettner, Literaturgeschichte des achtzehnten Jahrhunderts, 3 parts (6 vols.) (Braunschweig, 1856–70), quotations from part I, Die englische Literatur von 1660 bis 1770 ¨ and from the cover-sheet to part II, Die franzosische Literatur im achtzehnten Jahrhundert, 4th edn (1881). W. Flitner, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. XI: Erinnerungen 1889–1945 (Paderborn, 1986), 102, provides a significant example for the philologization of German studies: ‘When the famous Hermann Paul developed the problem of the Nibelungen manuscripts, we kept away. Coming back two weeks later, we heard him differentiate between Hagen von Troje and Hagen von Tronje and continue to discuss the genealogy of the different manuscripts. We burst out laughing, provoked general displeasure and scuffling, and left. We had come to the university filled with enthusiasm for poetry, but we had no idea about philology, especially in German studies.’ On the Zurich school: S. Sonderegger, ¨ Zurich ¨ ‘Germanistik’, in P. Stadler, Die Universitat 1833–1983 (Zurich, 1983), 518ff., ¨ ¨ and W. Ruegg, ‘Europa in Trummern, Die Neuorientierung der Geisteswissenschaften ¨ nach 1945’, Neue Zurcher Zeitung, Literatur und Kunst, 125 (25–26 May 1996), 65ff.

432

Theology and the arts Literature’ in Bonn from 1823 and ‘inventor of Romance studies’, Friedrich Diez (1794–1875), taught Old High German, French, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese language and literature.125 Adalbert von Keller (1812–83) concluded his inaugural lecture as professor of German litera¨ ture in Tubingen in 1842 with the programmatic declaration that ‘modern philology as a scholarly grammar of the germanic and romance languages and as the history of the poetry of the Middle Ages and of the modern period should take its place as the third and fully equal sister next to oriental and classical philology’. In accordance with these views, he himself, as a German specialist, taught English and Romance literature.126 There were two reasons for these links with German philology. On the one hand there were the attempts to trace back the history of the ‘two most important linguistic groups in modern Europe’, such as those produced first by Jacob Grimm from 1819 onwards with his ‘German grammar’, and then by Diez, following on from Grimm, with his own ‘Grammar of the Romance Languages’ (1836–44). On the other hand, the interest in Germania and the German national spirit inspired a similar interest in the spirit of Romania, as a neighbouring culture sharing a common Roman inheritance. Romance studies were pursued as a scholarly exercise. Throughout the 55 years of his teaching career, Diez had fewer than half a dozen doctoral students and, always had fewer students in his lectures than the Lektors or colleagues who were giving practical language classes or lectures on aesthetics. His impact both as a researcher and as a model for important university lecturers was all the more profound. Until the Second World War Romance studies were directed more towards philological research than to the cultivation of foreign languages and contemporary literatures. The language of teaching, and indeed of publications, remained German, for ‘not to speak French was held to be a sign of distinction among respectable Romanists’.127 In order for Romance philology to share the same status as Classical philology it was necessary for it to have not only its own professorial chairs but also its own seminars and journals. In Rostock Karl Bartsch 125

126 127

¨ im 19. JahrhunH. Christmann, ‘Romanistik und Anglistik an der deutschen Universitat ¨ ¨ dert. Ihre Herausbildung als Facher und ihr Verhaltnis zu Germanistik und klassischer Philologie’, in Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften und Literatur in Mainz, Geistes- und sozialwissenchaftliche Klasse (Stuttgart, 1985): I, 1–28, gives an excellent survey of the foundation and the differentiation of the discipline. W. Hirdt (ed.), Romanistik, Eine Bonner Erfindung, 2 vols. (Bonn, 1994), Part I: Darstellung, Part II: Dokumentation, includes not only rich documentation on the Bonn school, but describes in the Preface the development of the whole discipline from the beginning to the present time. ¨ Keller’s inaugural lecture ‘Uber die Aufgabe der modernen Philologie’ is reprinted in Jahota (ed.), Texte (note 117), 263–77, quotation 277. Quotations from Hirdt (ed.), Romanistik (note 125), 8; catalogue of Romance lectures and Ph.D. thesis at the University of Bonn 1818–1916, ibid., 323–456.

433

¨ Walter Ruegg (1832–88) when appointed professor in 1858 was given the title ‘Professor of German and Romance Philology’ and was able to pursue both with his students in the previously mentioned ‘Seminar for German Philology’. In 1872 Adalbert von Keller was granted a ‘Seminar for Modern Lan¨ guages’ in Tubingen; in 1873 Bartsch introduced one with the same name in Heidelberg, but changed the name in 1877 to ‘Seminar for German and Romance studies’. Independent seminars for Romance studies appeared in 1877 in Halle and Bonn, and in Berlin in 1896 by the splitting of the seminar for Romance and English studies created in 1877.128 This particular combination was more common in the second half of the century both in the case of newly qualifying professors and in established chairs of modern language and literature. With the exception of Halle, where from 1822 there was a professorship in Romance studies, chairs in Romance philology first appeared as a result of the division of what were previously double professorships, first in Berlin in 1867 for Diez’s student Adolf Tobler (1835–1910) and then from 1872 to 1911 at the other German universities.129 At the same time journals of Romance studies began to spread, often independently of German and English philology.130 Until the First World War Romance studies were limited to philological and language studies, which examined not just great poets like Dante and Petrarch but also earlier periods in a manner that was similar to the one used by the Classical philologists to approach works of antiquity, that is, to study them as manifestations of a certain national and historical spirit. As a result, Renaissance and Humanism studies in Germany led the way until 1933.131 Contemporary Romance cultures, on the other hand, no longer met with anything like the interest which aesthetics and philosophy had stimulated. This situation changed in 1917. Bonn as the chief centre of German Romance studies was charged with responsibility for ‘The Study of the Romance Countries’ by the Ministry of Education on the initiative of the head of the university section, the former Bonn orientalist, Carl Heinrich Becker (1876–1933). The emphasis was placed on research into 128 129 130

131

Christmann, ‘Romanistik und Anglistik’ (note 125), 29–39. Ibid., 28. ¨ romanische und englische Sprache und Literatur, 1859–76, Zeitschrift Jahrbuch fur ¨ romanische Philologie, 1877– , Zeitschrift fur ¨ neufranzosische ¨ fur Sprache und Literatur, 1877–88, continued without ‘neu’ until 1944, Romanische Forschungen, 1883– , Neuphilologisches Zentralblatt, 1887–1906, Romanische Bibliothek, 1888–1926, Liter¨ germanische und romanische Philologie, 1888–1944, Romanische Studien, aturblatt fur 1897– , Germanistisch-romanische Monatsschrift, 1909– . Beginning with G. Voigt, Die Wiederbelebung des classischen Alterthums oder das erste Jahrhundert des Humanismus, 2 vols. (Berlin, 1859) and J. Burckhardt, Die Cultur der Renaissance, Ein Versuch (Leipzig, 1860), and culminating in the Kulturwissenschaftliche Bibliothek Warburg, which was transferred from Hamburg to London in 1933; see E. H. Gombrich, Aby Warburg: An Intellectual Biography, with a Memoir on the History of the Library by F. Saxl (London, 1970).

434

Theology and the arts French culture in a general sense, which included politics, education, art and sociology. Ernst Robert Curtius (1886–1956) played a leading role in this, at first as a Privatdozent in Bonn and a friend of Becker, and then from 1929 as a professor in Bonn. He also made the medieval Latin origins of European literature the subject of epoch-making studies, especially during his period of inner emigration after 1933.132 e n g l i s h was held to be a Germanic language. Germanists researched and edited the older English classical texts and dominated the scholarly study of English language and literature. Not until England became a world power, and the philological study of modern languages began to offer a professional career to teachers in high schools, did English studies emancipate themselves from German studies, but they remained tied to Romance studies.133 From 1852 to 1881 there were a dozen double professorships, in which Romance studies usually played the leading role. The first chair in English studies alone was created in 1852 at the University of Zurich, the first professorships for the study of the English language were established in Bonn in 1867 and in Vienna in 1872, and the first for English philology in 1872 in Strasburg. But it was still important to the holders of these chairs to remain active as Romanists.134 Shortly afterwards the modern languages periodicals, which had appeared earlier, were joined by new ones dedicated to the study of English philology.135 In 1892 – with the exception of Bavaria – there were separate professorships for German, French and English philology at German universities, but not always independent departments. ‘What little English we need can be learned through private tuition’ was the opinion of the founders of Berlin University and this was reiterated some 100 years later by Wilamowitz to his English-language colleague.136 Yet the establishment of 32 professorships in English philology from 1872 to 1914 was ‘an expression of the growing importance of the Anglo-Saxon countries’; although the subject 132

133

134 135

136

Hirdt (ed.), Romanistik (note 125), 24ff., 31–8; M. Werner, ‘Le prisme franco-allemand: a` propos d’une histoire croisée des disciplines littéraires’, in H. M. Bock et al. (eds.), Entre Locarno et Vichy, Les relations culturelles franco-allemandes dans les années 1930 (Paris, 1993), vol. I, 307–10. Finkenstaedt, Anglistik (note 87) analyzes in the sagacious main part the institutional and personal development of the discipline in the twentieth century, including its entanglements with National Socialism; see also G. Haenicke and T. Finkenstaedt, Anglistenlexikon 1825–1990, Biographien und bibliographische Angaben zu 318 Anglisten (Augsburg, 1992). Christmann, ‘Romanistik und Anglistik’ (note 125), 23–8. ¨ das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, 1846– , Englische Archiv fur Studien, 1877–1944, Anglia, 1878– , Die neueren Sprachen, 1893–1943, Zeitschrift ¨ franzosischen ¨ ¨ fur und englischen Unterricht, 1902–34, continued as Zeitschrift fur neusprachlichen Unterricht until 1943. A. Brandl, Zwischen Inn und Themse. Lebensbeobachtungen eines Anglisten (Berlin, 1936), 56, quoted by Christmann, ‘Romanistik and Anglistik’ (note 125), 19.

435

¨ Walter Ruegg remained for the most part limited to England with respect to the content.137 American studies – apart from isolated predecessors – was only introduced in the Weimar period, initially in Berlin through the building up of an ‘American section’ within the English department, then becoming institutionally anchored in other universities; ‘there is hardly, in the early history of American studies in Europe, a more hopeful development than these efforts under the First German Republic’.138 s l a v o n i c l a n g u a g e s a n d l i t e r a t u r e s 139 were taught in individual instances as early as the eighteenth century, and increasingly in the first half of the nineteenth century, by specialists in literature and language studies and by Germanists and Orientalists. Slavonic studies as ¨ a separate discipline owes its origin to the Bockhian concept of philology, and to the development of comparative language studies, which will be examined later. In 1849 the founder of modern Slavonic studies, Franz von Miklosich (1813–91), having attracted attention and established his reputation as a Slavist with a review of Franz Bopp’s (1791–1867) ‘Comparative Grammar of the Indogermanic Languages’, was called to the newly created chair of Slavonic philology at the University of Vienna. Here, between 1852 and 1875, he published a ‘Comparative Grammar of the Slavonic Languages’, tracing their historical development modelled on the works by Grimm and Diez. Vratoslav Jagić (1838–1923), the first holder of the chair in Slavonic studies at the University of Berlin from 1874 to 1880, before moving to similar posts at St Petersburg in 1886 and finally ¨ Vienna to succeed his teacher Miklosich, brought a Bockhian breadth of scholarship to the first Journal of Slavonic Studies, which he founded, and to the ‘Encyclopaedia of Slavonic Philology’ which he introduced for the Russian Academy of Sciences. In 1887 he founded the Slavonic Seminar in Vienna.

137 138 139

Finkenstaedt, Anglistik (note 87), 123. S. Skard, American Studies in Europe: Their History and Present Organization (Philadelphia, 1958), vol. I, 276, quoted by Finkenstaedt, Anglistik (note 87), 150. Peter Brang, Zurich, informed me about the beginnings of Slavonic philology and its relevant bibliography, including K. Krumbacher, ‘Der Kulturwert des Slawischen und ¨ Aufsatze ¨ die slawische Philologie in Deutschland’, in K. Krumbacher, Populare (Leipzig, ¨ zur Geschichte der 1909), 337–72, 386–8; J. Hamm and G. Wytrzens (eds.), Beitrage ¨ Slawistik in nichtslawischen Landern, Schriften der Balkankommission der Oesterr. Akademie der Wissenschaften, Linguist. Abt. XXX (Vienna, 1985); Slawistik in Deutsch¨ land von den Anfangen bis 1945. Ein Biographisches Lexikon (Bautzen, 1993); P. Brang, ‘Slawistik’, Schweizer Lexikon, vol. V (Lucerne, 1993), 325–6. The indications on chairs and seminars existing in 1892, 1914, 1938 are taken from Minerva, Jahrbuch (note 13). The following journals in non-Slavonic languages show the – limited – inter¨ slawische Philologie, est for Slavonic studies in other European countries: Archiv fur ´ 1921– , Revue des e´ tudes slaves, 1921– , Slavonic 1876– , Slavia occidentalis (Poznan), ¨ slavische (and East European, 1928– ) Review, 1922– , Slavia (Prague), Zeitschrift fur Philologie, 1925– .

436

Theology and the arts The first chair in Slavonic languages and literature outside Russia was created in Breslau in 1841. Similar chairs followed in Pest, Prague and Vienna in 1849 and, after a break of twenty years, in 1867 in Graz, 1870 in Leipzig, 1874 in Berlin, and 1889 in Swiss Freiburg. Professorships were created in 1892 in Agram (Zagreb), Czernowitz, Cracow, and Lem´ berg (Lwow). Munich followed suit in 1911. This shows that the establishment of chairs despite being favoured in Germany because of political alliances, and in the Danube monarchy because of their impact on increasingly restive minorities, went ahead rather hesitantly. There were seminars of Slavonic philology before 1914 in Breslau, Graz, Cracow, Lemberg ´ (Lwow), Lund, Prague and Vienna. They only made their appearance in Berlin and Leipzig after the First World War. Until the outbreak of the Second World War the only additional foundations in the German–speaking world were an associate professorship (1915) and a full professorship ¨ (1921) in Konigsberg, and a honorary professorship in Greifswald. On the other hand the associate professorship in Swiss Freiburg was ended in 1921. Only after Russia became a world power after the Second World War was it possible for Slavonic studies to achieve the same status as other modern languages. It was not only in Germany, Austria-Hungary and German-speaking Switzerland that Slavonic studies was condemned to a Cinderella role. In the rest of non-Russian Europe, Slavonic philology or Russian language and literature was taught by associate professors in Helsinki, Copenhagen, Oxford (Reader), Sofia and Uppsala, as well as through full professors in ´ Lille, at the Collège de France (from 1840) and at the Ecole des langues orientales vivantes in Paris. In 1914 there was an associate professorship (Professeur adjoint) at the Sorbonne and full professorships in Belgrade, Bucharest, Christiania (Oslo), Jassy and Liverpool. Between the two world wars the newly independent Slavonic states extended the chairs in Slavonic studies and set up institutes, for example in Belgrade, and in Czernowitz/Cernauti (Romania). In 1915 a School of Slavonic Studies was opened by King’s College, London. In Copenhagen and Uppsala associate professorships were upgraded and new professorships established in Louvain, Lund, Lyon, Manchester, Nottingham and Strasburg, whereas in Rome there was a full professorship for the study of the Polish language and literature, but only an associate professorship for Slavonic philology. This was also the case at the Sorbonne (Professeur sans chaire) whilst, for example, the Scandinavian languages and literatures had a regular post. Special posts were also introduced in Cambridge (lecturer), Cluj (Klausenburg) and Genoa. The number of fewer than 30 professors at the non-Slavonic universities in Europe who taught Slavonic philology or one of its languages and literatures before the Second World War appears all the more pitiful when 437

¨ Walter Ruegg compared with the number of other modern philologies and the number of highly specialized professorships in Oriental studies in the twentieth century. This is matched by the smaller number of dedicated specialist journals which appeared before 1945 and which remained in existence. Of course, this is no indication of the range and quality of teaching and research carried out by the relatively few western Slavists. Not only had they to deal with more languages and literatures within their own subject area than the Germanists, Romanists and Anglicists, but they also had to take into account the political, religious and cultural history of the whole of Europe and the languages and literatures of the neighbouring countries in order to distinguish foreign influences on the Slavonic world, while identifying its special features. Last but not least, Slavonic studies lacked support in terms of personnel and influence with the education authorities that is automatically there when a subject is taught in school. the european diffusion of modern philology The German model of modern philology became important in nonGerman-speaking countries after 1870. In addition to a professorship which had existed in Pisa since 1861, the modern Latin languages and literatures rapidly gained new chairs in Milan (1871), Florence (1874), Bologna and Turin (1875), Naples, Rome and Padua (1876).140 In 1892 romance philology was represented by teaching posts in Helsinki and Toulouse, by associate professorships in Genoa, Groningen and Liège, and by two full professorships in Christiania (Oslo), where one was combined with German and the other with English philology. Copenhagen and Uppsala had full chairs in Romance languages, and Lund an associate chair, whereas Turin had a teaching post in French philology. Professors were responsible for teaching the French and Italian language in London and Liverpool, and Spanish language and literature in Toulouse. Elsewhere they were usually taught by Lektors. There were chairs in German philology in 1892 in Birmingham, for Germanic languages in Lund and Uppsala, for German language and/or literature in Groningen, Lille, London and Milan. In addition there were teaching posts in Glasgow, Liège, Lyon, Palermo, and Rome. English philology had been established in Birmingham, London and Oxford by professorial posts, but on the Continent there were only teaching posts in Liège, Rome and Turin. Outside Great Britain, professorships in English language and/or literature only existed in Dublin, Copenhagen 140

¨ G. Grober, Grundriss der romanischen Philologie (Strasburg, 1888), vol. I, 104. Unfortunately its ‘Geschichte der romanischen Philologie’, ibid., 1–140, a comparative history of romance philology in Europe, did not find successors.

438

Theology and the arts and Toulouse, with teaching posts in Lille and Paris. In Leiden the AngloSaxon language was combined with Gothic and Middle High German. The French universities all had a chair in ‘foreign literatures’ and the Russian ones had one for ‘Western literatures’. Until the First World War there was a steady growth in professorships in Romance philology or languages, at times under the rubric ‘Modern Latin Languages and Literatures’, and also in French language and literature. The same was true of German language and literature, which at Italian universities, however, was usually treated as the poor relation, except in Milan and Turin, where there were full chairs and in Padua and Rome, which had associate ones. English philology, and English language and literature studies too, had become established in the form of professorships in the French, Belgian, Dutch and Scandinavian universities. In Italy, however, these existed only in Milan, Rome and Florence. On the Iberian peninsula there were only professorships for the three modern philologies in Lisbon. After 1918 such professorships began to prevail everywhere and to take specialized forms. I will limit myself to one example of this from the southeast and northern periphery of Europe. In Hungary, at the University of Agram (Zagreb), there was a full professorship in 1892/93 for each of the following philologies: Greek, Croatian and Slavonic, as well as an associate professorship and a senior teaching post for Latin philology. To these were added in 1913/14 full chairs in German and Hungarian languages and literatures and in classical philology. Croatian philology was divided into Croatian and Serbian literature and Croatian language. In 1938 at the University of Zagreb, which was then in Yugoslavia, full professors taught the following subjects: Comparative Slavonic grammar, Serbo-Croat language, Serbo-Croat literature, Slovenian language and literature, Romance philology, German language and literature, and classical philology. Associate professors taught classical philology, the history of modern south-Slavonic literature, and Italian language and literature. Lecturers were responsible for Latin grammar, and Czech, German, and Turkish languages. In addition French, Russian, German and English were taught by Lektors. In Lund the modern literatures were the responsibility of the chair in aesthetics established in 1801, to which was added in 1858 the history of literature and history of art. In 1811 the professor of Oriental studies endowed for his nephew a professorship in French, German and English.141 But only the chairs created in 1858 for Modern European linguistics and in 1865 for Nordic languages had a genuine philological 141

A. Zetersten, ‘The Pre-history of English Studies at Swedish Universities’, in T. Finkenstaedt and G. Scholtes (eds.), Toward a History of English Studies in Europe: Proceedings of the Wildsteig Symposium, April 30– May 2, 1982, Augsburger I-and I. Schriften 21 (Augsburg, 1983), 292.

439

¨ Walter Ruegg character. In 1877 a full professorship in Germanic languages was created, and in 1887 an associate professorship in Romance languages, later converted to a full post. This was followed by a similar one in English in 1904, and in German in 1905. In 1919/20 the chair in aesthetics, literature and art history was divided into the history and theory of art and the history of literature and poetics. In 1921 there followed a chair in Slavonic languages, and by 1938 Lund had senior teaching posts in Turkish studies, in the study of literature in a historical and cultural context, Nordic dialect studies, and Icelandic philology.142 University research centres in the form of seminars arose before the First World War at only a few universities, which were subject to the direct or indirect influence of the German model. By 1892 Lund already had seminars for Nordic, Germanic, and Romance languages, and by 1914 there were others for Semitic and Slavonic languages and for the history of literature. Uppsala and Gothenburg then followed suit. In 1914 there were separate institutes for English, Germanic and Romance studies in Groningen. In the same year there were seminars for German language and literature and for comparative literary history in Belgrade. In Bucharest there were seminars for the Romanian, Romance and German languages and literatures, and at the Bohemian University of Prague seminars existed for Slavonic and Romance philology and for English and German studies. After 1918 the German model continued to be influential in both the ´ restored and newly created states. Cracow, Lemberg (Lwow), and Posen ´ (Poznan) were given seminars for all the modern philologies, and Warsaw received both a literary and a philological one. In Cluj (Klausenburg) and Zagreb (Agram) the seminars from the imperial era were extended, and in the newly created universities of Brunn and Bratislava, ones on the Prague model were introduced. In the West, modern language seminars or institutes were established in Amsterdam, Brussels and Coimbra. In Italy Benedetto Croce, as Minister for Education, encouraged the formation of scholarly university seminars in 1920.143 By 1939 they had been introduced for modern languages in Milan (Sacro Cuore), Padua and Rome. In France it is significant that Strasburg was the first university to have them, ´ ´ though at the Sorbonne the Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes fulfilled the same role. This spread of German philological methods, so clearly evident from the bare annual statistics listing the foundations of chairs and seminars, has only been examined in some detail in the case of France. In Italy, apart from the slow appearance of professorial chairs, one can only point 142 143

Bo Lindberg, Gothenburg, provided me with the dates for Swedish chairs; the others are taken from Minerva, Jahrbuch (note 13). A. Satoni Rugiu, Chiarissimi e Magnifici: il professore nell’ universita` italiana (dal 1700 al 2000) (Scandici and Florence, 1991), 152, 160–5.

440

Theology and the arts to circumstantial evidence such as dissertations and specialist journals to show that a more scientific approach to the study of modern philologies did not really gain ground until the latter part of the nineteenth century. In Padua dissertations in 1885 consisted of compilations of between 40 and 100 pages. By 1899 many of them contained investigations that were of serious scientific merit.144 Journals founded in the seventies soon collapsed and could only be sustained after 1883.145 In 1886 Cambridge, with its examination in medieval and modern languages, the MML Tripos, was the first English university to give institutional weight to modern languages and literatures, and in 1905 the first specialist journal was published there. In 1910 Karl Breul, a Germanist who had been teaching at the university since the 1880s, was given a professorship, and in 1918 the Modern Humanities Research Association was founded.146 In 1914 there were also professors of English, German and Romance philology in London (King’s College) and Oxford. In France the previously mentioned chairs in e´ loquence française and poésie française were devoted to the interpretation of belles lettres. Within the Faculté des lettres they were directed more at the general public than at students. Even today the Littéraires are still contrasted with the true natural and social scientists, though at the same time they, for their part, look down on the philologians, who are concerned with the scholarly examination of texts.147 Classical philologists, as we have shown in the preceding sub-section, had already spread the reputation of German scholarly methods in France early in the nineteenth century. Educational reformers investigated the methods used in German schools and universities, and the French state drew the necessary conclusions for the areas which ´ it directly administered. The Ecole Normale Supérieure, which educated the elite of French secondary school and university teachers, received the most important German specialist journals, and in the years before the First World War spent over half of its book budget on the provision of German publications. In 1839 it introduced a teaching post for German, 144

145

146

147

M. Isnenghi, ‘Per una storia delle tesi di laurea. Tracce e campioni a Padova fra Ottocento ` L’istruzione e Novecento’, in F. De Vivo and G. Genovesi (eds.), Cento anni di universita, superiore in Italia dall’ Unita` ai nostri giorni (Naples, 1986), 102–5. Rivista di filologia romanza, 1872–5, Giornale di filologia romanza, 1878–83, Giornale storico della letteratura italiana, 1883– , Studi di filologia romanza, 1884–1902, continued as Studi romanzi, 1903– , Studi di letteratura italiana, 1899–1922, Rivista di letteratura tedesca, 1907–11, Studi di filologia moderna, 1908–14. University of Cambridge, 431–6; cf. K. Breul, ‘Das wissenschaftliche Studium der neueren Sprachen in Cambridge’, Englische Studien, 12 (1888), 244–70. Modern Language Review, 1905– , Modern Language Teaching (London), 1905–15. In Groningen there appeared the Neophilologus, 1916– , in Amsterdam, English Studies, 1919– . Werner, ‘Philologie’ (note 56), 33. The following description is also based on this excellent summary of the research carried out in the Institut des textes et manuscrits modernes by the CNRS in Paris under his direction and that of his colleague Espagne, see Espagne and Werner (eds.), Philologiques I (note 65).

441

¨ Walter Ruegg and in 1841 a professorial chair.148 At the Collège de France chairs in Slavonic, southern European and German languages and literatures as well as one in medieval French language and literature were created in 1840 and 1841. The occupant of this chair, Paulin Paris, sent his son Gaston to German universities for two years in order to study not only the German language but also German research methods, particularly as applied to classical philology and German studies. Gaston Paris (1839–1903) and his friend from student days, the Alsatian ´ Paul Meyer (1840–1917), occupied leading posts respectively in the Ecole ´ ´ pratique des Hautes Etudes and the Ecole des Chartes, and they founded not only specialist journals in 1866 and 1872,149 but also a society for the editing of Old French texts in 1876. Through their input into the university reforms initiated by Duruy in 1863, they played a major role in the creation of chairs in Romance studies. These were introduced in Lyon in 1876, at the Sorbonne in 1877, in Montpellier in 1880 and in Bordeaux in 1892. They were, however, mainly directed towards medieval French and Provençal studies and only began to have an effect on more modern French literature in the Nouvelle Sorbonne at the beginning of the twentieth century, for example through the agency of Lanson as we saw earlier. After his ‘conversion’ to German scholarly methods, the professor of ‘French eloquence’ strove to produce critical editions of the more ˆ modern literature, and tried to produce a scientific basis for making gout, or taste, the main criterion for literary interpretation.150 oriental studies and comparative linguistics In the early modern period the study of semitic languages was concerned ` with exegesis of the Bible and apologetics vis-a-vis Islam. In addition there was a demand for a practical knowledge of oriental languages and cultures from missionaries, colonizers and various economic and political interests. In Rome future missionaries were trained in these areas at the Collegium Maroniticum from 1584 and from 1627 at the Collegium De Propagande Fide. In 1669 Colbert founded a school for translators in Constantinople in order to promote French trade with the East. Called Jeunes de Langues it was transferred to Paris in 1700. In Vienna, with the Turks on the doorstep as it were, there was a chair in oriental languages from 1674 onwards, and in 1754 an Oriental Academy was founded. Oxford and 148 149

150

M. Espagne, F. Lagier and M. Werner (eds.), Philologiques, vol. II: Le maˆıtre de langues. Les premiers enseignants d’allemand en France (1830–1850) (Paris, 1991), 1162ff. Revue critique d’histoire et de littérature, 1866–1935, Revue des langues romanes, 1870– , Romania, 1872– , Revue de philologie française et provençale, 1887–96, continued as Revue de philologie française et de littérature until 1927. See above, pp. 410–17.

442

Theology and the arts Cambridge each had two endowed chairs for Arabic in the eighteenth century. Leiden in particular had a leading role in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries not only in classical philology but also in oriental philology.151 In the colonies too people were beginning to take a scientific interest in the indigenous cultures and languages. In 1779 the Bataviaasch genootschap van kunsten en wetenschappen was founded and from the beginning produced a journal, Verhandelingen. In 1787 there followed in Calcutta the Asiatic Society of Bengal, which also had its own organ, Asiatic Researches, appearing between 1788 and 1832 in twenty volumes, parts of which were translated into French and German, and which was continued as the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1832–1936. The founder of this Society, Sir William Jones (1746–94), whilst a fellow of University College Oxford, had described the beauty of Islamic poetry in 1774 using categories drawn from classical poetry.152 As Judge of the High Court at Calcutta he extended this interest to Sanskrit and stimulated the development of comparative philology by recognizing the structural similarities between Sanskrit and Greek, Latin, Celtic, Gothic and Ancient Persian, and postulating a common source for these languages.153 o r i e n t a l s t u d i e s . The different, though often closely linked predecessors in this field (biblical and religious studies, missionary, trade, and colonial interests, research into indigenous cultures, studies in both the history and philosophy of language) not only led to the institutionalization and specialization of Oriental studies as well as to its extension beyond the Middle East, but also to the founding of comparative language studies, which began a historical investigation into the various language families as intellectual organisms. The growth of research into the semitic languages as well as some of the leaders in this field, Renan in Paris, Wellhausen in Halle, Marburg ¨ and Gottingen, Burkitt in Cambridge, have already been mentioned in connection with religious studies.154 The institutional basis for the independent development of Oriental studies was created in Paris, where in ´ 1795 the Ecole Nationale des Langues Orientales was founded for the teaching of modern Arabic, Turkish and Persian, and soon afterwards corresponding chairs were created at the Collège de France. The founder of modern Arabic studies, Antoine Isaac Silvestre de Sacy (1758–1835), taught at the former from 1795 and at both from 1806 onwards and, 151 152 153

154

¨ ¨ J. Fuck, Die arabischen Studien in Europa bis in den Anfangen des 20. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1955), 59. ¨ J. Fuck, ‘Geschichte der Arabistik’, in B. Spuler (ed.), Handbuch der Orientalistik, vol. III: Semitistik (Leiden, 1954), 345. W. Jones, Asiatic Researches, 1 (1788), 422, quoted by H. Arens, Sprachwissenschaft, Ein Gang ihrer Entwicklung von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart (Freiburg and Munich, 1955), 128; cf. History of Oxford, V, 562 ff. See above, p. 414.

443

¨ Walter Ruegg thanks to his pioneering work had pupils throughout Europe. In 1814 the Collège de France was granted chairs in Sanskrit as well as in the Chinese, Manchurian and Tartar languages and literatures. Egyptology, which had been given a firm foundation as a result of Napoleon’s Egyptian expedition, and had already seen its first scholarly publications, was introduced at the Collège de France by Jean-François Champollion (1790–1832), and despite his premature death developed remarkably.155 It reached a highpoint thanks to Gaston Maspero (1846–1916), who taught at the newly founded Ecole pratique des Hautes e´ tudes from 1868, and then after 1873, at the Collège de France as well. He also founded the Mission archéologique française au Caire. In France especially, but not only in that country, Egyptology was linked with the care of collections, and one particularly distinguished example in this field among others is Auguste Edouard Mariette (1821–81), Curator of the Egyptian Museum at the Louvre, director of important excavations in Memphis, founder of the monumental museum at Cairo, and author of the corresponding archaeological reports. In England the development of Oriental studies was closely linked to education for the colonial service. In 1878 Cambridge introduced a Tripos for Semitic languages and in 1879 one for Indian languages. At the same time the university library was strengthened in these areas. Few students entered for these examinations, however, and so in 1895 they were combined into a Tripos for Oriental studies. At Oxford an Indian Institute was created in 1884,156 and in London in 1917 the School of Modern Oriental Languages, consisting of a section in University College and one in King’s College. In Russia political interest in Asiatic cultures led to the founding in 1814 of the Lazarev Institute in Moscow, which was granted professorial chairs in the languages of the Middle East, and also the Asiatic Museum in St Petersburg in 1818. The former was made into a research institute in Oriental studies in 1921 and the latter in 1930. In Spain the historical background favoured research into Islamic culture and this was carried out in particular by the Islamists Miguel As´ın y Pala´ Ribera y Tarrago (1858–1934), whilst in Italy cios (1871–1944) and Julian there were particularly close links with Egyptian and Ethiopian culture. In the German Empire a ‘Seminar for Oriental languages’ was opened at Bismarck’s instigation at the University of Berlin in 1887.157 Here languages important for the East African Protectorates were taught, together with those held to be significant in terms of German foreign policy, that is: English, French, Modern Greek and Spanish. In 1936 the seminar was

155 156

Durkheim (ed.), Vie universitaire (note 7), 147ff., 194ff. 157 Lenz, Geschichte (note 38), vol. III, 239–47. History of Oxford, VIII, 609.

444

Theology and the arts ¨ merged with other subjects into the Auslandswissenschaftliche Fakultat (faculty of foreign studies) and finally abolished in 1945. The extent to which activity in the colonial service could prove fruitful for the scholarly pursuit of Oriental studies had already been demonstrated by the example of Sir William Jones. The important Dutch Islamist Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje (1879–1936) had been an adviser to the colonial administration of the Dutch East Indies before he became a professor in Leiden. But, in contrast to earlier centuries in which Oriental studies had been the handmaid or – to extend the simile – courtesan of theology, commerce and politics, as a fully equal daughter of the alma mater she now had need of some scholarly training, which was often based on classical philology. Snouck Hurgronje had learned the philological method from his teacher in Oriental studies, M. J. de Goeje (1836–1909), who himself had been a pupil of the famous Dutch classical philologist Cobet, mentioned earlier. In contrast to the other philologies the German universities did not form the model and first stage of training of Arab Studies. The most influential German Arabist of the nineteenth century, Heinrich Leberecht Fleischer (1801–88), after studying theology and the associated semitic languages, continued his education from 1824 to 1828 as a pupil of de Sacy by working on the manuscript treasures of Paris, and published his first work in 1827 in the Paris Journal Asiatique, before becoming Professor of Oriental languages in Leipzig in 1835, where he not only educated a generation of Arabists but also played a leading role in the foundation of the ‘German ¨ Oriental Society’ (Deutsche Morgenlandische Gesellschaft) in 1844 and its journal. That the historical and critical approach initiated by Theodor ¨ Noldeke (1832–1930) in Strasburg in his studies on the Koran became the norm internationally was largely thanks to Snouck Hurgronje, Becker, already mentioned as an orientalist and as the Prussian official in charge of universities, and the Budapest Islamist Ignaz Goldziher (1850–1921), a pupil of Fleischer. From the field of Arab studies there emerged important specialists in Islam: Leone Caetani (1869–1935), Duke of Sermoneta, and Francesco Gabrieli (1904–96) in Italy, Frants Buhl (1850–1932) in Copenhagen, Tor Andrae (1885–1947) in Uppsala, W. Montgomery Watt (1909– ) in Edinburgh, Sir Hamilton Gibb (1895–1971) in Oxford, Régis Blachère (1900–73) and Louis Massignon (1883–1962) in Paris. In addition, journals and encyclopaedias devoted to Islamic studies were produced.158 Paris was also the centre for the development of e g y p t o l o g y , as mentioned above. The holder of the first chair of Egyptology in the 158

¨ Fuck, Arabistik (note 152), 348; B. Spuler, ‘Islamforschung’, in RGG (note 50), vol. III, 926ff.

445

¨ Walter Ruegg German-speaking area, Richard Lepsius (1810–84), after initial studies ¨ in philology and languages in Leipzig, Gottingen and Berlin, moved into Egyptology from 1833 onwards by means of a number of periods of study, each lasting several years in Paris and in the museums and institutes of Italy and England. From his appointment in 1842 to an associate chair in Berlin to his appointment in 1846 as a full professor, he directed the Prussian King’s Egyptian expedition and introduced the, by now traditional, German philological method into the subject. The second chair ¨ in Egyptology was created in Gottingen in 1867 for Heinrich Brugsch (1827–94), who completed his Habilitation under Lepsius in 1854 after research in the museums of Paris, London, Turin and Leiden and a period ¨ of work with Mariette in Memphis. In 1864 he founded the Zeitschrift fur ¨ agyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde (‘Journal for Egyptian Language and Antiquities’), and worked as an assistant at the Egyptian museum in Berlin, as a diplomat in Persia and as consul in Cairo. Leo Reinisch (1832–1919) qualified in Vienna in 1860 in Egyptology and the history of the Orient, and worked from 1865 to 1867 in Egypt, before becoming Personal Secretary to the Kaiser in Mexico. In 1868 he received an associate chair in Vienna and in 1872 became the full professor for his subject. Later, through both expeditions and publications, he devoted himself to the study of the languages of East Africa. When chairs in Egyptology were created in Leipzig in 1870 and Strasburg in 1872 it was already possible to select scholars who had studied with Lepsius and Brugsch, and whose travels abroad had been restricted to excavations and other researches in Egypt itself.159 Between 1892 and 1914 Egyptology came to be taught at University College, London, at Oxford, Uppsala and Turin. The third of the oriental disciplines, s i n o l o g y , owes its institutionalization as an academic subject also to Paris, where at the Collège de France in 1814, the chair referred to earlier was filled with the 26-year-old Jean-Pierre Abel-Rémusat (1788–1832).160 He was followed by a series of highly distinguished scholars, each one his equal in reputation. The last of these within the time-scale of this volume, Henri Maspero (1882–1945), the son of the Egyptologist Gaston Maspero, died in Buchenwald concentration camp, before he had the opportunity to develop to the full his ´ somewhat unconventional ideas.161 At the Ecole Nationale des Langues 159

160

161

The biographical data of the German and French orientalists are mostly taken from ¨ Brockhaus’ Konversationslexikon in 16 Banden, 14th edn (Leipzig, Berlin and Vienna, 1894). The following is based on H. Franke, ‘In Search of China: Some General Remarks on the History of European Sinology’, in Europe Studies China, Papers from an International Conference on The History of European Sinology (London, 1995), 11–25, with bibliography. H. Franke, ‘Orientalistik, 1. Teil Sinologie’, in K. Hoenn (ed.), Wissenschaftliche Forschungsberichte. Geistswissenschaftliche Reihe 19 (Berne, 1953), 21.

446

Theology and the arts Orientales Vivantes Chinese was introduced after the Opium War in 1843. In England it was diplomatic, commercial and missionary pressures which led to the teaching of Chinese in the second half of the nineteenth century by former diplomats, Sir Thomas Wade (1818–95) in Cambridge, and Herbert Allen Giles (1845–1935) in Oxford, together with a former missionary, James Legge (1815–97). In Holland the colonial interests mentioned earlier had led to a scholarly preoccupation with the Far East, which had developed from the seventeenth century onwards, so that in the later part of the nineteenth century the chair of ethnology in Leiden was filled with excellent Sinologists in the persons of Gustav Schlegel (1840–1903) and J. J. M. de Groot (1854–1921). In Louvain the Sanskrit specialist Charles de Herlez (1832–99) was also responsible for Chinese and Manchurian. After the conquest of Siberia in the seventeenth century Russia had become China’s neighbour and the two had signed treaties in 1689 and 1727. Not surprisingly the Russians took an interest in the Chinese language, especially at the Russian Spiritual Mission in Peking, which produced such interesting works on ‘China, its People, its Religion, its Institutions, and its Social Circumstances’, that they were translated into German in 1858.162 In the Oriental faculty in St Petersburg professorships in the Chinese and Manchurian languages were created. In Spain and Portugal, however, despite their connections with East Asia, there were no chairs in Sinology. In Florence and Rome in 1892 there were professorships for the languages and literatures of the Far East. Chinese and Japanese were on the teaching syllabus of the Berlin Institute for Oriental Studies from its origins in 1887. At the university a lecturer in the Ethnological Institute taught Chinese and Manchurian grammar as a special professor. The first chair in Sinology in Germany was created in 1909 at the newly founded ‘Hamburg Colonial Institute’, with the title ‘Languages and History of East Asia’, and was transferred to the university when it was founded in 1919. At the same time a Sinological Seminar was ¨ founded, with others opening at the same time in Berlin and Gottingen. The development of Oriental studies shows the importance of amateurs, that is, of graduates and university teachers who came from another subject.163 Professionalization was encouraged by the institutes already mentioned, by European foundations in the Orient,164 and by learned 162 163 164

Franke, ‘In Search of China’ (note 160), 15, 25. Franke, ibid., 16ff., gives examples in the field of Sinology. Institut d’Egypte, Cairo, with Bulletin, 1857– , British School of Archeology in Egypt, with Publications, 1895– , Institut d’archéologie russe a` Constantinople, with Bulletin, 1896–1912, Ecole française d’Extrème Orient, Hanoi, with Bulletin, 1901– , Institut français d’archéologie orientale, Cairo, with Bulletin, 1901– , Deutsches evan¨ Altertumswissenschaft des Heiligen Landes zu Jerusalem, with gelisches Institut fur ¨ ¨ agyyptische ¨ Palastinajahrbuch, 1905–41, Deutsches Institut fur Altertumskunde in

447

¨ Walter Ruegg societies,165 which in the beginning were often composed of scholars and dilettantes, but who eventually through their conferences and journals turned into specialist societies. They made possible a degree of equilibrium between the growing specialization of the individual disciplines, on the one hand and interdisciplinary co-operation on the other. At the same time they allowed a broad degree of support from amateurs. In addition there were a number of independent journals.166 In no other area of philology has international co-operation been stronger than in Oriental studies. International conferences have taken place since 1873. a f r i c a n s t u d i e s also owes its origins to the missionary activity and colonial politics of the European powers and to the systematic support in the nineteenth century for expeditions to explore Central Africa. As early as 1788 the African Society was founded in London for this purpose. In 1873 there followed in Berlin the German Society for the Exploration of Equatorial Africa (Deutsche Gesellschaft zur Erforschung Aequatorial-Afrikas). In 1876 the King of the Belgians took the initiative in setting up a Commission internationale d’exploration et de civilisation de l’Afrique centrale. In 1890 the Comité de l’Afrique centrale was founded, which, like the Societa` africana d’Italia, established in 1892, also published its own journal.167 That African studies developed into an academic discipline after the First World War was to a large extent due

165

166

167

Kairo, with Mitteilungen, 1930–43, Institut français d’archéologie de Stamboul, with Mémoires, 1933– . Société Asiatique, with Journal asiatique, 1823– , Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, with Transactions, 1824–34, continued as Journal, 1834– , Société Orientale ¨ de France, with Revue de l’Orient, 1842–65, Deutsche morgenlandische Gesellschaft, with Zeitschrift, 1847– , Koninklijk Instituut voor de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde van ¨ Nederlandsch Indië, with Bijdragen, 1853– , Deutscher Palastinaverein, with Zeitschrift, 1878– , Societa` italiana, with Giornale, 1887–1935, Deutsch-asiatische Gesellschaft, with ‘Asien’, 1901–19, continued as Ostasiatische Rundschau, 1919–44, Deutsche Orient–Gesellschaft, with Mitteilungen, 1898– , School of Oriental (and African, 1940– ) Studies (London), with Bulletin, 1917– , Societas orientalis Fennica, with Studia Orientalia, 1925– . Other selected European journals (besides those mentioned before): Revue e´ gyptologique, 1880–1924, continued as Revue d’Egypte ancienne, 1924–32, Revue ¨ die Kunde des Morgenlandes, 1887– , d’égyptologie, 1932–38, Wiener Zeitschrift fur Keilinschriftliche Bibliothek, 1889–1915, continued as Keilschrifturkunden aus Bog¨ 1921– , Mitteilungen des Seminars fur ¨ Orientalische Sprachen (Berlin), 1898– hazkoi, 1936, Orientalische Literatur-Zeitung, 1898– , Rivista degli studi orientali, 1907– , Der Islam, 1910– , Journal of Egyptian Archeology, 1914– , Resznik Orientalistyczny, 1914– , Ostasiatische Zeitschrift, 1912–43, Aegyptus, Rivista italiana di egittologia e di papirologia, 1920– , Artibus Asiae (Leipzig), 1925– , Archiv Orientalni, 1929– , Bulletin of the Museum for Far Eastern Antiquities (Stockholm), 1929– , Orientalia (Vatican City), 1932– , Al-Andalus (Madrid), 1933– . Bulletin du Comité de l’Afrique centrale, 1891–1908, continued as L’Afrique française, 1909– , Africa, 1892–96, continued as Bolletino della Societa` africana d’Italia, 1896– 1912, Africana italiana, 1912–37, Africa, International Institute for African Languages and Cultures (London), 1928– , Africa 1938– .

448

Theology and the arts to Dietrich H. Westermann (1875–1956), who worked as a missionary in Togoland. In 1921 he received a professorship in Berlin and in 1936 was invited to take over the directorship of the International Institute for African Languages and Cultures in London. Other oriental languages and cultures, which like Sumerian and Akkadian had been studied by orientalists since the nineteenth century, also gained their own chairs after the First World War. COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY also found in Paris a rich intellectual climate, in which seeds from the most disparate directions were able to grow together into fruitful silvae or woods (to borrow an image for learned collections which was common in the Baroque period and still used by the brothers Grimm). It was certainly true that, already by the medieval period, comparisons had been made between various languages, but the differences between them had been explained as a consequence of the Biblical Tower of Babel. With the advent of humanism, which paid particular attention to language as the expression of individual communication, there appeared a polyglot edition of the Bible168 and a variety of translations of Aristotle’s Ethics in one volume.169 The Zurich professor Conrad Gessner (1516–65) published the Lord’s Prayer in 22 languages in 1555, and by 1806 Christoph Adelung (1732–1806) had collected it in almost 500 languages and dialects as a case study in his Allgemeine Sprachkunde (‘General Study of Language’).170 As a result of his comparative studies, Joseph Justus Scaliger (1540–1609), one of the leading philologists of the sixteenth century and professor in Geneva and Leiden, was led to produce a classification of the European languages that was free from biblical or classical prejudice. The effect was twofold: belief in the primacy of the language of the Bible was undermined at a very early stage, and at the same time the notion that Latin was derived from Greek was refuted.171 168 169 170

171

See vol. II, pp. 36, 460. Decem librorum Moralium Aristotelis tres conversiones: Prima Argyropoli Byzantinij, secunda Leonardi Aretini, tertia vero Antiqua, 2nd edn (Paris, 1505). C. Gessner, Mithridates, de differentiis linguarum tum veterum tum quae hodie apud ¨ diversas nationes in toto orbe terrarum in usu sunt (Mithridates oder uber die Unter¨ schiede der alten und der heute bei den verschiedenen Volkern des ganzen Erdkreises ¨ gebrauchlichen Sprachen) (Zurich, 1555); J. C. Adelung, Mithridates oder Allgemeine ¨ Sprachenkunde mit dem Vater Unser als Sprachprobe in beinahe funfhundert Sprachen und Mundarten, 4 vols. (Berlin, 1806–17), quoted by Arens, Sprachwissenschaft (note 153), 56ff., 129ff.; H. M. Hoenigswald, ‘Linguistics’ in P. P. Wiener (ed.), Dictionary of the History of Ideas: Studies of Selected Pivotal Ideas, vol. III (New York, 1973), 73. I have used both works for the following text. For a detailed story of the topic see the monumental work written by A. Borst, Der Turmbau von Babel, Geschichte ¨ ¨ der Meinungen uber Ursprung und Vielfalt der Sprachen und Volker, 4 vols. (Stuttgart, 1957–63). Hoenigswald, ‘Linguistics’ (note 170); Arens, Sprachwissenschaft (note 153), 59.

449

¨ Walter Ruegg Sir William Jones, who was mentioned above, has been called the founder of comparative philology.172 In fact his reference to the structural affinities between Sanskrit and other European languages stimulated the study of languages from a historical comparative perspective. Sanskrit owes the fact that it was already present as a subject in universities in the early nineteenth century, and, after 1850, was as likely to be found as Hebrew and other Semitic languages, less to the importance of Indian texts for religious studies than to its key position in language studies. For such a situation to come about it was necessary for Jones’ discovery to be systematized and applied. This was the achievement of a number of German scholars, who had been inspired to carry out the task in Paris at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Friedrich von Schlegel, who has already been mentioned as one of the Romantic discoverers of medieval literature, not only learned Persian and Sanskrit in Paris, but was stimulated to a new understanding of language studies by the palaeontologist Georges Cuvier’s (1769–1832) Leçons d’anatomie comparée published between the years 1801 and 1805. In his book on the Indians published in 1808 Schlegel sums up this new advance in the following words: ‘That decisive point, however, which will illuminate everything in this area, is an inner structure of languages or comparative grammar, which will give us quite new insights into the genealogy of languages in the way that comparative anatomy sheds light on the higher history of Nature.’ Thus comparative language studies was given the task of considering ‘language and its origins in a scholarly and historical way’ – something which Schlegel himself admitted would be very difficult to do.173 Jacob Grimm, who had worked as an assistant to Savigny in Paris in 1805, carried out this task in his pioneering works on German grammar, in part continuing the studies of the Dane Rasmus Back (1787–1832), who, just as Schlegel had been influenced by Cuvier, was himself inspired by the Swedish botanist Linnaeus and his typology. Full of admiration for Schlegel’s book on India, the 21-year-old student Franz Bopp travelled to Paris in 1812, with the aim of learning Arabic and Syrian with de Sacy, and of teaching himself Sanskrit by studying the superb collection of manuscripts in the imperial library. In 1816 there appeared the results of this study in the form of an epoch-making comparative structural analysis of the Indo-Germanic systems of conjugation. In the course of a period of study in London and of a professorship from 1821 onwards in ‘Oriental literature and general language studies’ in Berlin, he 172 173

Sandys, Classical Scholarship (note 100), vol. II, 438ff. ¨ ¨ F. Schlegel, Uber die Sprache und Weisheit der Inder. Ein Beitrag zur Begrundung der Altertumskunde (Heidelberg, 1808), chapter 3, text reprinted in Arens, Sprachwissenschaft (note 153), 140–2.

450

Theology and the arts developed this into a comparative grammar of the Indo-Germanic languages.174 The famous Paris linguist, Antoine Meillet (1866–1936), compared Bopp’s achievement with that of Columbus, in that, whilst pursuing the search for the origin of language, which after all dates back to Plato, he had discovered the science of comparative linguistics in its modern sense.175 Bopp’s resolution in 1812 ‘to treat the study of languages . . . as an historical and philosophical task’176 which led him to the discovery of his ‘America’, was in no small way influenced by a fourth German, who from 1797 to 1799 had carried out language research in Paris and afterwards in Spain, but who, because of his entry into the service of the state in 1804, had only been able to publish the results in 1811. Wilhelm von Humboldt was interested in language as the basic element of his philosophical anthropology, and tried to approach what he described as the true object of ‘general language studies’ through a study initially of Basque and then, after his withdrawal from state office, of the major Oriental languages and of American and Javanese oral tribal languages. What Humboldt sought was an ‘organic structure of languages’ that would represent ‘the most intellectual of those influences, which throughout the whole of history contemporaneous nations and different generations have exerted on each other.’177 As the following quotation makes clear, comparative linguistics was viewed by Humboldt as a Geisteswissenschaft in the sense ¨ previously defined in relation to Vico, Bockh, Hegel, Hettner and Dilthey: ‘the power of the mind engaging itself with all its depth and fullness in the course of world events is the truly creative principle in the hidden and as it were mysterious development of humanity’.178 In this process language, he feels, has a particular role to play: ‘Language is so to speak the external manifestation of the spirit of the nations; their language is their spirit and their spirit is their language, it is impossible to over-exaggerate the degree of identity between the two.’179 Within language studies this philosophical, history of ideas, aspect has constantly been influential, though usually indirectly. Humboldt was never a university teacher, but even after his retirement as head of the 174

175 176 177

178

¨ F. Bopp, Uber das Konjugationssystem der Sanskritsprache in Vergleichung mit jenem der griechischen, lateinischen, persischen und germanischen Sprache (Frankfurt, 1816); F. Bopp, Vergleichende Grammatik des Sanskrit, Send, Armenischen, Griechischen, Litauischen, Altslawischen, Gotischen und Deutschen, 6 parts (Berlin, 1833–52). A. Meillet, La méthode comparative en linguistique historique (Paris, 1924), quoted by Hoenigswald, ‘Linguistics’ (note 170), 68. Quoted by Arens, Sprachwissenschaft (note 153), 155. ¨ W. von Humboldt, Uber die Verschiedenheit en des menschlichen Spachbaus (1827– 1829), Werke (note 93), vol. III: Schriften zur Sprachphilosophie (Darmstadt, 1965), 155ff. 179 Ibid., 414–15. Ibid., 392.

451

¨ Walter Ruegg Prussian Schools and Universities Authority he exercised great influence on appointments. It was to him that Bopp owed his chair in Berlin. In 1818 an older friend of Humboldt, August Wilhelm von Schlegel, who had already achieved distinction as an authority on world literature and as a translator of Shakespeare was made professor of literature and arts at the University of Bonn, founded in the same year. In 1820, at his own request, he was charged with ‘establishing the study of Sanskrit and of Indian literature in Germany,’ and at the same time, received funds to develop an Indian printing house. He had learned the language during his time spent with Madame de Staël in Paris, and between 1820 and 1830 he published an ‘Indian Library’ in Bonn with his own editions and translations.180 For the most part Sanskrit was taught as a component of Indo-Germanic language studies, but occasionally also within the framework of classical and oriental languages as, for example in the cases of Félix Nève (1816–93) in Louvain from 1841 onwards, or Edward Cowell (1826–1903), who, after playing a leading role in both Calcutta’s university and Sanskrit College, was awarded a chair in Sanskrit at Cambridge in 1867. He was also the same time responsible for other oriental languages and had important pupils in both classical and oriental philology.181 As we have already seen with Jacob Grimm, comparative language studies had an impact also on the modern philologies. Diez’s ‘Grammar of Romance Languages’ was in no small measure indebted to Humboldt and Grimm. The ‘Comparative Grammar of the Slavonic Languages’ by Miklosich was similarly based on historical and comparative language studies, as was the Grammatica celtica with which Johann Kaspar Zeuss (1806–56), a teacher at a Franconian girls’ school, founded Celtic philology in 1853. Conversely, language studies were repeatedly stimulated by developments in other disciplines. In Dorpat the Slavist Jan Baudoin (1846–1929) had established the foundations of phonology, the study of the phonetic structure of language, which in the Cercle linguistique de Prague, founded in 1926 with Prince Trubetzkoy (1890–1938) at its centre, and the Cercle de linguistique de Copenhague, together with the Geneva School founded by Ferdinand de Saussure (1857–1913), inaugurated modern linguistics. Psychology was so important for Hajim Steinthal (1823–99), from 1849 onwards Reader in general linguistics in Berlin, that in 1859 he founded 180

181

Schlegel was not, as it was often stated, the first incumbent of a German chair for Indology, but in 1920 when he presented his resignation as a result of the Carlsbad decrees, the government granted an extension of his broad teaching on the history of literature, arts and culture into the study of Sanskrit and Indian literature; see W. F. ¨ zur Geschichte Schirmer, ‘August Wilhelm von Schlegel’, in Bonner Gelehrte, Beitrage der Wissenschaften in Bonn, Sprachwissenschaften (Bonn, 1950), 15ff. University of Cambridge, 428.

452

Theology and the arts with the philosopher and psychologist Moritz Lazarus (1824–1903) a ‘Journal of Ethnopsychology and Linguistics’. Wilhelm Wundt (1832– 1920), professor of philosophy in Leipzig, produced a series of profound studies of language as expressive movement in the context of Ethnopsychology. Emile Durkheim at the Sorbonne and the Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes applied his empirical sociology to language. Philosophers treated language as an aesthetic phenomenon (Benedetto Croce), in conjunction with logic and phenomenology (Edmund Husserl, 1859–1939), and as symbolic form (Ernst Cassirer, 1874–1945). All of this had an effect on scholarship, but it was not until after the Second World War that it led to a widespread creation of chairs in linguistics in addition to the traditional – indo-germanically centred – professorships in comparative philology. The changes are, however, apparent in the titles of journals.182 philosophy Philosophy, with its three components of physics, ethics and metaphysics, has been since the very origins of universities the crown of the propaedeutic faculty of artes, which in the early modern period became also known as the ‘philosophical faculty’. In 1798 Immanuel Kant in his Streit der ¨ Fakultaten (‘The Conflict of the Faculties’) argued for its superiority over the ‘higher’ faculties of theology, law and medicine on the grounds that the latter, as places in which the future servants of the Church and the state were educated, were not free, whereas the former, by the nature of their subject, the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake, should take the highest rank in terms of academic self-determination and freedom. At the University of Berlin a philosophically orientated search for knowledge was the basis of education in all the faculties, and the philosophical faculty advanced from being the maid to the mistress of the Universitas litterarum. The effects on theology have been outlined in the case of Schleiermacher. He, like other theologians, also taught philosophy.183 In Germany an examination in philosophy, a tentamen philosophicum, was a prerequisite for would-be lawyers and theologians and its influence was often apparent in their publications. Yet in 1895 the philosopher and 182

183

¨ vergleichende Sprachforschung auf dem Gebiet des Deutschen, GriechisZeitschrift fur chen und Lateinischen, 1852–74, continued with the modification ‘auf dem Gebiet der indogermanischen Sprachen’, 1876– , Bulletin de la Société de linguistique de Paris, 1868– , Archivio glossologico italiano, 1873– , Indogermanische Forschungen, 1891– , ¨ griechische und lateinische Sprache, 1909– , Indogermanisches Glotta, Zeitschrift fur Jahrbuch, 1913– , Norsk tidsskrift for sprogvidenskap, 1928– , Bulletin du Cercle linguistique de Copenhague, 1934– , Acta linguistica, Revue internationale de linguistique structurale, 1939– , Cahiers Ferdinand de Saussure, 1941– . See above, p. 395.

453

¨ Walter Ruegg pedagogue, Friedrich Paulsen, noted that ‘In Germany an age of absolute philosophy has been followed by an age of absolute unphilosophy.’184 In the arts faculty the four mathematical and the three philological artes were combined with the study of physics, morality and history – themselves derived from philosophy. The British faculty of arts continued this tradition up to the end of the nineteenth century. The natural sciences first broke free from the arts in the Scottish universities,185 but then only partially and at the same time as the technical sciences in some of the civic universities in the north of England, which themselves had developed from technical colleges. In France the lettres and sciences had been allocated to different faculties since the Napoleonic reorganization of higher education. The newly founded Belgian state did the same for philosophie et lettres and sciences in 1835. In Spain a distinction was made in 1845 in the facultad de filosof´ıa between courses in Ciencias and Letras and in 1857 the facultad de filosof´ıa y letras was separated from that of the ciencias. In Italy, too, after unification in 1861 separate faculties for Filosofia e Lettere and Scienze fisiche, matematiche e naturali were instituted. In the Netherlands in 1876 the Fakulteit de letteren en wijsbegeerte was distinguished from that of wis- en natuurkunde. The constitution of the Russian universities of 1884 also separated the history and philology faculty from the physics and mathematics faculty. In 1892 Christiania (Oslo) had both a historisk-filosofiske and mathematisknaturwidenskabelige Fakultet, whilst in Copenhagen the first of these was called Det filosofiske fakultet. Until the twentieth century the unity of the philosophical faculty remained intact in Germany, Austria-Hungary, Sweden and in the German-speaking part of Switzerland. In the latter, as well as in Sweden and in Bavaria, however, there were separate departments for philological and historical subjects (often including social and business related subjects) on the one hand, and for mathematical and scientific subjects on the other. The basic idea, that it was the task of philosophy to secure not only the intellectual unity of the arts and the natural and social sciences but also their institutional unity, was defended so persistently in Germany that independent mathematical and science faculties only appeared in 184

185

F. Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und Univer¨ ¨ sitaten vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart. Mit besonderer Rucksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, 2nd edn (Berlin and Leipzig, 1921), vol. II, 671. The University Scotland Act (1889) introduced separate faculties for science, but in 1892 they had not been realized. In 1913/14 the Calendar of the University of Glasgow listed ‘Sciences’ as a faculty as well as one of the four departments of the faculty of arts, and the same applied in 1939 for studies leading to the M.Sc. or to the MA. In London the disciplines were differentiated according to the different colleges. In 1914 the sciences became separate faculties in the arts colleges. In Oxford, the sciences belonged in 1892 to the arts faculty; in 1912 they were separated.

454

Theology and the arts ¨ Germany after the First World War with the exception of Tubingen (1869), Strasburg (1872), Heidelberg (1890), Freiburg (1910) and Frankfurt-amMain (1914). Cologne, Kiel and Marburg kept to the undivided philosophical faculty until the 1960s, Vienna and Graz until 1975.186 Philosophy was represented in the larger universities by at least two chairs in the philosophical faculty and often by a further chair in another faculty. Its representatives determined the teaching of philosophy in the secondary schools (Gymnasien) and influenced the intellectual life of the age. From Humboldt and Schleiermacher in Berlin through Victor Cousin (1792–1867) in Paris to Benedetto Croce and Giovanni Gentile (1875–1944) in Rome, philosophers were active too as university reformers. If, however, one were to ask which philosophers had had an influence beyond the limits of their subject, their language area and/or their age then there would be a significant difference. In Germany they were all either university professors – from the great figures of Idealism Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, through an evolutionary Monism influenced by Darwin and Ernst Haeckel (1834–1919), as well as the representative of Lebensphilosophie and hermeneutics Wilhelm Dilthey, to the Phenomenologist Edmund Husserl, the philosopher of existentialism Martin Heidegger (1889–1976) and the philosopher of culture Ernst Cassirer – or they were academics who had abandoned a university career, either of their own free will, like Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860), or because their teaching had been held to be ideologically unsound, like the leftwing Hegelian Arnold Ruge (1802–80) and the representative of radical ¨ Materialism Ludwig Buchner (1824–99), or else because of illness like Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), or indeed like Karl Marx (1818–83) they had been prevented on political grounds from entering a university career. On the other hand Auguste Comte (1798–1857), whose influence extended as far as South America, spread his Positivism outside the university through publications, private lectures, and his church-like Religion de l’humanité. John Stuart Mill (1806–73) developed his epoch-making principles of the empirical sciences and his radical liberalism and utilitarianism as an academic outsider. The same was true for Herbert Spencer (1820–1903) and Charles Darwin (1809–82),187 and it was not at the Sorbonne but at the Collège de France that Henri Bergson (1859–1941) first presented his concept of e´ lan vital as the basis of e´ volution créatrice,

186

187

See the ‘Chronological List of European Universities’. In Sweden the division of the arts faculty into a section of liberal arts and a section of science occurred in 1876, see ‘Faculty of Science at Uppsala University. Mathematics and Physics’, in Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Uppsala University 500 years, vol. VIII (Uppsala, 1976), 1. See chapter 11, 461.

455

¨ Walter Ruegg an idea which was highly influential in the spheres of biology, psychology and aesthetics. This basic difference takes us back to the beginning of the chapter. In those countries which only took over the German development of the arts subjects quite late, philosophy was part of the traditional humanist education. In France it was clearly there in the final class of the lycée or collège which was devoted to philosophie. In other countries it appeared as part of education in the humanities and was supposed to provide the logical rules and moral principles necessary for a general education. As a subject in the lower faculty where students were being prepared for church or state careers philosophy was to a considerable extent exposed to the prevailing state ideology or church dogmatics. In the so-called Humboldt university philosophy was held to be a science. Significantly the prospectuses of the University of Berlin at the beginning of the twentieth century listed the theological, legal and medical lectures under the headings Gottesgelahrtheit, Rechtsgelahrtheit and Heilkunde, but those of the philosophical faculty – with the exception of ‘history and geography, art and art history’ – were listed as the ‘sciences of philosophy, mathematics, nature, state, philology, cameralism and trade’. Philosophy as a specialist subject embraced systematic philosophy as well as the philosophy of religion, history and society, the history of philosophy, the theory of knowledge and logic, psychology and pedagogics. In 1847 the first – German – congress of philosophers took place. Whilst the very first scholarly journal, the one founded in 1665 by the Royal Society of London, could be called philosophical in the all-inclusive encyclopaedic sense of humanism, and in a similar way other scholarly journals also had the word ‘philosophical’ in their title, the first real specialized scholarly journal for philosophy appeared in Germany in 1837.188 In the 1870s there followed seminars for philosophy in Jena, Leipzig, Strasburg and ¨ Tubingen, to be followed in the twentieth century by ones at the other German universities as well as at Austrian, Swiss-German, Polish, Swedish and Hungarian universities, some combined with, and others independent of, the pedagogical and/or psychological institutes.189 188

189

Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, 1665– , Philosophical Mag¨ Philosophie und philosophische Kritik, 1852– , Philosophazine, 1798– , Zeitschrift fur ¨ systematische Philosophie, 1895– ische Monatshefte, 1868–94, continued as Archiv fur 1924, . . . und Soziologie, 1925/26–30, Revue philosophique de la France et de l’étranger, ¨ wissenschaftliche Philosophie, 1877–1902, . . . und Sozi1876–, Vierteljahrsschrift fur ologie, 1902–16, Kantstudien, 1897–1944, Rivista filosofica, 1899–1908, continued as Rivista di filosofia, 1909– , Filosofiske meddelelser, 1909– , Logos, Internationale ¨ Philosophie der Kultur, 1910–33, continued as Zeitschrift fur ¨ deutsche Zeitschrift fur Kulturphilosophie, 1933–40. K. C. Kohnke, ‘Philosophie, Institutionelle Formen, 19. und 20. Jh. Deutschland’, in ¨ ¨ Ritter and Grunder (eds.), Historisches Worterbuch der Philosophie (note 85), 832–9.

456

Theology and the arts With the increasingly scientific nature of chairs in philosophy, the degree of specialization also grew. At the same time the importance of philosophy for intellectual life in general was diminishing. In France and Great Britain the intellectual world had been sufficiently educated in philosophy for fundamental new lines of thought to appear outside the university, whereas that ‘total unphilosophy’ among the German elites bemoaned by Paulsen was unable to produce the necessary intellectual antibodies to counteract the pseudo-scientific ideologies that had become so detrimental to the Geisteswissenschaften, to the humanities and, last but not least, to humanity itself.

select bibliography Arens, H. Sprachwissenschaft. Ein Gang ihrer Entwicklung von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, Freiburg im Breisgau and Munich, 1955. Barth, K. Die protestantische Theologie im 19. Jahrhundert. Ihre Vorgeschichte und Geschichte, 6th edn, Zurich, 1994. Bollak, M. and Wismann H. (eds.) Philologie und Hermeneutik im 19. Jahrhun¨ dert, 2 vols., Gottingen, 1983. ¨ Borst, A. Der Turmbau von Babel. Geschichte der Meinungen uber Ursprung ¨ und Vielfalt der Sprachen und Volker, 4 vols., Stuttgart, 1957–63; paperback Munich, 1995. ¨ Bruch, R., vom Graf, F. W. and Hubinger, G. (eds.) Kultur und Wissenschaften um 1900, Krise und Glaube an die Wissenschaft, Stuttgart, 1989. Chadwick, O. The Secularisation of the European Mind in the Nineteenth Century, The Gifford Lectures in the University of Edinburgh for 1973–4, Cambridge, London, New York and Melbourne, 1975. Christ, K. and Momigliano, A. (eds.) Die Antike im 19. Jahrhundert in Italien und Deutschland, Berlin, 1988. Durkheim, E. (ed.) La vie universitaire a` Paris, Paris, 1918. Duroselle, J.-B. Les débuts du catholicisme social en France 1822–1870, Paris, 1951. Espagne, M. and Werner, M. (eds.) Philologiques, vol. I: Contribution a` l’histoire des disciplines littéraires en France et en Allemagne au XIXe siècle, Paris, 1990. ¨ Finkenstaedt, T. Kleine Geschichte der Anglistik in Deutschland, Eine Einfuhrung, Darmstadt, 1983. ¨ Flashar, H., Grunder, K. and Horstmann, A. (eds.) Philologie und Hermeneutik im 19. Jahrhundert, Zur Geschichte und Methodologie der Geisteswis¨ senschaften, Gottingen, 1979. Franke, H. ‘In Search of China: Some General Remarks on the History of European Sinology’, in Europa Studies China: Papers from an International Conference on The History of European Sinology, London, 1995. ¨ ¨ Fuck, J. Die arabischen Studien in Europa bis in den Anfangen des 20. Jahrhunderts, Leipzig, 1955.

457

¨ Walter Ruegg ¨ Furberth, F. et al. (eds.) Zur Geschichte und Problematik der Nationalphilologien in Europa. 150 Jahre Erste Germanistenversammlung in Frankfurt am Main ¨ (1846–1886), Tubingen, 1999. ¨ Graf, F. W. (ed.) Profile des neuzeitlichen Protestantismus, 2 vols., Gutersloh, 1990. ¨ zur Geschichte der Slawistik in nichtHamm, J. and Wytrzens, G. (eds.) Beitrage ¨ ¨ slawischen Landern. Schriften der Balkankommission der Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Linguistische Abteilung XXX, Vienna, 1985. Hirdt, W. Romanistik, Eine Bonner Erfindung, 2 vols., Bonn, 1994. Jahota, J. (ed.) Texte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Germanistik, vol. III: Eine ¨ Wissenschaft etabliert sich, 1810–1870, Tubingen, 1980. Jedin, H. (ed.) Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte (HKG), vol. VI, 1: Die Kirche zwischen Revolution und Restauration; vol. VI, 2: Die Kirche zwischen Anpassung und Widerstand, 1878–1914, 2nd edn, Freiburg im Breisgau, Basle and Vienna, 1985. J´ılek, L. (ed.) Historical Compendium of European Universities, Répertoire historique des universités européennes, Geneva, 1984. Ker, I. and Hill, A. G. (eds.) Newman after a Hundred Years, Oxford, 1990. Kjørup, S. Humanities – Geisteswissenschaften – Sciences humaines, Stuttgart and Weimar, 2001. ¨ Berlin ¨ Konig, C. et al. (eds.) Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Germanistik in Portrats, and New York, 2000. ¨ Marsch, E. (ed.) Uber Literaturgeschichtsschreibung, Die historisierende Methode des 19. Jahrhunderts in Programm und Kritik, Darmstadt, 1975. Norman, E. The English Catholic Church in the Nineteenth Century, Oxford, 1974. Nowak, K. Geschichte des Christentums in Deutschland, Religion, Politik und ¨ Gesellschaft vom Ende der Aufklarung bis zur Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts, Munich, 1995. ˜ Peset, M. and Peset, J. L. La Universidad Espanola (siglos XVIII y XIX), Despo´ liberal, Salamanca, 1974. tismo illustrado y revolucion Pfeiffer, R. History of Classical Scholarship 1300–1850, Oxford, 1976. Reventlow, Graf H. and Farmer, W. (eds.) ‘Biblical Studies and the Shifting of Paradigms, 1850–1914’, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series 192, Sheffield, 1995.

458

CHAPTER 11

H I S T O RY A N D T H E S O C I A L SCIENCES

ASA BRIGGS

t h e r i s e o f c r i t i c a l h i s to ry A powerful historical thrust in nineteenth-century thought influenced both teaching and research in European universities. It also influenced public opinion and policy-making outside universities. At the beginning of the century revolution and the fear of it quickened interest in the past as well as in the future. So too did industrialization, which at the same time stimulated interest in and concern for ‘society’, its relationships and problems. Meanwhile geology and biological theories of evolution before and after Charles Darwin (1809–82) lengthened time perspectives, with social as well as biological ramifications. The ‘interconnectedness’ of structures and sequences was now taken for granted. So were development processes. There was an enhanced historical consciousness. In the twentieth century there was to be a reaction against aspects of evolutionism and against the idea of progress. By then, however, specialization had changed the map of university studies. The social sciences, not always so described, acquired current relevance in war, further revolution and depression. Economics, in particular, became a recognized academic discipline, directly related to policy-making. In the forefront rather than in the background were more powerful state structures. Within and between universities the carving out of history as a separate academic discipline, ultimately (but seldom exclusively) controlled by professionals, is best seen as one expression of the historical thrust which affected other disciplines also. For the most knowledgeable of English historians, Lord Acton (1834–1902), who like many of his contemporaries pondered long and deeply on the nature of history and historiography, history was not only ‘a particular branch of knowledge, but a particular

459

Asa Briggs mode and method of knowledge in other branches’.1 With both aristocratic and intellectual connections with continental Europe – he was born in Naples and died in Bavaria – Acton surveyed the centuries and the contemporary scene. One of the first disciplines to be affected by the rise of critical history was the oldest, theology.2 Philosophy was equally influenced as ‘change’ became a central theme in thinking about the world. For G. W. F. Hegel, professor at Berlin from 1818 to 1831, the cosmos was history. All truth was historical truth. Jurisprudence under the influence of Gustav Hugo ¨ (1764–1844) at Gottingen, his pupil Karl F. von Eichhorn (1781–1854), professor at Berlin, and Friedrich K. von Savigny (1779–1861), also summoned to Berlin, turned from universal and timeless natural law to the particular German laws of the past, relating them to life and to spirit, Volkgeist. During the twentieth century academic history as an accepted discipline was to be drawn into new and diverse associations with law, literature, art and developing specialized social sciences, including economics, geography, sociology, psychology, demography and anthropology, with an active minority of professional historians in the universities looking more to the social sciences than to the humanities.3 By the middle years of the nineteenth century, however, positivist historians, like Henry Thomas Buckle (1821–62) in Britain, had placed history within a broad context, and Karl Marx, concerned with thought in action, had set out, with the Reading Room in the British Museum as his base, to discover and to explain the ‘laws of motion of capitalist society’. He drew on the politics of ‘class struggle’, derived largely from France – the politician-historian Augustin Thierry (1795–1856) was one of his sources – on Hegelian philosophy, derived from Germany, and on ‘classical’ political economy, derived from Britain, from David Ricardo (1772–1823) in particular. Dialectical materialism was an explanatory amalgam. It had links with Darwin also. For Marx’s friend and collaborator, Friedrich Engels (1820–95), Marx was doing for society what Darwin’s theories did for biology.4 1 2

3 4

Cambridge University Library, Add. 50111, 390, quoted in H. Butterfield, Man on His Past: The Study of Historical Scholarship (Cambridge, 1955), 97. See the Part IV ‘learning’ in the previous volumes of this History; on the development ¨ of new academic discipline in Germany: Nipperdey, Burgerwelt, 484–531 (ch. ‘Wis¨ senschaft’); on the German renewal of law history: J. Ruckert, Idealismus, Jurisprudenz und Politik bei Friedrich Carl von Savigny (Ebelsbach, 1984). D. S. Landes and C. Tilly (eds.), History as Social Science (Englewood Cliffs, 1971). See Engels’s Preface to the Communist Manifesto of 1848 in K. Marx and F. Engels, Collected Works, vol. I (1911), 24, n. 1. For Marx’s approach to history and its academic impact, which, except in the Soviet Union after 1917, became manifest mainly after 1945: L. Kolakowski, Marxism and Beyond: On Historical Understanding and Individual Responsibility (London, 1969), and G. A. Cohen, Karl Marx’s Theory of History: A Defence (Oxford, 1978).

460

History and the social sciences Neither Darwin nor Marx was a university teacher. Nor was Buckle. Auguste Comte (1798–1857), who coined the word ‘sociology’, never acquired a higher university position than that of an ‘ambulatory professor’, an external examiner for the Ecole Polytechnique in Paris.5 Yet academic history and the ‘academic ethos’ that shaped it, whatever its underlying philosophy, positivist or idealist, acquired both a critical and an inspirational dimension throughout the nineteenth century. For Acton, for example, as he put it in his inaugural lecture as Regius Professor of Modern History at Cambridge in 1895, it covered ‘a domain that reaches further than affairs of State. It is our function to keep in view and command the movement of ideas, which are not the effect but the cause of public events.’ Acton was a Roman Catholic, closely in touch with Ignaz ¨ von Dollinger (1799–1890) in Munich. He believed that the first of human concerns was religion, the second liberty; and that the history of the two was interconnected. The historian, teacher or learner, had a moral obligation. ‘If we lower our standard in history, we cannot uphold it in Church and State.’6 How the subject matter of history was related to other academic disciplines, old and new – theology, philosophy, law, geography and the social sciences – had implications not only for intellectual and popular debate – historical understanding developed through ‘controversies’ – but for internal university organization, and in this context there were as many squabbles as controversies.7 Where was history placed as a subject of study? Its fragmentation by period (ancient, medieval, modern, pre-industrial, industrial), by spatial range (local, regional, national, European, imperial, universal) or by preoccupation (military, ecclesiastical, constitutional, political, diplomatic, economic, social and cultural) had similar implications also. For the most part articles and books produced in universities or in use there were written in common language, although technical terms were incorporated, some of them legal, and a number of -isms were introduced in the nineteenth century. By 1914, however, this was no longer true of the social sciences, where there were competing specialist vocabularies, even in economics. What was necessary for the historian, although many history students did not appreciate it, was a working knowledge of languages 5 6

7

P. E. de Berrêdo Carneiro and Pierre Arnaud (eds.), Auguste Comte: Correspondance générale et confessions, vol. I (Paris, 1973), 151. The lecture is quoted in G. P. Gooch, History and Historians of the Nineteenth Century (London, 1913), 386–7. Compare K. Dockhorn, Der deutsche Historismus in England: ¨ ein Beitrag zur englischen Geistesgeschichte des 19 Jahrhundert (Gottingen, 1950). For ‘academic ethos’: E. Shils, Tradition (London and Boston, 1981), 182. For critical academic history, at first and for long treated with suspicion in Oxford: R. W. Southern, ‘The Shape and Substance of Academic History’, in F. Stern (ed.), The Varieties of History (London, 1970), 403–23.

461

Asa Briggs other than their own, and for medievalists Latin was essential. There were also historical skills required in the actual reading of old texts. The ‘sub-histories’, which continued to multiply in the twentieth century, often had blurred boundaries. Their status and prospects varied from time to time and from place to place, with political and constitutional history long in the lead and with economic history, sometimes bracketed with social history, coming next. Ancient and medieval history, which had pointed the way to the evolution of a more critical history in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, lost some ground in the twentieth century to the study of late modern, or what in France was described as contemporary studies, but medieval history remained prominent in the curriculum. The decline of the classics in schools – Greek went first – and the rise of the media influenced preferences. Yet the practitioners of each subhistory, old and new, ancient, medieval, modern or contemporary, continued to make special claims for their own particular sphere of concern, with Acton placing the history of history at the centre of the picture. Already by 1900 one sub-history, the history of education, was assuming increasing importance. Although it had few practitioners, it dealt with a human activity which was transformed both institutionally and socially during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Compulsory schooling affected far more than the years of childhood. It extended literacy. Prussia led the way in forming a section of public worship and instruction in 1808, and by the end of the nineteenth century a two-tier system of elementary and secondary schools had become compulsory and free. The implications of literacy were not examined in depth until the 1950s, by then in global perspective, but historians and anthropologists had already drawn distinctions between pre-industrial and industrial societies and between literate and pre-literate societies.8 The history of universities as centres of learning, linking the Middle Ages with the changing present was slower to develop, but Hastings Rashdall (1858–1924) published three volumes on medieval European universities in 1895. Indeed, as early as 1820, Johann Ludwig Friedrich Wachler (1767–1838) had observed in a two-volume work on historical ¨ literature, written in Gottingen University, an early centre of reformed historical studies before 1800, that historical writing could not be properly charted without taking into the reckoning the history of universities – along with the history of academies, books and periodicals and archives.9 8 9

J. Goody (ed.), Literacy in Traditional Societies (Cambridge, 1968); P. Gordon and R. Szreter (eds.), History of Education: The Making of a Discipline (London, 1989). H. Rashdall, The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1895). F. L. Wachler, Geschichte der historischen Forschung und Kunst, seit der Wiederherstellung ¨ der litterarischen Cultur in Europa, 2 vols. (Gottingen, 1812–20). Cf. K. Hammer (ed.), Historische Forschung im 18. Jahrhundert (Bonn, 1976).

462

History and the social sciences The number of periodicals was to multiply in the nineteenth century, becoming increasingly professional in content and approach, although in Britain, in particular, many detailed articles on history and, indeed, on the teaching of history in universities, continued until 1914 to appear in general periodicals. In Germany Heinrich von Sybel (1817–95), professor at Munich (and founder of the German Historical Institute in Rome), created the Historische Zeitschrift in 1859, the first journal to communicate the conclusions of critical historiography, while in France Gabriel Monod (1844–1912) founded the Revue Historique in 1876. The first number of the English Historical Review, edited by a clergyman, Mandell Creighton (1843–1901), later to become Bishop of London, appeared in 1886: it included an important article by Acton on ‘German Schools of History’ which began with the remarkable sentence – ‘Macaulay (1800–59) once lamented that there were no German historians in his time worthy of the name’; ‘and now M. Darmesteter (1846–88) tells us “they are ahead of other nations by twenty years” ’.10 In fact, Macaulay, who wrote history for a public, not a university, audience, acknowledged the claim of Leopold von Ranke (1795–1886) ‘known and esteemed wherever German literature is studied’. His ‘original work’ was that ‘of a mind well fitted for minute researches and for large speculations’. It was written ‘in an admirable spirit, equally remote from levity and bigotry, serious and earnest, yet tolerant and impartial’.11 the search for authenticity Ranke, long before Acton, welcomed the opening up of archives, private and public, ecclesiastical and constitutional, during the nineteenth century. The Ecole des Chartes in Paris was a creation of the 1820s, founded in 1821 by royal ordinance, the British Public Records Office the recommendation of a Parliamentary Select Committee of 1836.12 The former offered three-year training courses, vocational in character. The latter did 10 11

12

‘German Schools of History’, reprinted in Acton’s Historical Essays and Studies (Cambridge, 1919). See T. B. Macaulay, Critical and Historical Essays, vol. II (London, 1907), 38. Cf. W. Weber, Priester der Klio. Historisch – sozialwissenschaftliche Studien zur Herkunft und Karriere deutscher Historiker und zur Geschichte der Geschichtswissenschaft 1800– 1970, 2nd edn (Frankfurt, 1987); T. Schieder (ed.), Hundert Jahre Historische Zeitschrift 1859–1959 (Munich, 1959). Livret de l’Ecole des Chartes, 1821–91 (Paris, 1891); J. Favier, Les Archives (Paris, 1959); V. H. Galbraith, The Public Records (Oxford, 1934). For detailed studies, cf. C.-O. Carbonell, Histoire et historiens, une mutation idéologique des historiens français, 1865– 1885 (Toulouse, 1976); J. Voss, Das Mittelalter im historischen Denken Frankreichs (Munich, 1972); P. Levine, ‘History in the Archives: The Public Record Office and its Staff, 1838–1886’, English Historical Review, 101 (1986), 20–41; H. Bresslau, Geschichte der Monumenta Germaniae Historica (Hanover, 1921).

463

Asa Briggs not, even for most of its own staff. All concentrated on medieval history, as was the case in Germany, where the first volumes of Monumenta Germaniae Historica appeared in 1826. Such source materials assumed central importance for historians, making it essential for universities to extend the collection, range, publication and classification of manuscripts, books and periodicals in their own libraries, if only to meet increased research demands. The importance of oral and visual as distinct from documentary archives was to be fully appreciated only in the twentieth century, when new technologies of recording and communication, with their origins in the nineteenth century, were developed, reinforcing the sense that historians were ‘custodians of the collective memory’,13 but already by the second half of the nineteenth century cultural historians, notably Jacob Burckhardt (1818–97), who held a chair in history and art history at Basle University, had explored art galleries as zealously as Ranke, 23 years older than he was, explored documentary archives. Burckhardt had heard Ranke lecture in Berlin, but it was after visits to Italy, one of them lasting a year, that in 1855 he wrote his Cicerone, a guide to Italian art treasures with sections on architecture, sculpture and painting. For all his zeal – and imagination – Burckhardt’s classic work, The Civilisation of the Renaissance in Italy (1860), was nonetheless criticized for its limited use of official documents and for its reliance on literary sources.14 A distinction between ‘primary sources’ and ‘secondary materials’ in all branches of history was firmly drawn in the nineteenth century. The search for ‘authenticity’ as well as of documentary ‘authority’ started at that point. The identification by Ranke and his pupils of the basic principles of historical methodology transformed the academic subject. In an obituary describing the work of one of his critics, Georg Gottfried Gervinus, a liberal who wrote a History of the Nineteenth Century which did not follow such rules, Ranke, who wrote little on his own century, noted how Gervinus had often declared that ‘science must establish relations with life’. ‘Very true’, he went on, ‘but it must be real science. If we first choose a standpoint and transport it into science, then life operates on science, not science on life.’15 13 14

15

Landes and Tilly (eds.), History (note 3), 5. P. Burke, Culture and Society in Renaissance Italy (London, 1972); W. Hardtwig, Geschichtsschreibung zwischen Alteuropa und moderner Welt. Jacob Burckhardt in ¨ seiner Zeit (Gottingen, 1974); E. Schulin, ‘Rankes Erstlingswerk’, in Schulin, Traditions¨ kritik und Rekonstruktionsversuch (Gottingen, 1974), 44–64. ¨ Gooch, History and Historians (note 6), 101–2. On Gervinus: G. Hubinger, Georg ¨ Gottfried Gervinus. Historisches Urteil und politische Kritik (Gottingen, 1984); cf. chapter 10.

464

History and the social sciences One German historian who was uneasy about Ranke’s approach and, indeed, his reputation, was Karl Lamprecht (1856–1915), who from his university base in Leipzig, described history as ‘primarily a sociopsychological science’. His own approach and reputation were questioned, however, while his twelve-volume History of Germany was appearing between 1891 and 1909 and even more after he founded in that year an Institute for Universal History and the History of Civilization at Leipzig. There was a touch of intellectual and political violence under the surface in ‘the Lamprecht controversy’. For the conservative Otto Hintze (1861–1940), however, a scholarly administrative historian, an admirer of Prussian institutions, who ventured into comparative but not into universal history, it was the manifest violence of the First World War, its outcome, and the rise of National Socialism that undermined both Lamprecht’s approach and his conclusions. Hintze’s wife was a Jew, and in 1938 he resigned from the Prussian Academy of Science.16 German universities were at the heart of the nineteenth-century story, and remained there until 1914, with Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911), professor of philosophy in Berlin, raising old and new questions concerning the scope and methodology of history (and its relations with the social sciences) in the 1880s. It was he – and he had his own disciples in several countries – who drew a sharp distinction, not accepted by many social scientists and not by all historians, between history as a Geisteswissenshaft (the concept was not new) and the sciences, including the social sciences. It was the task of the latter, Dilthey maintained, to explain from outside ¨ (erklaren) and of the former to understand from within (verstehen). There was ample scope for the generation and continuation of controversy in such propositions, as there was in the proposition that history was an ‘ideographic’ subject, concerned with the unique, and the sciences, including the social sciences, ‘nomothetic’, concerned with the general. Max Weber (1864–1920), the most historically minded of sociologists (he did not call himself one nor did he ever hold a chair in the subject), refused to accept either distinction.17 This was relatively late in the story. At its beginning, Acton focused not on Ranke but on Barthold Georg Niebuhr (1776–1831), born in Copenhagen, the historian of ancient Rome, financier and diplomat as well as university professor, who lectured at the newly founded University of 16

17

N. Hammerstein (ed.), Deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft um 1900 (Stuttgart, 1988), ¨ including L. Schorn–Schutte, ‘Karl Lamprecht’, 153–92; W. Schulze, ‘Otto Hintze’, 323–46. W. Dilthey, Einleitung in die Geisteswissenschaften (Leipzig, 1883). On the distinction between ‘ideographic’ and ‘nomothetic’: W. Windelband, Geschichte und Naturwissenschaft (Berlin, 1894). Cf. C. Antoni, Dallo Storicismo alla Sociologia (Bari, 1938).

465

Asa Briggs Berlin and later at Bonn. For one of the most famous of his successors, Theodor Mommsen (1817–1903), who recommended Max Weber as his most able successor, all historians worthy of the name, were Niebuhr’s pupils, not least those who were not of his school. Mommsen, politician as well as professor, and philologist and authority on jurisprudence as well as historian, had begun his career as a student of law at Kiel in 1835, as Niebuhr had done. Savigny had claimed that Niebuhr’s three-volume ¨ Romische Geschichte (1811–32; English translation, 1828–42) had given him the inspiration to write the history of Roman law in the Middle Ages.18 Mommsen moved from the University of Leipzig, where he was dismissed for his liberal opinions in 1850, to Zurich in 1852 and to Breslau ¨ in 1854, where he published his own three-volume Romische Geschichte (1854–56) which made him in 1902 a Nobel prize-winner for Literature, and in 1858 from Breslau to Berlin. In the late eighteenth century there had been significant developments in the study of history in German universities which were in existence ¨ before Berlin, particularly in Gottingen, where in 1764 a history seminar had been organized by Johann Christoph Gatterer (1727–99), who ranged widely over the historical field and promoted the study of subjects related to history, and in Halle, where Friedrich August Wolf (1759–1824), who ¨ had enrolled at Gottingen as a student in 1777 at the age of eighteen, obtained a chair of classical philology at the age of 24, which he was to occupy for 23 years until the university was closed on Napoleon’s orders in 1806. (Goethe travelled from Weimar to Halle to hear him lecture.) He then went to Berlin and lectured at the newly founded university as a member of the Academy of Sciences. In Halle he had been the teacher ¨ of August Bockh, who became in 1811 the main professor of classical philology in Berlin, where he stayed in the chair for 56 years. One of ¨ ¨ Bockh’s first pupils was Karl Otfried Muller (1797–1840), who, attracted by Niebuhr, arrived in Berlin in 1815, and who moved as professor to ¨ Gottingen in 1819, where he taught archaeology as well as mythology and ancient history. This was a dazzling galaxy of names, and at first Ranke did not seem to be outstanding amongst them. Yet his long-term contribution to the study of history in universities was to count for more than that of any other historian outside as well as inside Germany. Demanding that the authenticity of all historical sources should be carefully checked, and claiming in print, as he put it in his best-known phrase, that he wished not to pass judgement on the past but to report what had actually happened – ‘wie 18

Gooch, History and Historians (note 6), 24. On Mommsen: A. Heuss, Theodor Mommsen und das 19. Jahrhundert, 2nd edn (Stuttgart, 1996); S. Rebenich, Theodor Mommsen, Eine Biographie (Munich, 2002); on Niebuhr: G. Walther, Niebuhrs Forschung (Stuttgart, 1993).

466

History and the social sciences es eigentlich gewesen’ – he was the founder of what came to be called Historismus. Ranke, for whom modern European states were manifestations of the divine will, was neither an Hegelian nor a positivist. He believed that historical understanding required more than the accumulation of facts and spoke of ‘ahnen’, an intuitive cognition, a grouping of the ideas which shaped events. He ‘wandered about the broad landscape of world history’, but concluded that universal history would degenerate into ‘mere theory and speculation’ if it were to be separated from the history of states.19 Ranke was not deemed to be a brilliant lecturer, and depended for his immense influence on his seminar, organized for the benefit of highly talented students who were despatched to the archives, and his books, including published versions of his lectures which were widely read across Europe by an unseen audience. Some of his work was recommended text in Oxford where his methods were not copied by history tutors. When he died in 1886 at the age of 91, having faithfully observed his own rules, he was the doyen of Europe’s historians, with no fewer than 54 volumes listed under his name. In old age when surrounded by his children and grandchildren he was wont to say ‘I have another and older family, my pupils and their pupils’.20 In the nineteenth century the lecture was a main instrument of inspiration as well as of instruction, and there are many accounts of the impact of professorial lectures and lecturers on the seen audience. Johann Gustav Droysen (1808–84), who wrote a much studied Encyclopaedia and Methodology of History, was said by a Belgian pupil, Paul Fredéricq (1850–1920), later a professor at Ghent, ‘to have begun his lectures low, like a great preacher, to obtain complete silence. . . . You could hear a pin drop. . . . Every moment there came a biting jest. There was great originality and much verve. The lecture ended with Homeric laughter at some anecdote told with irresistible humour.’21 19

20

21

See T. H. Laue, L. von Ranke: The Formative Years (Princeton, 1950); W. J. Mommsen (ed.), Leopold von Ranke und die moderne Geschichtswissenschaft (Stuttgart, 1988); E. Breisach, Historiography: Ancient, Medieval and Modern (Chicago, 1983), 132–4; F. Meinecke, Die Entstehung des Historismus, 2 vols. (Munich and Berlin, 1936–37); U. Muhlack, ‘Leopold von Ranke’, in Hammerstein (ed.), Geschichtswissenschaft (note 16), 11–36. For Ranke’s principle ‘wie es eigentlich gewesen’: L. Ranke, Geschichten ¨ der germanischen und romanischen und germanischen Volker von 1494 bis 1535 (Berlin, 1824; 3rd edn, Leipzig, 1885), vii. Quoted by Gooch, History and Historians (note 6), 117. On Ranke’s influence in Oxford: P. R. H. Slee, Learning and a Liberal Education: The Study of Modern History in the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and Manchester, 1800–1914 (Manchester, 1986), 43. ¨ ¨ J. Rusen, Begriffene Geschichte. Genesis und Begrundung der Geschichtstheorie J. G. Droysens (Paderborn, 1969). Gooch, History and Historians (note 6), 139. In 1884 Fredéricq visited Britain and wrote an account of The Study of History in England and Scotland (Baltimore, 1887).

467

Asa Briggs Burckhardt, who refused an invitation to leave Basle and follow Ranke to Berlin, was described by one of his pupils, Carl Spitteler (1854–1924) – who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1919 – as ‘masterly’ in delivery, ‘bearing – diffident, but without affectation because wholly absorbed in the gravity of his theme. . . . Never sought for words, never hesitated, never corrected himself. Simple and masterly. The whole lecture one religious exercise, a prayer to history.’ Burckhardt, who catches much of the spirit of his own time and who foresaw some of the most important historical changes of the future, did not wish his lectures to be published. He described his aim (in a letter to Nietzsche, written in 1874) as that of doing all that he could to enable his students ‘to take personal possession of the past – in any shape or form’, adding modestly, ‘or at any rate not to sicken them of it’.22 That was seldom the aim of the outstanding university professors of history in Germany, divided or unified, where it was never easy to separate history and politics. Movements from professorial posts in one university to another were often determined by political considerations. For many professors of history the revolutions of 1848 and 1849 were a turning point, as they were for the liberal historian Georg Gottfried Gervinus ¨ (1805–71), Ranke’s critic, who had been one of the famous ‘Gottingen seven’ who protested against the unilateral abrogation of the Staatsgrundgesetz by the new King of Hanover, Queen Victoria’s uncle, and consequentially lost their positions. Droysen, who as a student of classical philology sat also at Hegel’s feet, provides another example, contrasting in its outcome. Born two years after the Battle of Jena, the son of a military chaplain in Blucher’s army, he was one of the many professors, several of them professors of history, who were members of the Frankfurt Parliament in 1848/49, and as part of that experience became a resolute supporter of Prussia’s mission to unify Germany. There was no more forceful spokesman of that mission than Heinrich von Treitschke (1834–96), a Saxon of Czech descent, whose first treatise, subsequently described by him as ‘unfortunate’, was on sociology. He was concerned thereafter primarily with power, not opinions, consistently urging Prussia to unify Germany by force; and after moving from Leipzig to Freiburg, Kiel and Heidelberg, moved on to Berlin in 1874, where he delivered lectures to enthusiastic student audiences.23 In these, using language very different from Droysen’s, he attacked 22

23

Carl Spitteler, quoted in the Introductory Note (8–9) to J. Burckhardt, Reflections on History (London, 1943), a collection of lectures delivered between 1870 and 1871 and translated into English from Weltgeschichtlische Betrachtungen, published after Burckhardt’s death by his nephew Jakob Oeri. U. Langer, Heinrich von Treitschke, politische Biographie eines deutschen Nationalisten ¨ (Dusseldorf, 1998).

468

History and the social sciences France and Britain, parliamentary government, socialism, and, not least, Jews. Treitschke’s Deutsche Geschichte, which only reached the year 1848 in his narrative, has often been compared with Macaulay’s History of England, the first two volumes of which appeared in 1848 and the remaining two in 1855 four years before his death. They too stopped far short of his own time. Both men, while appealing to a wide reading public, were admired for their parliamentary oratory. Yet, Macaulay, unlike Treitschke, had no university connections. Nor did he dwell on foreign policy. Deliberately insular in approach, he stressed the continuities of British political and constitutional history, pivoting it on the ‘glorious revolution’ of 1688 and on the country’s subsequent economic and social progress. The history of the two countries helps to explain, if incompletely, the history of their historians. Ranke, five years older than Macaulay and outliving him by 27 years, confronted with German divisions, pivoted his history of Germany on the Reformation. He sought and identified the unity of German history in a Volksseele, a German spirit that operated from within. Macaulay, like other ‘Whig’ historians, belongs to a line of ‘liberal descent’.24 University-taught history in Britain, late in developing, was not without its own declamatory element. The Regius Professor of History in Oxford in Treitschke’s last years in Berlin was James Anthony Froude (1818–94), as gripping a lecturer as Treitschke, whose History of England (1856–70) pivoted not on 1688 but on the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588. For the romantic Froude, bitterly attacked by his predecessor Edward Augustus Freeman (1823–92), who wished history to be treated as a ‘science’, history was rather an art, a ‘great drama’ with ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’. And so it had been in a different context for Thomas Carlyle (1795–1881) and for Charles Kingsley (1819–75), the novelist, who between 1860 and 1869 was Regius Professor of History at Cambridge and who roused his audience to moral enthusiasm.25 Kingsley’s successor, Sir John Robert Seeley (1834–95), Regius Professor from 1869 to 1895, was in a very different mould. For him Cambridge was a ‘seminary of politicians’, and while politics needed to be liberalized by history, when history was not informed by politics history faded into literature. Seeley’s most influential book, The Expansion of England (1873), reacted strongly against Macaulay’s insularity. It had a broad sweep. Seeley was ‘much more at home with a century than a decade’, one of his pupils wrote, ‘He swept the whole of 24

25

J. W. Burrow, A Liberal Descent: Victorian Historians and the English Past (Cambridge, 1981). For connections and comparisons: C. E. McClelland, The German Historians and England: A Study in Nineteenth-Century Views (Cambridge, 1971), and J. Joll, ‘National Histories and National Historians: Some German and English Views of the Past’, Annual Lecture, German Historical Institute, London (London, 1984). O. Chadwick, ‘Charles Kingsley at Cambridge’, Historical Journal, 17 (1975), 303–25.

469

Asa Briggs heaven with his telescope’. His background, like that of many German professors of history, had been in the classics, but in his inaugural lecture, delivered in 1870, he recognized that in Britain the claims of history as a subject taught in universities had to be stated clearly and explicitly in distinctive terms.26 The need was urgent, for in Cambridge, as in Oxford, both collegiate universities, there was no separate degree in history until 1873, and, whoever the Regius Professor might be, the subject was still vulnerable. In Cambridge it had been incorporated from 1850 to 1867 in a new Moral Sciences Tripos, which included five subjects – modern history, law (‘the Laws of England’), jurisprudence, political economy and moral philosophy. Each was taught by university professors, and from the beginnings of the new Tripos the direction of history was in the hands of the recently appointed Sir James Stephen (1789–1859), a former administrator, who would have preferred to have been appointed Downing Professor of the Laws of England. (Perversely, although he claimed rightly that it was the only history that he knew, he lectured not on Britain but on France.) There was no curricular coherence in the new Tripos, and not surprisingly in 1860 there were no student candidates to take degrees in it. In that year a new Board of Moral Sciences was created, the Laws of England were excluded from the syllabus, and philosophy, logic and political philosophy were added (with scope for individual choice on the part of the student). Nevertheless, in 1867 the professor of moral philosophy proposed successfully that history itself should now be excluded. The reason he gave – that the subject was ‘too extensive to be properly dealt with as a subordinate branch of the Moral Sciences Tripos’27 – pointed the way, in fact, to the creation of a new combination – a Law and History Tripos – and before long, as Seeley came to believe was necessary, to an independent History Tripos. The Law Tripos was itself a recent innovation, and there were influential Cambridge lawyers, proud of their own subject, who disapproved from the start of the new combination. This explains the seriousness of Seeley’s inaugural lecture in which he recognized that it was desirable to create a Tripos for law alone, with modern history removed, subject to the proviso that the latter should be taught in a new and separate Tripos of its own. It should still be associated, however, with what were described as ‘cognate sciences’, ‘theoretical studies which find their illustration in history’ – constitutional law, jurisprudence, international law, political economy, economic history and Seeley’s favourite subject, political science, which was to survive as a main 26

27

J. R. Seeley, Lectures and Essays (London, 1870), 290–317; D. Wormell, Sir John Seeley and the Uses of History (Cambridge, 1980). For a German view: A. Rein, Seeley, Eine ¨ Studie uber den Historiker (Langensalza, 1912). Slee, Learning (note 20), 36.

470

History and the social sciences component throughout the period covered in this volume. Fellows of colleges should be appointed concerned primarily with the teaching of history and the academic organization of the syllabus. George Walter Prothero (1848–1922) of King’s College, a college which played a strategic role in the process of establishing history as a subject taught to students, had been a pupil of Sybel after graduating in Cambridge in classics in 1876 when he was elected to his fellowship, and he was one of the college fellows who took the lead in establishing an intercollegiate lecture scheme which, along with college supervision, prepared history students for university examinations. He himself moved from lecturing on international law to lecturing on the Middle Ages and produced a volume of Select Statutes and other (Constitutional) Documents in 1894 which was to be used in Cambridge throughout the period covered in this volume. He and four other college fellows were offered university lectureships in history in 1884, a sign of the increasing commitment of the university as a whole, and in 1885 as members of the Tripos Board they agreed, with the support of Mansell Creighton, who had just before become Dixie Professor of Ecclesiastical History in that year, to introduce significant reforms to the syllabus and to the patterns of examining which were to last.28 More attention was to be paid to the study of ‘original authorities’, which were placed at the core of a ‘special subject’ paper; economic history, taught by William Cunningham (1849–1919), was to be separated from political economy; a paper on political science remained compulsory; and alternative options became possible in other ‘cognate sciences’. Until 1897, however, when further reforms in the Tripos were carried, there was still no essential course on European history, and the number of students, while growing, remained small, much smaller than the numbers in classics, natural science or mathematics. By 1914, as in Oxford, history had become the biggest single Tripos, due not so much to a succession of distinguished but very different professors or to its more secure research base, but to changes in demand and supply of students in schools and in colleges. In the words of Prothero, who moved to Edinburgh University as professor in 1894, its success had proved that ‘every great subject, if seriously and methodically taught, affords good training for the mind’. He added that history as a university subject ‘was especially fitted for certain minds’.29 28

29

M. Creighton, ‘The Teaching of Ecclesiastical History’, Historical Lectures and Addresses (London, 1903); G. W. Prothero, ‘The Historical Tripos’, Cambridge Review, VI, 28 January 1885; J. R. Seeley, ‘The Historical Tripos’, ibid., VI, 11 February 1885; and G. W. Prothero, ‘The Historical Tripos, a Reply’, ibid., 18 February 1885. G. W. Prothero, ‘Why We Should Learn History’, An Inaugural Lecture, Edinburgh University, 6 October 1894, 4.

471

Asa Briggs The Cambridge line of Regius Professors of History ran through Acton, who left the project for a multi-volume Cambridge Modern History, which he did not live to see published, to John Bagnell Bury (1861– 1927), author of The Idea of Progress (1920), who co-edited it with Prothero, who was by then editor of the Quarterly Review. Bury’s insistence on the ‘scientific’ nature of history encouraged his successor, George Macaulay Trevelyan (1876–1962), Macaulay’s great-nephew, appointed in 1927, to emphasize the poetry of history: Clio was a Muse. Trevelyan carried forward the Whig interpretation of history into the twentieth century,30 in his turn provoking Herbert Butterfield (1900–79), a later Cambridge professor of history, not the Regius Professor, to write an influential critical essay, The Whig Interpretation of History (1931) which did not mention Trevelyan by name. Neither Bury nor Trevelyan was willing to embark on further large-scale ‘reforms’ of the Cambridge syllabus or of the examining system. In Oxford, as in Cambridge – and for similar reasons – the study of ‘modern history’ (which meant post-ancient history) as an examination subject for students did not begin until half way through the nineteenth century: for reasons which had nothing to do with the development of critical history on German lines, a new school of law and modern history was created in 1850. Given the strength of the classics in Oxford and the centrality of the faculty of Literae Humaniores, the emphasis was on set texts which provided the substance of the examined curriculum. A ‘thorough knowledge of books’ was the student requirement.31 The subject established itself more quickly than in Cambridge – there were no threats of its expulsion – but it was not until 1870 that separate schools of history and law came into existence, long after Freeman had observed in 1859 that an examination in law and modern history was ‘about as much an harmonious whole as would be an examination in law and hydrostatics’.32 Freeman’s Norman Conquest was one of the books recommended as core texts in political history, carefully separated from constitutional history, as was his friend John Richard Green’s (1837–83) popular Short History of the English People, first conceived of in 1869, a history concerned explicitly more with knives and forks than with drums and trumpets. Designed to appeal to a broad public, it revealed that despite the rise 30

31

32

See G. M. Trevelyan, An Autobiography and Other Essays (London, 1949), and D. Cannadine, G. M. Trevelyan (Cambridge, 1994). See also P. B. M. Blaas, Continuity and Anachronism: Parliamentary and Constitutional Development in Whig Historiography and the Anti-Whig Reaction between 1890 and 1930 (The Hague, 1978). Slee, Learning (note 20), ch. 4. Cf. R. Soffer, ‘Nation, Duty, Character and Confidence: History at Oxford, 1850–1914’, The Historical Journal, 30 (1987), 77–104, and ‘The Development of Disciplines in the Modern English University’, ibid., 31 (1988), 933–48; P. R. H. Slee, ‘Professor Soffer’s History of Oxford’, ibid., 30 (1987), 105–9. E. A. Freeman, ‘Historical Study at Oxford’, Bentley’s Quarterly Review, 1 (1859), 292.

472

History and the social sciences of historical professionalism there remained into the twentieth century a strong amateur interest in history which was to influence adult education and inspire the economic and social historian Richard Henry Tawney (1880–1962), whose Religion and the Rise of Capitalism appeared in 1926, and who retained his early commitment to the recently founded Workers’ Educational Association long after he became a professor at the London School of Economics. The greatest of the nineteenth-century Regius Professors of History at Oxford, William Stubbs (1825–1901), later Bishop of Chester, was appointed in 1866, where he lectured for twenty years, publishing in 1870 his Select Charters which became a textbook for history students both in Oxford and in Cambridge. ‘The study of modern history’, he declared in his inaugural lecture, ‘is, next to theology itself the most thoroughly religious training the mind can conceive.’ Yet, while aware of the ‘living, working, thinking, growing world of today’, Stubbs concentrated on medieval constitutional history. He was convinced that the whole of history had meaning – ‘a purposeful movement to some good’33 – but his lectures in Oxford were not well attended. In the story of the development of history as an academic study the main attention in Oxford, even more than Cambridge, has to be paid not to professors but to college tutors, on whom undergraduate history students depended for their information and guidance. They were little influenced by Robin George Collingwood (1889–1943), philosopher and historian, who was Waynflete Professor of Metaphysical Philosophy from 1935 until 1941 and who established a European reputation. His idealistic philosophy of history, first set out in his Speculum Mentis (1924) and summed up in his Idea of History, published posthumously in 1946, has been compared with Benedetto Croce’s in Italy. Born in 1866 Croce had a profound influence on philosophical and historical thought in his own country. He began as a Marxist, and Marxism thereafter in pre-Fascist and Fascist Italy provided him with an ‘intellectual whetstone’ to sharpen his idealist philosophy.34 Yet, unlike Hegel, with whom he was also compared, he never held a university post. Nor did most Marxist historians, except in the Soviet Union, and even there Georgi Valentinovitch Plekhanov (1856–1918), who had set out a Marxist philosophy of history in a number of short essays before the Bolshevik 33

34

W. Stubbs, ‘On the Purposes and Methods of Historical Study’, in Seventeen Lectures on the Study of Medieval and Modern History and Kindred Subjects (Oxford, 1900), 86. Stubbs’s Constitutional History of England (Oxford 1874–75) was quickly and often republished. D. Thompson, ‘Social and Political Thought’, Cambridge Modern History, vol. XI (Cambridge, 1962), 116. See also Benedetto Croce: An Autobiography, trans. R. G. Collingwood (Oxford, 1927).

473

Asa Briggs Revolution, fled to exile in Finland in 1918 soon after the Revolution took place. Soviet historical research focused on more distant periods of history than the nineteenth century, like English medieval economic and social history; and the main influence of Marxist history on universities outside the Soviet Union came after the period covered in this volume. One of the Oxford undergraduates who attended Stubbs’s lectures, Charles Harding Firth (1857–1936), was a later Regius Professor, appointed in 1904 and staying in the chair until 1925. An established professional historian and a known supporter inside Oxford of researchbased history, Firth favoured ‘the principle of leaving to the [college] tutors the education of the men reading for the [modern history] school, and reserving for the professors and university teachers, with any help they can get from the tutors, the training of those who wish to carry their studies further’.35 Yet the broad-ranging scheme of ‘advanced historical training’ which he advocated and developed did not attract large numbers of doctoral students, whereas undergraduate history did. The control of the latter rested firmly with a Modern History Association, developed during the 1860s, responding to and, indeed, playing a major part in the formulation of, the history curriculum. Although a University History Board was formally set up in 1872 the influence of the Association, some members of which had an anti-professorial bias, continued to grow. How history was actually taught by college tutors in Oxford ‘tutorials’ or what at Cambridge were called ‘supervisions’ is more difficult to ascertain than what was taught in lectures or in Germany and in France seminars. Yet the development of the ‘special subject’ in both universities – and copied in other British universities – was a distinctive feature of the British system. The study in depth of a short period, with identified required sources, was a bridge to later study, not only for doctorates, which were not requirements even for history tutors, but for further individual research. A B.Litt. was introduced in Oxford in 1895. In general, research still came second after undergraduate teaching and examining, and in Balliol College, which played a similar part in Oxford in 1904 as King’s College in Cambridge, one outstanding tutor, Arthur Lionel Smith (1850–1924), won the admiration of all his pupils not only by the way that he drew them out in tutorials but by the meticulous notes which he presented to them to help them pass their examinations. His ‘Steps to Stubbs’ was more in demand than Stubbs’s book itself. By 1914 Oxford and Cambridge had clearly lost their duopoly, qualified from the 1820s by the existence of London University. Although history did not figure as a separate university department in the nineteenth century, in the twentieth century A. F. Pollard (1860–1948) created what came 35

C. H. Firth, A Plea for the Historical Teaching of History (Oxford, 1904).

474

History and the social sciences to be considered ‘a London School of History’. An Institute of Historical Research was founded in 1903 as a centre of postgraduate study, and seminars held there became a feature of organized postgraduate study. In the provinces Thomas Frederick Tout (1855–1929), appointed to the chair of history at Owen’s College, Manchester, in 1890 after his predecessor, Adolphus William Ward (1837–1924), who continued to teach, became principal, developed along with his colleague James Tait (1863–1944) a ‘Manchester School’, highly professional in its approach to research and concentrating on medieval administrative history. In contrast to students in Oxford, Tout’s students were ‘formed into little groups not exceeding a dozen’, and each group was ‘put under the direction of a teacher who has already made the subject his own’. In 1905 Owen’s College became a university in its own right and between then and 1914 80 students passed through Tout’s hands, six of whom became professional historians. By-passing what was often heated argument in Oxford and Cambridge, Tout, secure in his professorial authority, believed that his ‘system’ would not sacrifice the many to the few. ‘It would be as good for the statesman, the lawyer, the clergyman, the journalist, the civil servant, and the man of business, as for the would-be historian.’36 Manchester retained its reputation as a centre of historical studies during the years between the two world wars, when one of its leading figures was the Polish-born historian of European diplomacy and of eighteenthcentury English politics, Lewis Namier (1888–1960), although he would greatly have preferred to have been a fellow of Balliol and bitterly regretted his exclusion. There were other historians from provincial universities who found Oxford posts, however, among them the medievalist Frederick Maurice Powicke (1879–1963) who left Manchester for Oxford as Regius Professor in 1929.37 Before 1914 there was significant movement from Oxford to Scotland, where in Glasgow Robert Sangster Rait (1874–1936), not a Scot by birth but educated at King’s College, Aberdeen, before Oxford, moved north in 1911, to become the first professor of Scottish history and literature. He went on to become principal of the university in 1929. Meanwhile, Richard Lodge (1855–1936), a Balliol College tutor, who, like A. L. Smith, prepared meticulous notes for his students, moved from Oxford to Glasgow in 1895, the same year as Prothero moved from Cambridge to Edinburgh, and in 1899 he succeeded Prothero in the Edinburgh chair, remaining its occupant until he retired in 1925. The study of Scottish history was not at the heart of the university history curriculum even 36 37

Quoted in Slee, Learning (note 20), 157. For Powicke’s views on history see his Modern Historians and the Study of History (Oxford, 1955).

475

Asa Briggs in St Andrews and Aberdeen, and while Rait made significant contributions to it and served as Historiographer-Royal for Scotland from 1919 to 1929, Lodge’s researches were concerned only with England and continental Europe. Like Herbert Albert Laurens Fisher (1845–1940) in Oxford, politician as well as academic who published a widely read three-volume History of Europe in 1935, he was one of the authors of a volume to a Longman History of England, a series much in use in colleges and universities. french historiography from michelet t o t h e ‘a n n a l e s ’ The contrast between the development of university history in German and in British universities was paralleled by an equally strong contrast between the development of history inside and outside universities in Britain and France. There were, of course, important links. Gabriel Monod (1844–1912), a great admirer of the Romantic historian Jules Michelet (1798–1874), whose biography he wrote, translated J. R. Green into French. Elie Halévy (1870–1937), who lectured at the Ecole libre des Sciences Politiques, where he gave his first course in 1902 (three years later, he refused a chair at the Sorbonne), approached English history through studies of utilitarianism and Methodism. The fact that England had not undergone a revolution comparable to that in France fascinated him as much as the French Revolution fascinated (or horrified) most of his contemporaries, who pivoted French history on it.38 Michelet’s own voluminous writings, which began with an Introduction a` l’histoire universelle, published in 1831 and which included a history of the Renaissance – he invented the word – culminated in a sevenvolume history of the Revolution, vivid, poetic, romantic, which François Alphonse Aulard (1849–1928), one of the first professional historians of the Revolution, described as the truest, though not most exact, history of the Revolution, a history which had only one hero, the People, the title of another of Michelet’s books, published in 1846. In 1887 Aulard was promoted from Poitiers to a chair founded for him at the Sorbonne by the Municipality of Paris which he held until 1922. He became president of the Société de l’Histoire de la Révolution Française in 1904. The Revolution began to be studied in universities in almost every aspect and from almost every angle in the twentieth century, with Georges Lefebvre (1874–1959) opening up new horizons. He founded the Institut d’histoire de la révolution française in Paris and produced La révolution 38

H. Guy-Loé, Elie Halévy Correspondance, 1891–1937 (Paris, 1996). Cf. P. Stadler, Geschichtsschreibung und historisches Denken in Frankreich 1789–1871 (Zurich, 1958).

476

History and the social sciences française in 1930 as part of a great French academic series Peuples et Civilisations under the general direction of Louis Halphen (1880–1950) and Philippe Sagnac (1868–1954). His doctoral thesis at the Sorbonne on Les Paysans du Nord had made him aware of a ‘level of popular mentality that had previously resisted historical illustration’, and some of his critics claimed was ‘not history at all’,39 but his later monograph La Grande Peur was a full justification of his approach. In any interpretation of the Revolution and the revolutionary wars the problem of how to interpret Napoleon could not be avoided, as Pieter Geyl (1887–1966), a Dutch historian with strong historiographical interests, a professor at the University of Utrecht, explained in his important study Napoleon, For and Against, not published in English until 1949. Geyl, more critical of Napoleon than any French historian, treated him (with Hitler then in mind) as a ‘dictator’, while confessing at the same time how he had ‘almost continuously . . . enjoyed the spectacle provided by French historiography. What life and energy, what creative power, what injustice, imagination and daring, what sharply contrasted minds and personalities.’40 Geyl, whose own first work, itself controversial, particularly in his own country, concerned the revolt of the Netherlands, also wrote Debates with Historians (The Hague, 1955), which included a critical study of Ranke. It was the French, not the Germans or the British, who established a new relationship between history and the developing social sciences between the two world wars, in the process encouraging interdisciplinarity and integration in the name of ‘total history’ rather than further fragmentation. A key figure was Lucien Febvre (1878–1956), the son of a teacher in Nancy, who had studied at the Ecole Normale Supérieure, where he took part in seminars given by Monod, whom he described as ‘my old master’. He also attended lectures from visiting professors in addition to those delivered at the Sorbonne by, amongst others, Henri Bergson (1859–1941) on philosophy, Paul Vidal de la Blache (1845–1918) on geography and ˆ (1852–1964) on the history of art. His early research focused Emile Male both on history and geography within a regional setting, an approach suggested by Vidal de la Blache in his powerful inaugural lecture at the Sorbonne in 1899. Febvre was planning a book on the relationship between the two subjects when the First World War began. After the war he became a Professor at Strasburg, a university almost completely reconstituted following the end of the First World War after the return of Alsace Lorraine to France.

39 40

R. Cobb, ‘Lefebvre the Historian’, in People and Places (Oxford, 1985), 43. P. Geyl, preface to Napoleon: For and Against (London, 1949).

477

Asa Briggs It was ‘to the University of Strasburg in the days before the war’ that Friedrich Meinecke (1862–1954), most erudite of German historians, who in 1896 had succeeded Treitschke as editor of Historische Zeitschift, dedicated his Die Enstehung des Historismus 22 years after the First World War in 1936. This was the climax of his own history. But Meinecke lived long enough to see modern German history in perspective in his Die deutsche Katastrophe (1946), an urgent plea to restore the religion and culture of the German people as it had been before ‘nationalist excesses’. As long ago as 1905, when he was 43 years old, he had given a seminar at Strasburg to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the death of Schiller ¨ which led up to the publication of his Weltburgertum und Nationalstaat three years later, not translated into English until 1972. The English title of Die Entstehung des Historismus was Historism: The Rise of a New Historical Outlook, and not without an element of irony this was a similar title to that given by Peter Burke to the first English edition of Febvre’s essays, A New Kind of History, in 1973, the first of them written in 1928, ‘Frontière, the Word and the Concept’.41 It was at Strasburg in 1920 that Febvre met the medievalist Marc Bloch (1866–1944), a great scholar, who shared all his interdisciplinary interests. Eight years later, Febvre and Bloch were joint founders of Annales: e´ conomies, sociétés, a periodical, soon highly influential, which was devoted exclusively to problem-orientated history, ‘total history’ as they conceived of it. For both men history was a science humaine, a broader description than ‘social science’. Bloch’s brilliant unfinished essay, Apologie pour l’Histoire, ou Métier d’Historien, dedicated to Febvre, was written in defeated France in 1941, without books, when he left academic life to join the French resistance. Bloch was to be tortured and shot in a German prison camp in June 1944, when the Nazi hold on France was beginning to weaken. Among the subjects of Febvre’s essays the tracing of the history of historical concepts, like ‘civilization’, was prominent: ‘historism’ or ‘historicism’ might have been another. On this topic Karl Popper (1902–94) whose Jewish origin had prevented him from becoming a lecturer at the University of Vienna, first expressed ideas in 1936 on his way into exile, which in 1957 he published in The Poverty of Historicism. This was dedicated ‘In memory of the countless men, women and children of all countries, all origins, all creeds who fell victims to the nationalist and Communist belief

41

Revue de synthèse historique, 45 (1928), reprinted in Febvre’s Pour une histoire a` part entière (1962) and translated into English in P. Burke (ed.), A New Kind of History from the Writings of Lucien Febvre (London, 1973).

478

History and the social sciences in “Inexorable Laws of Historical Destiny”’. Meinecke had never put his trust in those.42 the rise of the social sciences Within the context of this chapter what Febvre said about ‘cognate’ sciences humaines is strictly relevant, although these were slow to develop as university subjects of study. The first of them was psychology, a subject prominent in pre-Anschluss Vienna, where Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) established a world-wide reputation, the second geography, which in the 1930s often took the form of geopolitics, and the third sociology, which, according to Febvre, took over in imperialistic fashion ‘anything that seemed open to rational analysis in the field of historical studies’.43 Febvre, who was interested in all three of these disciplines, had less to say about economics, which was more generally studied in twentiethcentury European universities than any other ‘social science’, a term with a different history from science humaine. ‘Economies’ came first, however, in the first title of Annales, and 100 years earlier, the relationships between economics, sociology and politics had been examined by the English scholar, John Stuart Mill (1806–73), who, like most early ‘social scientists’, never held a paid university post. His first book A System of Logic (1843), in which he used the term ‘contemporary history’, included interesting and still-pertinent sections on the social sciences, and he followed this up ten years later with his Principles of Political Economy. In A System of Logic Mill, brought up as a Benthamite Utilitarian, was careful to relate what came to be called the policy-making aspect of the ‘social sciences’ to their context. ‘If, for instance, we would apply our speciality in political economy to the prediction or guidance of the phenomena of any country, we must be able to explain all the mercantile or industrial facts of a general character appertaining to the present state of that country: to point out causes sufficient to account for all of them, and prove or show good ground for supposing, that these causes have really existed.’44 In explaining when and why ‘social sciences’ were introduced into the nineteenth- and twentieth-century university syllabus it is always equally 42

43 44

English translation of Bloch’s essay: The Historian’s Craft (Manchester, 1954); Popper’s hopeless professional situation in Vienna which encouraged him to emigrate before the ‘Anschluss’, and his two days stay in Brussels is analyzed by M. H. Hacohen, Karl Popper – The Formative Years, 1902–1945: Politics and Philosophy in Interwar Vienna (Cambridge, 2000), 309–11. Burke, A New Kind of History (note 41), 29. J. S. Mill, A System of Logic (1843), Ch. IX, ‘Of the Physical, or Concrete Deductive Method’.

479

Asa Briggs important to examine context. ‘The circumstances varied from country to country and from university to university in accordance with their traditions.’45 Only in Germany were there courses in what later came to be called ‘social science’. Before the nineteenth century what was called Statistik covered quantitative descriptions of states, population, wealth and resources. There was also a close relationship with law not only in Germany, but in Italy, Sweden and other countries which persisted through into the twentieth century, and importance was attached to the social context in the development of jurisprudence.46 Staatswissenschaft included constitutional and public law, political economy, administration – and fiscal science. ¨ Special chairs in economics (Nationalokonomie) were created at the universities of Zurich in 1851 and Berne in 1864, but in other German-speaking universities ‘political economy’, after 1850 also called ¨ ‘Nationalokonomik’ or ‘Volkswirtschaftslehre’, was still taught by the professor of ‘Staatswissenschaft’ or ‘Staatswirtschaft’. As the study of economics developed as a university subject in German universities in the nineteenth century, it retained a strong historical orientation, represented by Wilhelm Roscher (1817–94), ‘the incarnation of professorial learning’,47 who taught in the University of Leipzig for 46 years, and by Karl Knies (1821–98), who made Heidelberg into a ¨ renowned centre of research. Roscher’s Grundriss zu Vorlesungen uber die Staatswirtschaft nach geschichtlicher Methode (1843) set the pattern. A ‘younger historical school’ was led by Gustav von Schmoller (1838–1912), who was at the centre of a number of fierce methodological controversies, some based on misunderstanding, and was continued by what the outstanding Austrian economist Joseph Alois Schumpeter (1853–1950) called a ‘youngest school’, represented by Werner Sombart (1863–1941) and Max Weber (1864–1920), ‘one of the most powerful personalities’ that ever entered ‘the scene of academic science’.48 The range of influence of both older and younger and youngest schools was European, through Italy, Scandinavia and Belgium, and it reached the United States. Britain was not entirely immune from historicism, as the successive chairman’s lectures delivered to Section F of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, created in 1860, show.49 Yet in Britain, as for different reasons in France, the legacy of ‘classical political economy’ 45 46

47 48

E. Shils, ‘The Universities, the Social Sciences and Liberal Democracy’, Interchange, 23 (1992), 184. F. Wieacker, A History of Private Law in Europe with Special Reference to Germany ¨ (Oxford, 1995); M. Rassem (ed.), Statistik und Staatsbeschreibung in der fruhen Neuzeit ¨ Geisteswissenschaften zwis(Paderborn, Munich, Vienna and Zurich, 1980); K. W. Norr, chen Kaiserreich und Republik (Stuttgart, 1994). J. A. Schumpeter, History of Economic Analysis (New York, 1954), 809. 49 R. L. Smyth (ed.), Essays on Economic Method (London, 1962). Ibid., 817.

480

History and the social sciences was so strong that in public, if not always in universities, it constituted an orthodoxy. It was possible, therefore, for John Elliot Cairnes (1823– 75), professor of economics at Dublin from 1857 to 1862, and later at University College, London, from 1867 to 1872, to claim confidently that ‘Great Britain, if not the birthplace of Political Economy, has been at least its early home. Every great step in the progress of economic science . . . has been won by English thinkers.’50 Cairnes obviously treated ‘English’ in the broadest terms, to include the Scots and Irish as well. Three years earlier he had claimed equally confidently that the task of economists was ‘pretty well fulfilled’. This proved to be false. Most of the lectures delivered to the British Association, which rotated its meetings from city to city, were not by academic economists – Dublin was prominent in providing these – but by civil servants, and while Oxford had a Drummond Professor of Political Economy, a privately endowed chair, since 1827, and Cambridge since 1863, there was no separate Economics Tripos at Cambridge until 1903 and no Oxford degree in economics – and then part of a shared syllabus, PPE or ‘Modern Greats’ – until 1921. The first holder of the Cambridge chair, however, was a distinguished economist, Alfred Marshall (1842–1924), who was largely responsible for the conversion of what came to be called ‘classical political economy’ into ‘neo-classical economics’. His Principles of Economics (1890) was devised very differently from Ricardo’s Principles of Political Economy and Taxation (1817) which claimed to expound ‘the laws which regulate the distribution of the produce of the earth’. Marshall continued in his chair until 1908 when he was succeeded by Arthur Cecil Pigou (1877–1959), who followed in the same tradition. A ‘Cambridge School’ of economics did not come to be identified until later in the twentieth century, and even then there was no complete agreement among always contentious Cambridge economists. The leading figure from the 1930s onwards was John Maynard Keynes (1883–1946), whose General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money appeared in 1936, but he had critics inside as well as outside the university. There were obvious differences in orientation between Cambridge and Oxford and between Cambridge and the London School of Economics (LSE), founded in 1895, from the start an alternative centre of ideas and interest. Yet Marshall wrote to William Albert Samuel Hewins (1865–1931), first Director of the LSE and 23 years younger than himself, that ‘London and Cambridge have in many respects a closer kinship with one another than with any other economic schools on this side of the Atlantic’.51 50 51

J. E. Cairnes, Essays in Political Economy (1873), 232; Smyth, Essays (note 49), 42. Letter of 19 February 1901, quoted in R. Dahrendorf, A History of the London School of Economics, 1895–1995 (London, 1995), 211.

481

Asa Briggs The LSE put economics first in its title, but it set out to follow the example of the Ecole libre des Sciences Politiques in Paris and cover a wide range of social sciences, including geography, and its B.Sc. (Econ.) degree included among its options economic history, politics, political and social administration and jurisprudence. A year after its foundation, the group of people who had inspired it, including the Fabian socialists, Sidney (1859–1947) and Beatrice (1858–1943) Webb, also founded an associated British Library of Political Science which was conceived of as ‘a new laboratory of sociological research’. By 1901 it could claim to be ‘one of the largest centres in the kingdom for postgraduate study’.52 The LSE became well known throughout the world because of a number of internationally famous professors and because it attracted a large number of students from overseas, as Oxford did, with significant intakes from the United States and India. One of its best-known professors was Harold Laski (1893–1950), born in Manchester, who was appointed to his chair of politics in 1926 and held it until his death. A brilliant lecturer rather than an original or profound scholar, he played, as Tawney also did, a large and controversial part in British Labour Party politics. Although political science was not carved out as a separate ‘social science’ in nineteenth-century universities, it figured prominently both in legal studies and in history. Thus, in Cambridge, where no chair in political science was created until 1927, Seeley had maintained condescendingly half a century earlier that ‘History without Politics descends to mere Literature’, a judgement that had been half anticipated a century earlier still ¨ by a Gottingen Professor that ‘History without Politics is mere monkish chronicles’.53 Some of the most interesting nineteenth- and twentieth-century writing on political science was Italian. Gaetano Mosca (1858–1941) was more of a politician and a journalist than a university professor, but he gave yearly lectures at the University of Rome before and after the rise of Mussolini in which he dealt with issues that were little discussed in British or German universities, like the relationship between the civil and the military. In Germany Treitschke, who fully understood that relationship, was as renowned for his speeches in Parliament as for his university lectures, but what he had to say was treated as propaganda in Britain. It was not until 1916, during the First World War that his lectures on politics, Politik,

52

53

A. H. John, The British Library of Political and Economic Science: A Brief History (London, 1971), 4, 6. The name of the library was to be changed in 1925 to the British Library of Political and Economic Science. Quoted in Butterfield, Man on His Past (note 1), 41. On the origins of a specialized political science: W. Bleek, Geschichte der Politikwissenschaft in Deutschland (Munich, 2001).

482

History and the social sciences in two volumes, published in Germany in 1897–98, appeared in English translation. The German geographer Friedrich Ratzel (1844–1904), who invented the term Lebensraum, became a university professor at Leipzig in 1886, having lectured previously at the Technische Hochschule in Munich.54 The kind of political geography he taught was converted in the 1930s into geopolitics (Geopolitik) by Karl Haushofer (1869–1946), who treated the quest for Lebensraum as a great political mission and geography as a whole as a ‘perpetual struggle for life’. Geopolitics had been conceived of earlier as an amalgam of geography and political science by the Swede Rudolph Kjellén (1864–1922), and the LSE Professor Halford John Mackinder (1861–1947), who coined the term ‘heartland’. Sweden remained a major centre of university studies in geography in the twentieth century as it did in economics. Knut Wicksell (1851–1926), who studied science and mathematics at Uppsala and economics in London, Strasburg and Vienna, did not obtain a university doctorate in economics until 1895 when he was told authoritatively that there was ‘little hope’ that the [University Board] at Uppsala would take any steps to appoint a professor or docent in economics’.55 He went on to take a full law degree, therefore, which he obtained in 1899, by which time his writings on price theory and money supply were well known outside Sweden. He moved to a provisional associate professorial chair in economics and taxation law at Lund in 1899, but in face of academic resistance it required a royal decree of 1901 to make the chair permanent. Wicksell’s controversial ideas and behaviour always attracted attention, but despite his economic textbooks he had no more than three licentiate students while he was at Lund. He was the first president of an economists’ club founded in Stockholm in 1917, but he was not on good terms with an equally well-known Swedish economist, Gustav Cassell (1866–1945), fifteen years younger than himself, who was professor of economics at Stockholm from 1904 to 1933. As a young scholar Cassell, who became renowned for his monetary studies, rejected marginal utility theory, which had been pioneered by Carl Menger (1840–1921) who after a brief civil service career held one of the two chairs of political economy in the faculty of law at the University of Vienna from 1872 to 1903 by Léon Walras (1834–1910), first holder of a chair in economics in the faculty of law at the University of Lausanne in 1870; and by William Stanley Jevons (1835–82), born in Liverpool, who worked for a time on socio-economic 54 55

¨ G. H. Muller, Friedrich Ratzel (1844–1904), Naturwissnschaftler, Geograph, Gelehrter (Stuttgart, 1996). Letter of 1896 from Professor C. Y. Sahlin, quoted in T. Gardlund, The Life of Knut Wicksell (Stockholm, 1958), 168.

483

Asa Briggs studies in Australia before being appointed to a professorship of logic and moral philosophy at Owen’s College, Manchester, in 1866, moving from there to a chair of economics in University College, London, ten years later. Schumpeter who coined the term ‘Walrasian system’, praised Jevons as ‘one of the most original economists who ever lived’, while noting that he left behind him no pupils.56 It is impossible to write about the history of economic thought – or of how it was taught – without referring to the work of Schumpeter, who himself made a highly original contribution to economics, but had relatively little to say about the university context of economic studies and much about Zeitgeist in his massive history of economic analysis, packed with detailed references, published unfinished after his death in 1950. One of his sections on clubs, the oldest of which was the Political Economy Club of London, founded in 1801, on textbooks and on lectures is called ‘paraphernalia’.57 Nonetheless, Schumpeter himself should not be taken out of context. He lectured in the United States at Columbia as early as 1913 and returned to Harvard in 1932 as professor of economics after eight years at Bonn. He was as interested in the history of concepts as Febvre, noting, for example, that it was a Scandinavian professor, Ragnar Frisch (1895– 1973), who coined the term ‘econometrics’, a term with a future, in the 1930s. He also briefly mentioned another Swede, Gunnar Myrdal (1898– 1987), who made his mark with his Monetary Equilibrium (1931, English translation 1939), who became renowned for his studies of economic development, particularly in Asia, after the Second World War. He was to win the Nobel Prize for Economics in 1974 along with the Austrian economist, Friedrich August von Hayek (1899–1992), born one year after Myrdal. Hayek had left Vienna in 1931 to join the LSE, and after playing a controversial role in British politics with his The Road to Serfdom (1945), quoted by Churchill in his 1945 election campaign, he established himself as an outstanding philosopher as well as economic theorist. Both he and Myrdal drew on philosophy more than history, and Schumpeter himself, with strong political interests, rightly included in his survey of economic analysis brief but revealing sections on social sciences other than economics, including psychology and sociology. In France sociology had a special place both in the academic and the general history of the social sciences during the nineteenth century. Yet it was before Comte and in parallel to Henri de Saint Simon (1760–1825), prophet of industrialism, that Jean Baptiste Say (1767–1832), deeply influenced by Adam Smith, produced his Traité d’Economie Politique, which 56

Schumpeter, History (note 47), 998, 826.

484

57

Ibid., 380–3.

History and the social sciences became a highly successful textbook, in 1803. After the fall of Napoleon he was appointed to the first academic post devoted to political economy (renamed ‘industrial economy’) at the Conservatoire des Arts et des Métiers in 1819, moving to a chair at the Collège de France in 1827 ‘which remained in the hands of his followers until the end of the century’.58 Its lectures, open to the public, were supplemented by articles in the Journal des Economistes, founded in 1842, along with a Société d’Economie Politique. Say’s followers, particularly Michel Chevalier (1806–79) and the journalist apostle of free trade, Frédéric Bastiat (1801–50), asserted the hegemony of economic laws over politics. Proud of their orthodoxy, they had nothing to do with sociology, Comtian or Marxist. Comte’s career went through distinct phases and his ideas at every stage in it – they became doctrines – always attracted disciples, some of them in universities. The first volume of his Système de politique positive et traité de sociologie, instituant la religion de l’humanité appeared in 1851. Comte had an international influence and his disciples were known as Comtists or more simply as Positivists. In France itself, however, it was an academic sociologist, Emile Durkheim (1858–1917), who in establishing sociology also influenced anthropology and psychology, and whose statue stands in Paris outside the ‘Nouvelle Sorbonne’, a university reformed on ideological as well as practical grounds during the late nineteenth century. Durkheim, son of a Rabbi, born at Epinal in Lorraine, not far from Strasburg, in 1858, began, like Comte, by accepting positivism as the basis for sociological education, but while treating society as a ‘system’, he explicitly rejected Comte, and in 1895 he set out his own Rules of Sociological Method, an English title of a book not translated into English until 1982. After the French defeat by the Germans in 1870 and the loss of Lorraine, Durkheim had moved from the Ecole Normale, which he had entered as a student in 1879, to teach in a number of lycées, and having spent a year in Germany in 1885/86, became the first professor of social sciences and education at Bordeaux in 1887, a combined professorship specially created for him. He then moved to the University of Paris where he became a full professor of sociology and education in 1906. The combination of sociology and education was crucial to him. He was a key figure in peace and war in the days of the Third Republic both as an educator himself – he had many distinguished pupils – and as a propagandist. He had his French critics, however, including several on the right, and on the academic front Gabriel de Tarde (1843–1904), who wrote a number of sociological monographs after serving as the head of 58

D. Winch, ‘The Emergence of Economics as a Science’ in C. M. Cipolla (ed.), The Fontana Economic History of Europe, vol. III (London, 1971), 41.

485

Asa Briggs the department of legal statistics at the Ministry of Justice and who was appointed to the chair of modern philosophy at the Collège de France in 1900. Tarde did not succeed in having the title of his chair changed to that of psychologie sociologique. Durkheim died in 1917 having lost his son in combat, but by then a Durkheimian ‘tradition’ had been established in France, partly through L’Année sociologique, which he had founded in 1896. It appeared one year before the Rivista Italiana di sociologia and one year after the American Journal of Sociology. In Britain, where sociology emerged outside a university setting, independent businessmen, like the member of a shipping family Charles Booth (1840–1916) and the chairman of the family chocolate firm Benjamin Seebohm Rowntree (1871–1954), actively involved in business management, pioneered empirical investigation by social survey. The LSE did not appoint its first professor of sociology, the Liberal journalist, Leonard Trelawney Hobhouse (1864–1929), writing in a social evolutionary tradition, until 1907. This was the first chair of sociology in Britain. Three years earlier, the Sociological Society of London had been founded. When in 1923 the Booth family business created a chair of social science at Liverpool University in Charles Booth’s memory, its first occupant was Alexander Carr-Saunders (1886–1966), demographer as well as sociologist, who, completing a small circle, went on in 1937 to become director of the LSE. From far outside this ‘virtuous circle’ Karl (1893–1947) and Herman (1889–1969) Mannheim who arrived in London as refugees from Germany, made significant contributions to sociology. The former lost his chair of sociology at the University of Frankfurt-am-Main in 1934, became lecturer at the LSE, and moved on to become professor (in 1942) and director (in 1945) of the University of London’s Institute of Education. The latter, a professor of criminal law in Berlin, remained inside LSE, where he taught criminology for twenty years, alongside other distinguished exiled German professors of law, among them Otto Kahn-Freund (1900–1979). British academic sociology with its empirical emphasis had little in common with continental European sociology, although in both cases academic institutionalization was slow. One great attempt to synthesize it was made by the Italian Vilfredo Pareto (1848–1923), set out in his twovolume Trattato di Sociologia Generale in 1916: it was not translated into English (in four volumes) until 1935 under the very different title Mind and Society. Pareto did not hold a chair in sociology, however: instead, he succeeded Walras in the chair of economics at Lausanne, making his own contribution to marginal utility theory. Likewise, in Germany, where there were nineteenth-century sociologists who established their personal reputations, the chairs that they held were not in sociology. Thus Ferdinand ¨ Tonnies (1855–1936) was for much of his life professor in economics at 486

History and the social sciences the University of Kiel. His Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft (1887) which he had presented as his Habilitation thesis as Privatdozent for philosophy in 1881, was an extremely influential study not only in Germany but abroad. Together with Sombart, Weber and Georg Simmel (1858–1918), ¨ Sociologie’ in 1909.59 he founded the ‘Deutsche Gesellschaft fur During the Weimar Republic chairs in sociology were at last created in Cologne (Staatswissenschaften und Soziologie 1919), Frankfurtam-Main (Soziologie und Wirtschaftstheorie 1919), Leipzig (Soziologie 1925), Berlin (Associated Professorship 1921). Sociology was also taught in Technische Hochschulen, and in teacher-training colleges and police academies.60 Some of those teaching it survived the arrival of National Socialism, which attacked sociology as a Jewish and Marxist invention. ¨ Sozialforschung at One which obviously did not was the Institut fur Frankfurt, which gave its name to the Frankfurt School, which was concerned inter alia (through Theodor Wiesengrand Adorno (1903–69)) with what came to be called communications studies. Marxist in theory, with an input too from Freudian psychology, the blend was called by its shrewd director, Max Horkheimer (1895–1973), ‘critical philosophy’. Two years before Hitler came into power Horkheimer had transferred the endowment of the Institute to the Netherlands and a sub-division of the Institute to Geneva which allowed it in 1933 to move from Frankfurt to Paris and in 1934 to Columbia University in New York. In 1941 it moved again, to California, where its influence after the Second World War was considerable.61 Even more so was the influence on American sociology of Weber, who had never held a chair in the subject. He was appointed professor of political economy at the University of Freiburg in 1894, of Heidelberg in 1897 and finally of Munich 1919. He was deeply interested and involved in politics, which he treated, like Wissenschaft, as a ‘vocation’ or ‘calling’, as well 59

60

61

W. Lepenies (ed.), Geschichte der Soziologie. Studien zur kognitiven, sozialen und his¨ einer Disziplin, 4 vols. (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1981); D. Kasler, ¨ torischen Identitat Die ¨ Soziologie 1909–1934 und ihre Entstehungsmilieus (Opladen, 1984). fruhe ¨ ¨ G. Luschen (ed.), Soziologie in Deutschland und Osterreich 1918–1945 (Opladen, 1981); ¨ Frankfurt am Main; B. Heimbuchel, ¨ ¨ Hammerstein, Universitat Die neue Universitat, ¨ ¨ Kolner Universitatsgeschichte II (Cologne and Vienna, 1988); J. Habermas, ‘Soziologie in der Weimarer Republik’, in H. Coing et al., Wissenschaftsgeschichte seit 1900. 75 ¨ Frankfurt (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1992), 29–53. R. Konig, ¨ Jahre Universitat ‘Soziologie’, ¨ in T. Buddensieg, K. Duwell and K.-J. Sembach (eds.), Wissenschaften in Berlin (Berlin, 1987), 149–53. M. Jay, The Dialectical Imagination: A History of the Frankfurt School and the Institute of Social Research 1923–1950 (Boston and Toronto, 1973); R. Wiggerhaus, Die Frankfurter Schule (Munich and Vienna, 1986). On the impact of marxian socialism on German ¨ sociology in general: O. Rammstedt, Deutsche Soziologie 1933–1945. Die Normalitat einer Anpassung (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1986). K. Wittebur, Die deutsche Soziologie im ¨ Exil 1933–1945. Eine biographische Kartographie (Munster, 1991).

487

Asa Briggs as in economics, psychology and, above all, history.62 He set out to seek links between different kinds of social activity, and his span included India and China. He died in 1920. Again there was a time-lag in English translations of his works. Die protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus (1904) did not appear in English until 1930 by which time Tawney’s Religion and the Rise of Capitalism (1926) had appeared. Weber’s unfinished Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, which was published in 1922 did not appear in English until 1968. In that decade sociology was a booming academic subject in all parts of the world, and the study of history, in particular, was being strongly influenced by it. History was being influenced by anthropology too. Indeed, there were international links between all the emerging disciplines, not all social scientists choosing to describe themselves as such: for example, at the LSE the professor of anthropology from 1927 to 1942, Branislaw Malinowski (1882–1942) had studied with Wilhelm Wundt (1832–1920) at Leipzig, a scholar whose first degree was in medicine. He had offered the first course ever taught in scientific psychology in Europe in 1862 in the University of Heidelberg and in 1879 had established the first psychology laboratory at Leipzig, where there was no department of psychology. Before studying with Wundt, Malinowski had taken a doctorate in physics and mathematics at Cracow, where, bored with his doctoral studies, he had read with excitement The Golden Bough (1890) by the British anthropologist James George Frazer (1854–1944). Much of the most interesting and important writing on anthropology, which explored magic, science and religion, was carried on outside universities, although in Oxford Edward Burnet Tyler (1832–1917), author of Primitive Culture (1871), had been appointed reader in anthropology in 1884, having lectured in the University Museum, where he became Keeper of the Pitt Rivers ethnographic collection. His attempt to introduce a degree course in anthropology failed in 1895, facing opposition from both classicists and natural scientists, but a year later he was offered a personal chair. In faculty terms, anthropology was handled as a diploma subject supervised by a Board which also included archaeology and geography. There was a parallel association with museums in Germany where Adolf Bastian (1826–1905), after travelling around the world as a ship’s doctor, in 1866 was appointed in Berlin as Curator of the Royal Collections and given at the University of Berlin the title of reader in ethnology 62

M.Weber, ‘Politik als Beruf’ (1918), and ‘Wissenschaft als Beruf’ (1918), translated into English with an introduction by H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (London, 1947), 77–156; R. Bendix, Max Weber: An Intellectual Portrait (New York, 1960).

488

History and the social sciences ¨ (described by Max Muller as ‘Mr Tyler’s Science’63 ). Bastian founded ¨ ¨ Volkerkunde ¨ both the Konigliche Museum fur (1873) and, together with Rudolf Virchow (1821–1902), the Berlin Society for Anthropology, Ethnology and Pre-history (1869), one of a number of such societies on both sides of the Atlantic. There were cross-links with linguistics, archaeology and evolutionist biology, Darwinian and non-Darwinian. Following fieldwork in the Pacific, Malinowski wrote books which became ‘classics among anthropologists of every persuasion’, including so-called ‘applied anthropologists’ working in an imperial context. British anthropologists, given the opportunity of doing ‘fieldwork’ in various parts of the Empire, developed ‘social anthropology’ during the inter-war years in a different way from American ‘cultural anthropologists’. (The distinction was to be sharpened after 1945.) Meanwhile, in Germany versions of ‘physical anthropology’, with earlier roots, could become tools of National Socialist racist propaganda. The twentieth-century map of learning, therefore, like the nineteenthcentury map or, indeed, the Baconian map of the sixteenth century, cannot be studied apart from its political context. Nor can modes of transmitting and communicating knowledge. And round the corner there were bigger changes to come. select bibliography Bendix, R. Max Weber: An Intellectual Portrait, New York, 1960. Berger, St., Lambert, P. and Schmann, P. (eds.) Historikerdialoge. Geschichte, ¨ Mythos und Gedachtnis im deutsch – britischen kulturellen Austausch 1750– ¨ 2000, Gottingen, 2002. Blaas, P. B. M. Continuity and Anachronism: Parliamentary and Constitutional Development in Whig Historiography and the Anti-Whig Reaction between 1890 and 1930, The Hague, 1978. Bleek, W. Geschichte der Politikwissenschaft in Deutschland, Munich, 2001. Breisach, E. Historiography: Ancient, Medieval and Modern, Chicago, 1983. Burrow, J. W. A Liberal Descent: Victorian Historians and the English Past, Cambridge, 1981. Butterfield, H. Man on His Past: The Study of Historical Scholarship, Cambridge, 1955. Carbonell, C.-O. Histoire et historiens, une mutation idéologique des historiens français, 1865–1885, Toulouse, 1976. Dahrendorf, R. A History of the London School of Economics, 1895–1995, London, 1995. 63

¨ Quoted in History of Oxford, VII, Part 2, 468; on Adolf Bastian: Buddensieg, Duwell and Sembach (eds.), Wissenschaften (note 60), 136; on Virchow: C. Andres, Rudolf Virchow ¨ als Prahistoriker (Cologne, 1973).

489

Asa Briggs Dilthey, W. Einleitung in die Geisteswissenschaften, Leipzig, 1883. Dockhorn, K. Der deutsche Historismus in England: ein Beitrag zur englischen ¨ Geistesgeschichte des 19 Jahrhundert, Gottingen, 1950. Duncan Mitchell, G. A Hundred Years of Sociology, London, 1968. Firth, C. H. A Plea for the Historical Teaching of History, Oxford, 1904. Gooch, G. P. History and Historians of the Nineteenth Century, London, 1913. Gordon, P. and Szreter, R. (eds.) History of Education: The Making of a Discipline, London, 1989. Hammerstein, N. (ed.) Deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft um 1900, Stuttgart, 1988. Jay, M. The Dialectical Imagination: A History of the Frankfurt School and the Institute of Social Research 1923–1950, Boston and Toronto, 1973. John, A. H. The British Library of Political and Economic Science: A Brief History, London, 1971. Joll, J. ‘National Histories and National Historians: Some German and English Views of the Past’, Annual Lecture, German Historical Institute, London, 1984. Klingemann, C. Soziologie im Dritten Reich, Baden-Baden, 1996. Landes, D. S. and Tilly, C. (eds.) History as Social Science, Englewood Cliffs, 1971. Laue, T. H. L. von Ranke: The Formative Years, Princeton, 1950. ¨ Luschen, G. (ed.) Deutsche Soziologie nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg, Opladen, 1979. ¨ Soziologie in Deutschland und Osterreich 1918–1945, Opladen, 1981. McClelland, C. E. The German Historians and England: A Study in NineteenthCentury Views, Cambridge, 1971. Meinecke, F. Die Entstehung des Historismus, 2 vols., Munich and Berlin, 1936– 37. ¨ Mommsen, W. J. Max Weber und die deutsche Politik 1890–1920, Tubingen, 2nd edn, 1974. Powicke, F. M. Modern Historians and the Study of History, Oxford, 1955. ¨ einer AnpasRammstedt, O. Deutsche Soziologie 1933–1945. Die Normalitat sung, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1986. Rebenich, S. Theodor Mommsen, Eine Biographie, Munich, 2002. Schumpeter, J. A. History of Economic Analysis, New York, 1954. Shils, E. Tradition, London and Boston, 1981. ‘The Universities, the Social Sciences and Liberal Democracy’, Interchange, 23 (1992). Slee, P. R. H. Learning and a Liberal Education: The Study of Modern History in the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and Manchester, 1800–1914, Manchester, 1986. Smyth, R. L. (ed.) Essays on Economic Method, London, 1962. Stern, F. (ed.) The Varieties of History, London, 1970. Stolleis, M. Public Law in Germany, 1800–1914, New York, 2001. The Law under the Swastika: Studies on Legal History in Nazi Germany, Chicago, 1998.

490

History and the social sciences Weber, W. Priester der Klio. Historisch – sozialwissenschaftliche Studien zur Herkunft und Karriere deutscher Historiker und zur Geschichte der Geschichtswissenschaft 1800–1970, Frankfurt-am-Main, 2nd edn, 1987. Wieacker, F. A History of Private Law in Europe with Special Reference to Germany, Oxford, 1995. Wittebur, K. Die deutsche Soziologie im Exil 1933–1945. Eine biographische ¨ Kartographie, Munster, 1991.

491

CHAPTER 12

T H E M AT H E M AT I C A L A N D T H E EXACT SCIENCES

PA U L B O C K S TA E L E

In the course of the last years of the eighteenth century and the first decades of the nineteenth century, the teaching of mathematics and the exact sciences at the European universities underwent a slow but profound change. From auxiliary sciences or elements of general education, mathematics, physics, astronomy and chemistry developed into independent disciplines. The hierarchy of faculties handed down from previous centuries assigned only a preparatory role to the arts faculty. As a result of the evolution of the natural sciences in the eighteenth century and their ever-increasing importance for the economy, industry, mining, agriculture and military science, physics and chemistry developed outside the universities from purely auxiliary sciences to independent fundamental sciences. Their further differentiation during the nineteenth century brought about the creation of new professions, which also influenced the universities. The philosophical faculties gradually outgrew their preparatory role and began to develop autonomously. Alongside the traditional speculative approach to nature, there developed in the eighteenth century a new method for teaching natural philosophy based on experimental demonstrations using machines and instruments. As the Newtonian ideas spread, the mathematical approach to natural phenomena also obtained a place, albeit modest, in university education. Inhibiting here was the inadequate mathematical knowledge of the students and, not rarely, also of the professors. Around 1800 Physica, Naturlehre, physical or natural philosophy, was not yet a clearly delineated scientific discipline. In addition to physics in the present meaning, it included also elements of astronomy, geology, mineralogy, physiology and anatomy. A clear differentiation of these various disciplines only came about in the nineteenth century.

493

Paul Bockstaele The mathematical sciences also had a place in the faculty of philosophy. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, the teaching of mathematics was still at a rather low level at most of the universities. In the last decades of the eighteenth century, the teaching of mathematics in the German uni¨ versities was strongly influenced by the Anfangsgrunde der Mathematik of ¨ Abraham Gotthelf Kastner (1719–1800). The several volumes of a French textbook by Etienne Bezout (1730–83) were widely translated and used into the nineteenth century, also outside of France.1 In Spain, Benito Bails (1730–97), inspired by the courses of Wolff and Bezout, wrote the most important encyclopaedic work on mathematics in Spanish of the eighteenth century.2 Noteworthy, too, is the book, Elementos de Aritmética, Algebra y Geometr´ıa (Madrid, 1782) by Juan Justo Garcia (1752–1830), in which a number of pages are devoted to differential and integral calculus. This work continued to be used as a textbook until after 1800 in the universities of Santiago, Oviedo, Seville, Valladolid and Zaragoza. Obviously, these works contained much more than what was actually treated in the courses. An idea of what the students were offered in the best cases, perhaps, is given by the courses of Nicolas Louis de la Caille (1713–62). Appointed professor of mathematics at the Collège Mazarin of the University of Paris in 1740, by the next year he had published his courses.3 In this short book, he treated arithmetic, algebra, logarithms, the summation of series, geometry with a chapter on plane trigonometry, the analytic treatment of conic sections, and the principles of infinitesimal calculus. La Caille’s Leçons were reprinted several times and translated into Latin, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, English and Greek. La Caille’s successor, Joseph François Marie (1738–1801), published a new, extended edition that served until far into the nineteenth century as a handbook in various European universities. In general, at the end of the eighteenth century, instruction in mathematics at most universities remained limited to arithmetic, the elements of algebra with the solution of linear and quadratic equations, logarithms, and geometry with plane and spherical trigonometry. In applied mathematics, one taught the mechanics of solid and liquid substances, optics with perspective, astronomy, geography, gnomonics and chronology. Conic sections, analytic geometry and calculus were still rare at the end of the eighteenth century. Unlike the mathematical and physical sciences, the initial institutional context in which chemistry developed into an academic discipline was not the faculty of philosophy but of medicine. There, its teaching was 1 2 3

E. Bezout, Cours de mathématiques a` l’usage des Gardes du Pavillon et de la Marine, 6 vols. (Paris, 1764–69). ´ B. Bails, Elementos de matematica, 10 vols. (Madrid, 1772–76). N. L. de la Caille, Leçons e´ lémentaires de mathématiques, ou e´ léments d’algèbre et de géométrie (Paris, 1741).

494

The mathematical and the exact sciences entrusted to one of the younger professors, as a temporary assignment. This situation prevailed until the end of the eighteenth century. From the second half of the eighteenth century, primarily non-medical applications of chemistry in agriculture and industry played the main role in the emancipation of chemistry from an auxiliary science to a fundamental science. In Sweden, so rich in mineral resources, the tradition of chemical research grew out of mineralogy and mining. When the University of Uppsala established a chair for chemistry in 1749, it was decided not to place it in the faculty of medicine but in the faculty of philosophy, where the students of administration, economics and mining were also trained.4 The Swedish organization, followed also at Coimbra and a few other universities, was ahead of its time. Chemistry remained largely in the medical faculties well into the nineteenth century. As the demand by industry for technicians increased in the course of the eighteenth century, new schools were created, some with university rank, where ample space was provided for the teaching of chemistry. A prominent example was the academy of mining at Schemnitz in Slovakia, where chairs for mineralogy, chemistry and metallurgy were established in 1764. The laboratory method introduced at Schemnitz had a great effect on the teaching of chemistry far beyond the Habsburg Empire.5 Of critical significance for the emancipation of the mathematical and physical sciences that enabled them to form independent academic disciplines were the educational reforms in revolutionary France at the end of the eighteenth century, and also, after the fall of Napoleon in 1815, the renewal of the faculties of philosophy in the so-called spirit of Wilhelm von Humboldt in the German universities. mathematics and the exact sciences in f r a n c e a f t e r 1800 In France, the Revolution eliminated the universities.6 As centres of higher education, there remained only the Jardin du Roi, which was converted by the decree of 10 June 1793 into the Muséum d’Histoire Naturelle, and the Collège royal, which was reopened on 21 November 1794 as the Collège de France. In the Muséum, public courses were organized on such subjects as geology, mineralogy and chemistry. Among the lecturers were Antoine François de Fourcroy (1755–1809) and Louis Nicolas 4 5

6

C. Meinel, ‘Artibus Academics Inserenda: Chemistry’s Place in Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Century Universities’, History of Universities, 7 (1988), 89–115. J. Vlachovic, ‘L’enseignement technique supérieur des mines en Slovaquie au XVIIIe siècle’, Acta historiae rerum naturalium necnon technicorum, special issue, 1 (1965), 65–84, esp. 75–82. See chapter 2, 34.

495

Paul Bockstaele Vauquelin (1763–1829) for general and technical chemistry, and René ¨ (1743–1822) for mineralogy. Separate courses in physics in the Just Hauy ˆ modern sense were not given. Joseph Jérome de Lalande (1732–1807) taught mathematics and astronomy at the Collège de France. He was succeeded in 1807 by Jean-Baptiste Delambre (1749–1822). There had been a chair in general physics since 1769, and a chair for experimental physics was also established in 1786. The two courses were combined in 1824 under the title of general and experimental physics, the first holder of the chair being André Marie Ampère (1775–1836). The chair for chemistry and natural history, established in 1774, was split in 1800, and chemistry assigned to Vauquelin. By 1804, Louis Jacques Thénard (1777–1857), his student, took over the task. He taught with great success until 1845. The Ecoles Centrales established throughout the entire country by the Convention did not provide higher education, but were an attempt to introduce mathematics, physics and chemistry on a reasonably high level. However, they did not exist long enough to exercise any lasting influence. ´ Above the Ecoles Centrales, but without any relationship to them, were the e´ coles spéciales, which generally were strictly professional, like the ´ ´ Ecole de Médecine or the Ecole des Arts et Métiers. Far and away the ´ most important was the Ecole polytechnique, founded in 1794. Initially ´ called Ecole des Travaux publics, it was undoubtedly the greatest achievement in the French revolutionary period in the area of technical education ´ and, more generally, in the area of the exact sciences. The Ecole polytechnique was initially intended to replace all the higher technical schools for military and civil engineers. This original plan was, however, soon ´ abandoned. By the law of 22 October 1795, the Ecole polytechnique was assigned the task of providing the basic knowledge needed for further studies in one of the more specialized e´ coles d’application, like the Ecole ´ ´ d’Artillerie, the Ecole du Génie militaire in Metz, the Ecole des ponts ´ et Chaussées, or the Ecole des Ingénieurs de Vaissaux. The earliest curriculum mentions for mathematics analysis with applications to geometry and mechanics in addition to descriptive geometry, subdivided into stereometry, architecture and fortification. Physics was divided into general and special physics or chemistry. General physics dealt with the general characteristics of bodies, caloric, light, electricity and magnetism. In special physics or chemistry, the saline substances, the organic substances and the minerals were studied in turn. ´ The professors of the Ecole polytechnique were selected from among the best French scholars: Joseph Louis Lagrange (1736–1813) for mathematical analysis, Gaspard Monge (1746–1818) for descriptive geometry, and Fourcroy, Vauquelin, Claude Louis Berthollet (1748–1822) and Jean Antoine Chaptal (1756–1832) for chemistry. Although founded as a school for applied sciences, most of the attention from the outset was given to the 496

The mathematical and the exact sciences teaching of pure sciences. In the first decades of its existence, this gave rise to frequent criticism. In a short time, the Ecole Polytechnique developed into the best scientific faculty in the world. Between 1806 and 1808, the French educational system was once again changed. The law of 17 March 1808, which introduced the Université Impériale, divided higher education into five independent faculties: theology, law, medicine, sciences and letters. The non-professional faculties, letters and sciences, were attached to lycées. Their task remained largely limited to the administration of examinations and the granting of degrees. Scientific research did not belong to their official mission. Each faculty of sciences had to have at least four professors: one for differential and integral calculus, one for mechanics and astronomy, one for physics and chemistry, and one for natural history. Their impact on the teaching of mathematics, physics, astronomy and chemistry was not great. An exception to this was the faculty of sciences at Paris, which could call ´ upon professors of the Collège de France, the Muséum, and the Ecole polytechnique. Teaching was begun there on 22 April 1811. The courses were divided into two series: one for mathematics and one for physics. In the mathematics series, Sylvestre François Lacroix (1765–1843) taught differential and integral calculus, Siméon Denis Poisson (1781–1840) taught mechanics, Jean-Baptiste Biot (1774–1862) taught astronomy, and Louis Benjamin Francoeur (1773–1849) taught advanced algebra. Common to the two series was the course in physics given by Louis Joseph Gay-Lussac (1778–1850). Chemistry, together with natural history, belonged to the physics series and was taught by Thénard. The influence of French educational policy was also felt in the areas occupied or annexed by France. The Italian universities retained their unity and organization, although they were compelled to make more room for the sciences and to establish an independent physics and mathematics faculty from which the philosophy of the old arts faculty had virtually disappeared. At the University of Geneva, new chairs were established in 1802 to strengthen the sciences, including chemistry and mineralogy. After the annexation of the Kingdom of Holland by France, the universities of Leiden and Groningen were incorporated as academies including faculties of sciences into the Université Impériale by a decree of 22 October 1811. The independent faculties of science with more opportunities for mathematics and physics survived the fall of Napoleon. The universities of Ghent, Louvain and Liège, founded by William I in the southern provinces of his kingdom received their Facultas matheseos et philosophiae naturalis, with professors for mathematics, physics, astronomy and chemistry. Until around 1830, Paris was the predominant centre for education and for research in mathematical analysis, mathematical physics and chemistry. The handbooks published by the professors and their great fame as 497

Paul Bockstaele scholars, which attracted students from all over Europe, maintained the hegemony. Fourcroy’s Philosophie chimique (first published in 1792) went through three Parisian editions and several editions outside of France. The sixth edition of Thénard’s Traité de chimie e´ lémentaire, théorique et pratique (4 vols., Paris, 1813–16) appeared in five volumes in 1834–6, and a German translation by Gustav Fechner (1801–87) was published in Leipzig in 1825–30. Poisson’s Traité de mécanique of 1811 remained in use until after 1830 by the universities of Leipzig and Coimbra and reappeared, reworked, as William Whewell’s An Elementary Treatise of Mechanics (Cambridge, 1819). Lacroix, who succeeded Lagrange in 1799 ´ as professor of mathematical analysis at the Ecole polytechnique, spread French methods all over Europe, and even in England. Monge’s Leçons de géométrie descriptive (Paris, 1799) were reprinted several times and widely translated. Foreigners who had studied in Paris helped to start to reform education, especially that of mathematics, mathematical physics and chemistry in their own countries. A strikingly large number of Poles and Russians attended courses at the Ecole Polytechnique. Among the Poles, we find Jozef Markowski (1758–1829), professor of chemistry and mineralogy in Cracow from 1810 to 1829; Franciszek Sapalski (1791–1838), who introduced descriptive geometry in Cracow, and also J. K. Skrodzki and Adrian Krzyzanowski (1788–1852), professors of, respectively, physics and astronomy at the University of Warsaw. Zachariasz Niemczewski (1766–1820) stayed in Paris from 1802 to 1807 and was then appointed professor at the University of Wilna, where he taught mathematical analysis according to Lacroix. Among the Russians were Mikhail Ostrogradskii (1801–62) and Viktor Buniakovskii (1804–89), both of whom had great influence on the teaching of mathematics in Russia. In Spain, the French methods of teaching science were propagated by José Mariano Vallejo (1779–1846), who stayed in Paris for a few years and was a friend of Pierre Simon de Laplace (1749–1827). From Germany, too, people came to Paris to do further studies in science. Because he saw no opportunity to learn modern mathematics at any of the German universities, Peter Gustav Lejeune Dirichlet (1805– 59) went to Paris in 1822 and studied at the Collège de France and the ¨ Paris Faculté des Sciences. He would later succeed Gauss in Gottingen. Among the German chemists who worked for a time in Paris were Leopold Gmelin (1788–1853), who is known for his Handbuch der theoretischen Chemie (Frankfurt, 1817–19), and Justus von Liebig, the founder of the famous Giessen chemical school. Another foreign chemist trained in Paris was Jean Servais Stas (1813–91). He studied and worked there with Jean-Baptiste Dumas (1800–84) until 1840 and later taught chemistry at the Military School in Brussels. The influence of Paris was 498

The mathematical and the exact sciences particularly great on the Romanian universities and technical institutes: well into the twentieth century most of the professors of mathematics, physics and chemistry had studied at the Sorbonne. Their courses were generally revisions or adaptations of French university handbooks. Outside of Paris, the level of education was roughly that of popularized lectures on scientific discoveries for a varied public. The faculties for the sciences were primarily offices for issuing diplomas. The new concepts that typified the German universities, after 1830 gradually gained dominance, particularly in physics and chemistry. In the last quarter of the nineteenth century, however, the desire to keep up with Germany helped refashion French educational policy. The science faculties obtained ever more material and scientific resources for the reorganization of education on a more modern and experimental basis. The re-establishment of the universities in 1896 also had a favourable effect. In co-operation with regional industries, technical institutes were founded7 in which applied physics and mechanics were taught alongside applied and industrial chemistry. This commitment, made to applied research and to the training of engineers and highly qualified technicians, was the most important motor in the reform and re-evaluation of the faculties for sciences outside Paris. ´ At the Sorbonne, however, to which the Ecole Normale Supérieure was associated in 1905, as well as at the Collège de France, the teaching of theoretical sciences continued to predominate. the exact sciences at german universities With the development of the gymnasia, the better organization of secondary education, and the introduction of the Abitur examination, betterprepared students came to the university, making superfluous the more elementary courses in the faculty of philosophy. Classical studies were affected first, and then mathematics and the sciences. A good example of the transition is the teaching of mathematics. During the first quarter of the nineteenth century, it continued the eighteenth-century tradition. The impulse for renewal was first institutionalized at the small provincial ¨ University of Konigsberg in East Prussia.8 ¨ Friedrich Wilhelm Bessel (1784–1846) had already made Konigsberg a centre for astronomical research, when, in 1826, Karl Gustav Jacob Jacobi (1804–51) was appointed professor in mathematics. By introducing the students to the latest developments, he vastly exceeded the normal level of instruction in Germany. In the same year as Jacobi, Franz ¨ Neumann (1798–1895) came to Konigsberg as Privatdozent. In 1829, he 7 8

See chapter 15, 616. ¨ W. Lorey, Das Studium der Mathematik an den Deutschen Universitaten seit Anfang des 19. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig and Berlin, 1916).

499

Paul Bockstaele was appointed professor of mineralogy and physics. Influenced by Bessel and Jacobi, he concentrated primarily on mathematical physics. Together with Jacobi, he founded a mathematics and physics seminar in November 1834. It consisted of two divisions, one for mathematical physics under his direction, and one for pure and applied mathematics under the direction of Jacobi. From the work and commitment of the trio of Bessel, Jacobi ¨ and Neumann grew the Konigsberg School, one of the most striking indications of the rising interest in Germany in educational questions about mathematics and physics. ¨ Konigsberg’s influence was felt earliest at the universities of Heidelberg and Giessen. Ludwig Otto Hesse (1811–74), who took his doctoral degree ¨ in Konigsberg in 1840, went via Halle to Heidelberg in 1857, where the ¨ physicist Gustav Robert Kirchhoff (1824–87), also a Konigsberg alumnus, had been teaching mathematical and experimental physics since 1854. The ¨ Konigsberg spirit and method came to Giessen largely through the agency of Alfred Clebsch (1833–72). He founded a mathematics seminar there ¨ ¨ modelled on Konigsberg’s. Clebsch had the same influence in Gottingen, where he arrived in 1868. The mathematics seminar founded in 1850 with the primary objective of training mathematics and physics teachers for gymnasia, finally flourished under his leadership. After his untimely ¨ death in 1872, Felix Klein (1849–1925) built Gottingen into one of the leading centres in the world for mathematical research. He was helped ¨ by David Hilbert (1862–1943), who came to Gottingen in 1895, and by Hermann Minkowski (1864–1909), who was appointed in 1902 to a newly established third full professorship in mathematics. Even Berlin, for many years the most important centre for mathematics in Germany, ¨ was surpassed by Gottingen around 1900. In the first years of its existence, the young University of Berlin, founded in 1810, had little more to offer than its older sisters. In the winter term of 1825/26, Jacobi gave a series of lectures on differential geometry that were on the level of the science of the time. He then went off ¨ to Konigsberg. When he returned to Berlin in 1845 as a member of the Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften, much had changed. August Leopold Crelle (1780–1855) had begun (in 1826) the publication of the Journal fur die reine und angewandte Mathematik. Dirichlet had begun ¨ his teaching there in 1831. Like Jacobi in Konigsberg, Dirichlet discussed his own research areas in his courses, and he introduced his students to the latest advances. The high point of Berlin as a centre for mathematics came in the second half of the nineteenth century when Ernst Eduard Kummer (1810–93), Leopold Kronecker (1823–91) and Karl Weierstrass (1815–97) were full professors there. The first purely mathematics seminar was created officially in 1864 on the recommendation of Kummer and Weierstrass. In 1920, the University of Berlin received its first full 500

The mathematical and the exact sciences professor for applied mathematics, Richard von Mises (1883–1953), who founded and directed the Institute for Applied Mathematics. Following ¨ the example of Berlin and Gottingen, other German universities raised the level of instruction in mathematical sciences. The great mobility of the lecturers and the Lehrfreiheit of the professors played an important role in this homogenization. As in Berlin, mathematics seminars were founded ¨ ¨ in Bonn (1866), Tubingen (1869), Greifswald (1872), Wurzburg (1875) ¨ and elsewhere. In other universities the Konigsberg model of a combined mathematics and physics seminar prevailed, as in Munich (1856). At the German universities in the first decades of the nineteenth century, the teaching of Naturlehre or physics was frequently combined with that of mathematics or chemistry. The combination of mathematics and physics is encountered in Giessen, Berlin, Bonn, Breslau, Leipzig, ¨ Tubingen and Jena. There were full professorships in physics and chem¨ istry, for example, in Heidelberg, Erlangen, Halle and Wurzburg, where this combination was maintained even until 1870. At the University of Rostock, the philosophical faculty assigned physics, chemistry and botany ¨ to the same lecturer, while in Konigsberg, until the 1820s, the same full professor taught botany, zoology, mineralogy, chemistry and physics. At most of the universities, the collections of instruments for experimental physics were insufficient or even non-existent. Equipment had to be ¨ acquired by the professors at their own expense. In Gottingen, experimental physics developed through the efforts of Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1742–99), who, with his own funds, purchased all kinds of apparatus for his teaching. They were taken over by the university, which therefore already had a physikalisches Kabinett at the beginning of the nineteenth century.9 In Giessen, Georg Gottlieb Schmidt (1768–1837) established a physics cabinet on his own. Only in 1825 did he succeed in acquiring apparatus at the cost of the university. His successor, Heinrich Buff (1805–78), set up in 1838 a classroom and a laboratory in an outbuilding of his residence. In 1844, the state began to pay him an annual rent and the expenses of the furniture.10 In Leipzig, too, the first university collection of physics apparatus came from the private collection of professors. On the basis of these collections, in 1835, one of the first, if not the first, staatlich physikalisches Institut in Germany was founded.11 German Idealism influenced the natural sciences throughout the first third of the nineteenth century. Schelling’s idealistic and romantic 9

10 11

G. von Minnigerode, ‘250 Jahre Demonstrationsversuche in der Physik’, in H. H. ¨ ¨ Voigt (ed.), Naturwissenschaften in Gottingen. Eine Vortragsreihe, Gottinger Univer¨ ¨ sitatsschriften. Serie A: Schriften, 13 (Gottingen, 1988), 37. ¨ Giessen 1607–1982. Geschichte und Gegenwart (Giessen, 1982), 375 Jahre Universitat 166. ¨ ¨ Leipzig (Leipzig, 1909), Festschrift zur Feier des 500jahrigen Bestehens der Universitat vol. IV:2, 30ff.

501

Paul Bockstaele Naturphilosophie rejected empirical research as the basis for the practice of natural science. The bitter methodological and philosophical conflict between the proponents and opponents of this notion also had a great influence on the teaching of chemistry and physics in the German universities. To the active opponents of the romantic philosophy of nature belonged Ludwig Wilhelm Gilbert (1769–1824), professor of physics and chemistry in Halle and later in Leipzig. He is known primarily as the publisher, for 25 years from 1799 to 1824, of the Annalen der Physik, often called Gilbert’s Annalen, the forerunner of Johann Christian Poggendorf’s (1796–1877) Annalen der Physik und Chemie. Liebig, who once admired Schelling’s idealistic and romantic doctrine, also issued a scathing criticism of ‘the philosophy of nature’. An anonymous brochure, Von der Stellung der Naturwissenschaften, besonders der physikalischen, an unseren Uni¨ versitaten, which appeared in 1849, argued that more attention should be given to the empirically orientated natural sciences, and particularly to physics. The author, Gustav Karsten (1820–1900), full professor of physics at the University of Kiel, demanded the formation of faculties of mathematics and natural sciences and the establishment of a physics institute at every university in Germany. Each institute was to have physics collections, an auditorium, three rooms for physics research, laboratories for practitioners, and a library. That the teaching of physics, chemistry and mathematics had to be entrusted to professionals specially trained for these disciplines was by then already accepted virtually everywhere, although it had yet to be done by most universities.12 Karsten’s demands would be fully met only later, during the last third of the nineteenth century. It is striking that the technical institutes were the first to set up physics exercises for the students. The first practical laboratory exercises were set up in 1853 at the Polytechnikum in Karlsruhe. As was the case for mathematics, the impulse for a renewal of the teach¨ ing of physics in Germany came from Konigsberg, primarily from Franz Neumann. In 1834, he took over the direction of mathematical physics ¨ in the Mathematics and Physics Seminar. He built Konigsberg into the leading centre for mathematical physics in Germany. For years, Neumann ¨ argued for the construction of a physics laboratory in Konigsberg. It finally was built in 1885, more than ten years after he retired. Neumann’s student Kirchhoff became professor of physics in Heidel¨ berg in 1854. He taught in the Konigsberg manner and introduced exercises requiring exact measurements. In 1875, when poor health forced him to stop doing experimental work, he accepted the first chair of theoretical physics at the University of Berlin. Hermann von Helmholtz (1821–94) 12

¨ A. Hermann and A. Wankmuller, Physik, Physiologische Chemie und Pharmazie an der ¨ Tubingen ¨ ¨ Universitat (Tubingen, 1980), 13.

502

The mathematical and the exact sciences had been working there since 1871. The largest physics institute of the new German Empire was built for Helmholtz (completed in 1878). It was a brilliant time for physics in Berlin, where Max Planck (1858–1947), who succeeded Kirchhoff in 1889, had several other winners of the Nobel Prize for Physics as colleagues. Almost all German universities built an institute for physics during the last quarter of the nineteenth century or the first ¨ ¨ few years of the twentieth century: Wurzburg in 1879, Tubingen in 1888, Leipzig in 1905, and so on. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, almost all the universities in Central Europe had a salaried post in chemistry, which was still situated, with few exceptions, in the medical faculty. Jena was the first place where the separation between chemistry and medicine lasted. In 1789, Goethe succeeded in getting Carl August, the Duke of Weimar, to finance courses in chemistry and pharmacy in the faculty of philosophy. Johann Wolfgang ¨ Dobereiner (1780–1849) brought the teaching of chemistry into its own. He equipped one of the earliest teaching laboratories and, beginning in 1820, before Liebig in Giessen, introduced student chemistry exercises, which served as the example for all of Germany.13 At the University of Erlangen, the anatomist Georg Friedrich Hildebrandt (1764–1816), who lectured on chemistry at the faculty of medicine, brought about the transfer of chemistry to the faculty of philosophy in 1796. In 1799, he received a new laboratory.14 In Halle, chemistry went definitively to the faculty of philosophy in 1799.15 The remaining universities slowly followed suit. Chemistry received its own independent chair within a medical faculty in 1817 with the appointment of Leopold Gmelin (1788–1853) as full professor in Heidelberg. Only in 1852, with the appointment of Robert Wilhelm Bunsen (1811–99) as his successor, was the chair transferred to the faculty of philosophy.16 In addition to Heidelberg with Bunsen, three centres led the development of teaching and research in chemistry in Germany in the nine¨ teenth century: Giessen with Justus von Liebig (1803–73), Gottingen with ¨ Friedrich Wohler (1800–82), and Berlin with August Wilhelm von Hofmann (1818–92). In May 1824, the Grand Duke Ludwig I of Hessen, on the recommendation of Alexander von Humboldt and without consulting the faculty, appointed the 21-year-old Justus von Liebig to associate professor 13

14 15 16

¨ Jena 1548/58–1958 (Jena, 1958), vol. I, 294, 414–16; S. Geschichte der Universitat ¨ Jena (Weimar, 1983), Schmidt (ed.), Alma mater Jenensis. Geschichte der Universitat 141ff. K. Hufbauer, The Formation of the German Chemical Community (1720–1795) (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1982), 240. Ibid., 247. M. Becke-Goehring, E. Fluck et al., ‘Betrachtungen zur Chemie in Heidelberg’, in Semper ¨ (Berlin, 1985), vol. II, 332–47. apertus, Sechshundert Jahre Ruprecht-Karls-Universitat

503

Paul Bockstaele in chemistry at the University of Giessen.17 This marks the definitive beginning in Germany of laboratory instruction in chemistry, which had ¨ Jakob Berzelius already reached a high level in France and also, with Jons (1779–1848), in Sweden. Liebig’s special educational methods emphasized courses and exercises intended to bring the students as quickly as possible to full participation in experimental work. From Liebig’s school came many famous chemists, who influenced the academic teaching of chemistry in Germany and elsewhere. ¨ The University of Gottingen had a chemistry laboratory in 1783. It was initially orientated primarily to the pharmaceutical and chemical needs of the medical faculty. Friedrich Stromeyer (1776–1835) established a teach¨ ing laboratory there. His successor, Friedrich Wohler, was, like Liebig, one of the great teachers of chemistry of the century. The presence of the chair of chemistry in the medical, and not in the philosophical faculty burdened him with many utilitarian activities, but, alongside his unremitting activity as a researcher, he did an astonishing amount of teaching. At the University of Berlin, the full professorship for chemistry was linked to membership in the Academy for the first few years of its existence. The first chair holder was Martin Heinrich Klaproth (1743–1817). After his death, Eilhard Mitscherlich (1794–1863) came to teach in 1822, after a period of study with Berzelius in Stockholm. The second chair in chemistry was given to Heinrich Rose (1795–1864). After the almost simultaneous deaths of these two scholars, a new epoch dawned for chemistry in Berlin by the appointment of August Wilhelm von Hofmann, a student of Liebig. As a condition for the acceptance of the appointment, he demanded that an institute be built with modern teaching and research laboratories. It was dedicated in 1869. Meanwhile, chemical ¨ institutes were founded in Heidelberg in 1855, Wurzburg in 1866, Bonn in 1868, and so on. By the end of the nineteenth century, chemistry in the German universities had become a separate study area with specialization in inorganic and organic chemistry, physical chemistry and analytical chemistry. The universities in the neighbouring German-speaking countries, especially in Switzerland, benefited directly from developments in Germany owing to the high mobility of the professors. At the University of Zurich, which was founded in 1833 after the model of Berlin, almost all the professors of mathematics were German until well into the twentieth century. The teaching of chemistry was also in German hands for many years. The ¨ establishment in 1855 of the Eidgenossische Polytechnikum, later renamed ¨ Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule (ETH), in Zurich, gave new opportunities to the university with the founding of joint professorships 17

¨ Giessen (note 10), 157. Universitat

504

The mathematical and the exact sciences in both institutions. Among the professors who taught at both the university and the ETH, were Rudolf Clausius (1822–88), Albert Einstein (1879–1955), Peter Debye (1884–1966) and Max von Laue (1879–1960). Already at the foundation of the ETH, the intention was to teach the full breadth of both mathematics and the natural sciences at the highest level. Consideration was also given to the training of teachers in these fields, and, in 1866, an Abteilung zur Bildung von Fachlehrern in mathematischer und naturwissenschaftlicher Richtung was founded with two subdivisions, one for natural sciences and one for physics and mathematics. The organizer of the latter division was the mathematician Erwin Bruno Christoffel (1829–1900), who had studied in Berlin. At the ETH, too, most of the professors of mathematics were of German origin until 1940. The University of Basle had been a leading centre of mathematical sciences during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries thanks to three generations of the famous Bernoulli family with six professors of mathematics and their student Leonhard Euler (1707–83). But in the first half of the nineteenth century interest in mathematics was meagre. In 1862, ¨ Carl Neumann (1832–1925) of Konigsberg, a son of Franz Neumann, was appointed associate professor. Discouraged by the insufficient mathemat¨ ical knowledge of the students, he accepted an appointment in Tubingen ¨ in 1865, where he introduced Konigsberg methods. After 1912 and until the 1950s, one of the two posts of full professor of mathematics remained in German hands. The full professorships of physics and chemistry were also mostly occupied by Germans. The universities of Vienna, Graz and Prague also participated in the exchange of professors in German-speaking areas. In 1867, Ernst Mach (1838–1916) went from Graz to Prague as professor of experimental physics. He worked there for almost 30 years until 1895, when he transferred to Vienna. Between 1868 and 1883, almost all Czech physics students were educated by him, and many prominent professors of physics, mathematics or astronomy at that time started their professional careers ´ (1848– as Mach’s assistants. Among his students were Cenek Dvoˇrak 1922), later professor at Agram (Zagreb) University, and Cenek Strouhal (1850–1922), the first professor of experimental physics at the Czech University of Prague, founded in 1882. In 1911, Albert Einstein who had been associate professor of theoretical physics at the University of Zurich, was appointed full professor at the German University of Prague, but one year later he returned to the ETH Zurich, before going in 1914 to Berlin as Director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Physical Institute. From Vienna came Ludwig Boltzmann (1844–1906), successively professor at Graz, Vienna ¨ and Munich, Erwin Schrodinger (1887–1961), professor at Stuttgart, Breslau, Zurich, Berlin, Graz, Dublin and Vienna, and Wolfgang Pauli (1900–58), professor at Hamburg and Zurich. 505

Paul Bockstaele the exact sciences at british universities At both Oxford and Cambridge as well as at the Scottish universities, there had been chairs in mathematics since the seventeenth or the eighteenth centuries. What was taught at the beginning of the nineteenth century, however, was very much out of date. Mathematics was not practised in the universities for its intrinsic value nor, as in France, as a professionally, economically or militarily useful science. Appreciated as an intellectual exercise to help students to develop their ‘logical thinking’, it was accepted as a useful instrument for the education of young men to become gentlemen. At Oxford, the mathematical sciences were long refused a fair place in the curriculum, and they counted for nothing in the examinations. In addition to the study of the classics, the teaching in the colleges concentrated on the study of Euclid, algebra, conic sections, plane and spherical trigonometry, static, dynamics, hydrostatics, optics, fluxions and fluents, and Book I of Newton’s Principia. Students were often dissatisfied with this science and supplemented their knowledge by private instruction or self-study. They often used the works of French mathematicians or astronomers, particularly those of Lacroix, Laplace and Lagrange. In Cambridge they made the extra effort because the Mathematical Tripos was the only examination leading there to an honours degree until 1850. The candidates placed in the first class were called wranglers, and to finish as the first or senior wrangler was considered a great success. In this way, the honours examinations at Cambridge had become an institutionalized stimulus for the study of mathematics. Important for the teaching of mathematics at Cambridge was the foundation in 1812 by some undergraduates of the noteworthy but short-lived Analytical Society.18 The objective of the founders was ‘to reform British mathematics generally, starting with notation’. They encountered resistance. To reduce the university to a research centre for mathematics did not fit into the then prevailing ideas of education. Defensive reactions, manifested in the emphasis on geometry and elementary mathematics, can be found even after 1840. Mathematics began to flourish at Cambridge with the appointment of George Gabriel Stokes (1819– 1903) in 1849 as Lucasian Professor of Mathematics, a post he held until his death in 1903. He promoted the study of higher mathematics and of mathematical physics. At the Scottish universities, the teaching of mathematics remained unquestionably conservative and elementary until far into the nineteenth century. Many professors were competent mathematicians, but their students were insufficiently prepared for the study of higher mathematics. 18

J. M. Dubbey, The Mathematical Work of Charles Babbage (Cambridge, 1978), 31– 50; N. Guicciardini, The Development of Newtonian Calculus in Britain 1700–1800 (Cambridge, 1989), 135–8.

506

The mathematical and the exact sciences The average age at matriculation was fourteen to fifteen. Teaching often took place in large groups, so that the individual student could expect little personal attention. At the University of Dublin, the influence of the French mathematicians and astronomers, especially Lacroix, Laplace, Monge and Poisson was evident from the beginning of the century. The experimental sciences were long undervalued as degree programmes at the English and Scottish universities. Even after the founding of the Natural Sciences Tripos in 1848, there was strong opposition at Cambridge to attempts to introduce examination questions on subjects like heat or electricity on the ground that they were still immature sciences. However, the demand for more science could not be ignored by the middle of the century. A Royal Commission to enquire into the State, Discipline, Studies, and Revenues of Cambridge University submitted its report in 1852. It recommended establishing a second chair for chemistry and increasing the salary of the professors of sciences and mathematics. It pointed to the need for courses illustrated by experiments. It also recommended creation of a ‘complete and thoroughly equipped laboratory’ for chemistry, in which the professor and every member of the university who wished to study chemistry could work freely. However, the Commission could not surmount the resistance to the introduction of examinations on heat and electricity. It proposed that ‘certain mathematico-physical theories, which had obtained a temporary and questionable footing in the Examination, and which were felt to be in a considerable state of obscurity, involving great mathematical difficulties, and rather marking the frontier of science, than coming as yet fully within its ascertained range (those, namely, of Electricity, Magnetism and Heat), should not be admitted as subjects of examination.’19 The university began to construct new laboratories in 1863. Over the next two years, accommodation was completed in turn for zoology, chemistry, mineralogy and botany. After many years of agitation and consultation, the university began to take concrete steps to set up a programme for the systematic teaching and study of experimental physics. A committee to investigate the possibilities submitted its report in 1869. It proposed establishment of a professorship in experimental physics associated with a well-equipped laboratory. William Cavendish (1808–91), 7th Duke of Devonshire, made ample funds available for its construction and equipment. James Clerk Maxwell (1831– 79) was appointed the first Cavendish Professor at Cambridge. During Maxwell’s professorship, the number of students who studied experimental physics remained small. After his death in 1879, John William Strutt (1841–1919), later Lord Rayleigh, took over the task. Following 19

Quoted in J. G. Crowther, The Cavendish Laboratory 1874–1974 (New York, 1974), 9–10.

507

Paul Bockstaele the example of Helmholtz in Berlin and Kirchhoff in Heidelberg, he promoted the systematic teaching of elementary practical physics for larger numbers of students. He was succeeded in 1884 by Joseph John Thomson (1856–1940), under whose leadership the Cavendish Laboratory grew in less than twenty years to a world-renowned research centre for physics. One of the first physics laboratories at a British university was established by William Thomson, Lord Kelvin (1824–1907), professor of natural philosophy in Glasgow from 1846 to 1899. It may have been the very first in which students could conduct experiments under the direction of the professor. However, it was unsuitable for the practical instruction of large groups of students. At Oxford, experimental philosophy was incorporated into the university in 1810 by the establishment of a readership, paid for by a grant from the crown. Practical work in physics commenced in 1867. The Clarendon Laboratory was begun the next year, and began to offer courses in 1870. London did not do so well. As late as 1865, only one room was available in University College, London, for classes in experimental physics. The situation was the same for King’s College in London, where systematic instruction in practical physics began in 1877. The new system of chemical education introduced by Liebig illuminated great flaws in the English educational system. In order to improve and stimulate the teaching of chemistry, a College of Chemistry was founded in London and entrusted to Liebig’s student, August Wilhelm von Hofmann (1818–92). The College began in 1845 in rented rooms; later it acquired its own building, with laboratories and an auditorium. As a private institution, the College ran into financial difficulties that slowed its development. The government took it over in 1853, and made it the chemical department of the Royal School of Mines. The twenty years Hofmann worked there were of vital importance for the teaching of chemistry in Great Britain. At the Victoria University of Manchester, a new, well-equipped physics laboratory, replacing an existing one, was dedicated in 1900. In 1907, Ernest Rutherford (1871–1937) accepted the Langworthy Chair of Physics there, together with the direction of the laboratory. Under his leadership, the department soon became a school for research in radioactivity that attracted researchers from throughout the world. In 1919, Rutherford succeeded Thomson as the head of the Cavendish Laboratory. higher education in the exact sciences in russia In the beginning of the nineteenth century, the government of the young Tsar Alexander I began a thoroughgoing reform of education in Russia. In 1802 a Ministry of National Education was established, which worked out an entire programme of reforms with the assistance of eminent scholars, 508

The mathematical and the exact sciences including the mathematicians Nicolaus Fuss (1755–1826) and Stepan Rumovskii (1734–1812). New universities were founded according to the German model, but all received a faculty of mathematical and exact sciences whose curriculum was unusually finely divided into pure and applied mathematics, theoretical and experimental physics, chemistry, mineralogy, astronomy, agriculture and botany. The number of educational personnel available in Russia did not allow the universities to fulfil the plan from the outset. The first to do so was the German-language University of Tartu (Dorpat). Its rector, Georg Parrot (1767–1852), a professor of physics, had founded the necessary lecturers by 1805. He himself laid the basis for the proper teaching of physics and provided a well-equipped physics laboratory. At the University of Vilnius, the faculty of physics and mathematics was subdivided into ten departments, each with a professorship: physics, chemistry, natural history, botany, agriculture, higher mathematics, applied mathematics, astronomy, practical astronomy and civil architecture. Again, lack of professors prevented filling all the vacancies. The teaching that was done used the books of Lacroix, Legendre, Biot and Delambre. However, the university was closed in 1832 by Tsar Nicholas I before it reached completion. At the University of Moscow, physics, mechanics, chemistry, astronomy and other courses were taught by foreigners. The University of Kazan had the good fortune of being able to appoint four eminent German scientists between 1808 and 1810: Johann Bartels (1769–1836) for pure mathematics, Kaspar Renner (1780–1816) for applied mathematics, Joseph Littrow (1781–1840) for astronomy, and Franz Xaver Bronner (1758– ¨ 1850) for physics. Bartels had been the teacher of Gauss in Gottingen, and in Kazan he had Nikolai Lobachevskii (1792–1856) among his students. In Kharkov, mathematics was taught by Timofei Osipovskii (1765–1832), one of the best mathematicians in Russia at the beginning of the nineteenth century. He wrote a handbook in three parts that introduced an entire generation of Russians to mathematics and he translated Laplace’s Mécanique céleste into Russian. New problems arose around 1820 that disrupted the already difficult beginnings of science teaching in Russia. The universities became the scene of a sometimes bitter struggle between the Russian Government and the foreign professors. Control of the national educational systems had come into the hands of conservative bureaucrats, who encouraged a mixture of piety and mysticism in the universities. Science had to be saturated with Christian morality. The universities received instructions about teaching from the religious point of view. Theoretical and experimental physics could be used to demonstrate God’s omniscience and the limits of human capabilities. Censorship was applied even to handbooks of physics and chemistry. With the exception of Dorpat (Tartu), the effect 509

Paul Bockstaele on the universities was catastrophic. Some professors were officially dismissed or voluntarily resigned, and most of the foreigners left Russia. Many positions remained unoccupied, and the universities degenerated into a scientific wasteland. It took them almost a quarter of a century to recover completely from this disaster. The first step to recovery was taken when, in 1827, it was decided to send a few of the most promising students from Moscow, Kazan and Kharkov for three years to the University of Tartu (Dorpat) and then for two years abroad for further studies. The first group returned in 1834 from Western Europe, most having studied in Berlin. In the meantime, a number of young scholars who had worked in Paris had returned to Russia. Among them was P. A. Zateplinskiy (1794–1834), the first Russian to be promoted to doctor at the Paris faculty of sciences, who taught astronomy at the University of Kharkov from 1824 to 1834. There was also Mikhail Ostrogradskii (1801–62), who studied in Paris from 1822 to 1827. After his return to Russia. he taught mathematics, analytic mechanics and mathematical physics at several institutions in St Petersburg. The Russian universities could not satisfy the enormous demand for highly competent mathematicians, physicists or chemists in Russia, but they did train a large number of students who could start as postgraduate students under eminent scholars in the West. Thanks to the universities, Russia could begin to satisfy its needs in the 1860s with its own people, and imported scholars became rare. From then on, mathematics, mechanics and chemistry, in particular, experienced a striking emancipation at the universities and other educational institutions in Russia. An important role in the revival of the study and the teaching of mathematical sciences in Russia was played by Viktor Buniakovskii (1804–89). In 1825, he obtained his doctorate in analytical mechanics and mathematical physics at the faculty of sciences in Paris. In 1846, he was appointed professor of pure and applied mathematics at the University of St Petersburg. A year later, Pafnuty Lvovich Chebyshev (1821–94) came to St Petersburg from Moscow as assistant professor and began teaching courses in higher algebra and number theory. In 1850, he was appointed extraordinary professor and, in 1860, ordinary professor. Together with Buniakovskii, he laid the foundations for what became known as the St Petersburg school of mathematics. Chebyshev’s work was continued by Andrey Andreevich Markov (1856–1922). For more than 25 years, from 1878 to 1905, he combined intensive research with teaching in higher algebra, number theory, integral calculus, elliptic functions, the calculus of finite differences, probability theory and applied mechanics. For physics, the University of St Petersburg could call upon academician Heinrich F. E. Lenz (1804–65), who had studied in Tartu (Dorpat) under Parrot. From 1836 to 1865, he taught general physics, 510

The mathematical and the exact sciences the theory of electricity and magnetism, and physical geography. In chemistry, Aleksandr A. Voskresenskii (1809–80), who had studied with Mitscherlich in Berlin and with Liebig in Giessen, regularly informed the students about the new discoveries and ideas in chemistry. He also taught at the St Petersburg Pedagogical Institute. His student Dmitrii Ivanovich Mendeleev (1834–1907) was appointed professor of general chemistry at the university in 1868. Through his agency, Aleksandr Mikhailovich Butlerov (1828–86) came from Kazan to St Petersburg in 1868, where he developed a school for organic chemistry. In Kazan, Butlerov had been a student of Nikolai Nikolaevich Zinin (1812–80), who had worked in Giessen with Liebig, and he was appointed there to extraordinary professor in chemistry in 1854 and to ordinary professor in 1857. With the appointment in 1834 of Nikolai Dmitrievich Brashman (1796– 1866) to professor of applied mathematics at the University of Moscow, the foundation was laid for the teaching of both theoretical and applied mechanics. Pure mathematics flourished in the first third of the twentieth century with the school of function theory of Dmitrii Fedorovich Egorov (1869–1931) and Nikolai Nikolaevich Luzin (1883–1950).20 Egorov was director of the Institute for Mathematics and Mechanics of the University of Moscow from 1921 to 1929. Luzin trained a pleiad of ‘Soviet mathematicians’. professionalization and scientific r e s e a r c h 1870–1939 Three kinds of academic approaches to the exact sciences may be distinguished: the French or Latin, which was primarily professionally orientated; the German, which gave precedence to scientific research; and the English, which saw mathematics and natural sciences as elements of an allround education. Over the nineteenth century, these differences blurred, and, by 1900, it was accepted everywhere that the universities were both training schools and institutes for scientific research. New social and economic needs and the increasing differentiation of the natural sciences in particular led, by the first half of the nineteenth century, to the disappearance of the encyclopaedic curriculum of the philosophy faculty. The strong growth of the mathematical and the physical and chemical sciences after 1870 brought ever-increasing specialization. Various branches of mathematics, physics, astronomy and chemistry developed into almost autonomous sub-disciplines, each with its own terminology and method. At most universities, this development led to the introduction 20

E. R. Philips, ‘Nicolai Nicolaevich Luzin and the Moscow School of the Theory of Functions’, Historia Mathematica, 5 (1978), 275–305.

511

Paul Bockstaele of separate scientific degrees in mathematics, physics, chemistry and the other natural sciences. The natural sciences, and chemistry and physics in particular, had reached a degree of development that enabled them to assist technology, the economy and industry. New areas of research arose, such as electro-technology, agricultural chemistry and technical thermodynamics. This meant that polytechnical schools, agricultural institutes and medical faculties took on an ever-greater share of education and research. The increasing specialization and the great difference in the organization of education make it difficult to form a coherent picture of scientific research at the European universities around 1900. Nevertheless, some general characteristics may be indicated. First of all, there is the unmistakable professionalization of the researchers. Previously, the professors were primarily lecturers. Although research was welcome, it remained a private activity. But by 1900, research was considered an integral part of the professor’s task. Second, by the end of the century, students and assistants were involved in research. Around 1870, Berlin was the centre of the mathematical world. Simultaneous with the further expansion of classic areas, set theory was developed by Georg Cantor (1845–1918). Around the turn of the century, the ¨ centre of gravity of mathematical research moved to Gottingen. French mathematicians were interested primarily in the theory of functions. They introduced set theory into analysis and, making use of measure theory, generalized the concept of the integral. Together with Italian mathematicians, they laid the foundations for a new branch of mathematics: functional analysis. At the Italian universities, pronounced progress in mathematical research occurred after 1860. Links were again sought with the most advanced currents in European research. Important centres were the universities of Rome, Turin and Pisa and the Scuola Normale Superiore of Pisa. There, the foundations were laid for the Italian school of algebraic geometry. Important work, particularly in classic analysis and functional analysis, was done at Hungarian universities in between the two world wars. At the University of Szeged, Frigyes Riesz (1880–1956), together with Alfred Haar (1885–1933), founded the internationally renowned Janos Bolyai ´ Fejér Institute with its journal Acta Scientiarum mathematicarum. Lipot (1880–1959), a professor at the University of Budapest, became the leader of the successful Hungarian school of analysis.21 After the re-establishment of the Polish state at the end of World War I, the University of Warsaw developed into a first-rank centre for 21

R. Hersch and V. John-Steiner, ‘A Visit to Hungarian Mathematics’, The Mathematical Intelligencer, 15, 2 (1993), 13–26.

512

The mathematical and the exact sciences mathematics, particularly owing to the work of Zygmunt Janiszewski (1888–1920), Waclaw Sierpinski (1882–1969) and Stefan Mazurkiewicz (1888–1945). Their interest was primarily in set theory, topology, the foundations of mathematics, and logic. Together, they founded in 1920 the journal Fundamenta Mathematica. Another traditional branch of mathematics, probability, achieved a new phase in its development thanks to Pafnuty Lvovich Chebyshev (1821–94) and to the St Petersburg school of mathematics he founded. Modern probability arose in the first decades of the twentieth century with the work of A. N. Lyapunov (1857–1918) and Markov, and was further developed between the wars by Aleksandr Khinchin (1894–1959) and Andrey Nikolayevich Kolmogorov (1903–87) in Moscow. The founder of the modern science of statistics was Karl Pearson (1857– 1936), professor of applied mathematics and mechanics at University College, London, from 1884 to 1911. Together with eugenicists and mathematicians, he formed the first department for applied statistics, whereby London became the leading international centre for teaching and research into statistical methods. Extensive opportunities for the introduction of new subjects in education were also present in Scandinavian and Dutch universities. At the Municipal University of Amsterdam, Luitzen Egbertus Jan Brouwer (1881–1966) attempted to broaden and improve the mathematics programme and to increase the number of professors. By 1923, there were four professors in mathematics, including Brouwer who, besides function theory, gave the then unusual courses of set theory and the foundations of mathematics. The rise of Nazism was disastrous for mathematics and mathematical physics. Between April and November 1933, the Mathematics Institute ¨ in Gottingen was virtually destroyed. Many of its staff emigrated to the United States, England and elsewhere. Richard von Mises went to Istanbul, where he, at the request of the Turkish Government, established an institute for pure and applied mathematics. As was the case for mathematics, the period between 1933 and 1939 had a decisive influence on the development of physics and chemistry in Europe. Many scholars from the countries ruled by Hitler and Mussolini were dismissed or expelled, or conditions were made impossible for them to work in. Among them were ¨ physicists like Einstein, Debye, Born, Fermi and Schrodinger. The same occurred in Soviet Russia; accused of participation in ‘antirevolutionary’ and ‘reactionary’ organizations, Egorov was arrested in 1931 and banished to Kazan, where he died. Luzin was accused of having ‘anti-Soviet’ feelings, and resigned from the university.22 Although important work 22

A. Shields, ‘Years Ago’, The Mathematical Intelligencer, 9, 4 (1987), 24–7, and 11, 2 (1989), 5–8; C. E. Ford, ‘Dimitrii Egorov: Mathematics and Religion in Moscow’, The Mathematical Intelligencer, 13, 2 (1991), 24–30.

513

Paul Bockstaele went on in Europe until 1939, preparations for war and war itself dealt a blow to science such that Europe has never recovered its pre-war dominance. Paris’s importance in chemistry was maintained by Berthollet, Dumas, Gay-Lussac and Michel-Eugène Chevreuil (1786–1889). They combined industrial and academic work in a stimulating way, but they did not succeed in preventing Germany from assuming leadership in chemistry. In Great Britain, chemical research was never centralized as in France. Although it had strong centres in Edinburgh and Manchester it could not stem the German advance. The increasing complexity of chemistry, which resulted in its division into new, more or less autonomous branches, also brought in more mathematics, in the discipline of physical chemistry. Its founders were Jacobus van’t Hoff (1852–1911), Svante Arrhenius (1859–1927) ¨ and Wilhelm Ostwald (1853–1932); its journal, the Zeitschrift fur physikalische Chemie, was founded in 1887. Another novel chemical sub-discipline was biochemistry. By the middle of the century, a few chemists, including Liebig, began to integrate their work with that of biological researchers. Physiologists at first made major, though incoherent, contributions to biochemistry. Only at the end of the nineteenth century did the pieces begin to fall together, and modern biochemistry arose as an inter-discipline between the animal and plant chemistry of the chemists and the physiological chemistry of the biologists and medical researchers. The definitive flourishing of biochemistry, however, only commenced after 1920. Biochemistry as an independent sub-discipline received a place in university curricula only after World War II. The harvest of scientific discoveries was the result of research concentrated in universities and polytechnic institutes. Between 1890 and 1914, well-organized academic laboratories were the sites of original, systematic research. Among the great research centres, alongside the Institute for Physics in Berlin and the Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge, the Laboratoire de Recherche Physique of the Sorbonne has a place. It was built and equipped as directed by Gabriel Lippmann (1845–1921), who became its director in 1886. Important original research also came out of the physics laboratory of the University of Manchester, particularly under Rutherford. In the Netherlands, primarily the physics laboratory of the University of Leiden with Heike Kamerling Onnes (1853–1926) and Hendrik Antoon Lorentz (1853–1928) and the laboratory of Amsterdam with Johannes Diderik van der Waals (1837–1923) and Pieter Zeeman (1865–1943), were busy international centres. In 1891, Arrhenius was appointed professor of physics at the Technical University of Stockholm, a chair that he held until 1905, when he became 514

The mathematical and the exact sciences head of the section of physical chemistry of the Nobel Institute of the Academy of Sciences. During the years of his professorship, a stream of students came from Sweden and abroad to work with him in Stockholm. In 1912, Niels Bohr (1885–1962), after his studies at the University of Copenhagen, went to Manchester where he collaborated with Rutherford. In 1918, he became the first director of the Institute for Theoretical Physics at the University of Copenhagen. In a few years, his Institute became a Mecca for theoretical physicists the world over. Research into the physical sciences in Italy remained largely limited to theoretical physics. Important research centres developed only after 1927 at the universities of Rome and Florence and, after 1930, in Turin. The origins of theoretical physics should be sought in the mathematical physics taught in France and at Italian and Belgian universities from early in the nineteenth century. Its substance was the mechanics of fluids, elasticity, sound and optics. During the nineteenth century, it picked up thermodynamics, aerodynamics and potential theory. The parts of mathematical physics closest to ongoing experimental work developed into theoretical physics, which came into its own around the turn of the century with William Thomson (later Lord Kelvin) and Franz Neumann. Initially, education in theoretical physics was generally seen as a supplement to that in experimental physics; consequently German universities introduced it through an extraordinary professorship junior to the ordinary professorship for experimental physics. By the turn of the century, almost all German universities had an extraordinary professorship for theoretical physics. By 1914, nine of them had been converted to ordinary professorships. By 1900, however, Germany was leading the field. Physics education at British universities was dominated for most of the nineteenth century by graduates of the Cambridge Mathematical Tripos.23 The candidates were required to present skills in the solution of problems in mechanics, hydrostatics, hydrodynamics, and later on after 1860 also in optics and electromagnetism. As late as 1914 in England and Scotland, almost half of the chairs in physics were occupied by men trained in the Mathematical Tripos. They propagated that confidence in worked out mechanical models that characterized British physics until World War I. After 1910, the influence of the Cambridge School waned as a result of the growing prestige of the Natural Sciences Tripos, which was founded in 1848, the foundation of research schools at municipal universities, particularly in London and Manchester, and the rise of physical theories irreducible to mechanics. Because physics had become a requirement 23

P. Forman, J. L. Heilbron and S. Weart, ‘Physics circa 1900: Personnel, Funding and Productivity of the Academic Establishments’, Historical Studies in the Physical Sciences, 5 (1975), 32.

515

Paul Bockstaele also in agronomy, medicine and engineering, the teaching staff expanded considerably everywhere around 1900. Moreover, there came, in addition to the lectures on experimental physics, analytical mechanics and theoretical physics, specialized courses in industrial physics, hydraulics, electricity, electro-technology and astrophysics. Already by the nineteenth century, a distinction was made between mathematical and physical astronomy. Physical astronomy described the various heavenly bodies separately and the changes observed on the surface of the sun, the planets or other heavenly bodies. Applied to the earth, this study was called meteorology and geophysics. Mathematical astronomy was concerned with computing the motions of the planets, satellites, and so on. The theoretical basis for the study of the movement of the heavenly bodies and the calculation of the orbits of planets is celestial mechanics. Its flourishing at the end of the century is reflected in works like Felix Tisserand’s (1845–96) Traité de mécanique céleste (4 vols., 1889–96) and Henri Poincaré’s (1854–1912) Les méthodes nouvelles de la mécanique céleste (3 vols., 1905–10). Few universities had a good observatory, the essential basis for most of nineteenth century astronomy. Among exceptions were Leiden (founded in 1633, new building in 1861), Copenhagen (originally built in 1650), Uppsala (1730), Glasgow (1760), Tartu (Dorpat) (1809), Cambridge (1820), Bonn (1836) and Strasburg (1881). Other universities with attached observatories are Cracow, Vienna, Leipzig, Kazan, Breslau, Budapest, Basle and Bordeaux. The introduction of photography meant a revolution in astronomical research. By the end of the nineteenth century, photography had almost completely replaced visual observation. An important consequence was that every university and institute could participate in scientific research in stellar astronomy by studying photographs taken elsewhere. A leading example is Jacobus Cornelius Kapteyn’s (1851–1922) Astronomical Laboratory, launched at the University of Groningen in 1896, which took up the processing of photographic plates taken elsewhere. Kapteyn became one of the pioneers of stellar statistics. New opportunities were offered to stellar astronomy by spectroscopy. By 1817, Joseph Fraunhofer (1787– 1826) had connected a spectroscope to a telescope, but it was primarily Kirchhoff and Bunsen who, between 1859 and 1861, set the spectral analysis of the light from the stars on a solid foundation. From this developed astrophysics, the science that is concerned with the physics and the chemistry of the heavenly bodies. Rapidly after its discovery, spectral analysis was applied to stars by William Huggins (1824–1910) in England, Angelo Secchi (1818–78) in Rome, and Hermann Karl Vogel (1841–1907) in Germany. Notwithstanding these initial successes, it took a long time before astronomers accepted the new concepts, methods and instruments, which were alien to the routine work of the observatory. Although its 516

The mathematical and the exact sciences origin was in Europe, astrophysics underwent its greatest growth at the end of the nineteenth century in America. Around 1910, it grew together with the traditional positional astronomy into a joint enterprise. From 1900 on, astronomers devoted a large part of their time and attention to the structure of the Milky Way and of individual stars themselves. In this context the new branch of astronomy, stellar statistics, developed thanks to Hugo von Seeliger (1849–1924), professor in Munich, and Karl ¨ Schwarzschild (1873–1948), professor in Gottingen and later director of the Astrophysics Observatory of Potsdam. The theoretical development was provided by the Swedish astronomer Carl Charlier (1862–1934), professor in Lund, who founded there a school for stellar statistics.

select bibliography Artz, F. B. The Development of Technical Education in France 1500–1850, History of Technology and Culture 3, Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1966. ´ M. (eds.) Messengers of Mathematics: European MathAusejo, E. and Hormigon, ematical Journals (1800–1946), Madrid, 1993. Beckert, H. and Schumann, H. (eds.) 100 Jahre mathematisches Seminar der ¨ Leipzig, Berlin, 1981. Karl-Marx-Universitat ¨ Biermann, K. R. Die Mathematik und ihre Dozenten an der Berliner Universitat 1810–1933. Stationen auf dem Wege eines mathematischen Zentrums von Weltgeltung, Berlin, 1988. Breidbach, O. et al. (eds.) Lorenz Oken, Weimar, 2001. Caneva, K. L. ‘From Galvanism to Electrodynamics: The Transformation of German Physics and its Social Context’, Historical Studies in the Physical Sciences, 9 (1978), 63–159. de Castro Freire, F. Memoria historica da Faculdade de mathematica nos cem annos decorridos desde a reforma da Universidade em 1772 até o presente, Coimbra, 1872. Crosland, M. and Smith, C. ‘The Transmission of Physics from France to Britain: 1800–1840’, Historical Studies in the Physical Sciences, 9 (1978), 1–61. Dhombres, J. ‘Introduction: L’Ecole Polytechnique et ses historiens’, in A. Fourcy, Histoire de l’Ecole Polytechnique, Paris, 1987, 5–69. Fiocca, A. and Pepe, L. ‘L’Insegnamento della matematica nell’ Universita` di Ferrara dal 1771 al 1942’, in Universita` e cultura a Ferrara e Bologna, Pubblicazioni dell’Universita` di Ferrara 1, Florence, 1989, 1–78. ¨ Freiburg i. Br., Gericke, H. Zur Geschichte der Mathematik an der Universitat ¨ zur Freiburger Wissenschafts- und Universitatsgeschichte ¨ Beitrage 7, Freiburg im Breisgau, 1955. ´ katedr Wydzialu matematyki, fizyki, chemii UniwerGolab, S. Studia z dziejow sytetu Jagielloc/ skiego, Cracow, 1964. Grattan-Guinness, I. ‘Grandes Ecoles, Petite Université: Some Puzzled Remarks on Higher Education in Mathematics in France, 1795–1840’, History of University, 7 (1988), 197–225.

517

Paul Bockstaele ´ ´ I. ‘An Analysis of the Origin and DevelHajek, B., Niklicek, L. and Mannova, opment of Czech Chemistry as a Part of the Formation of National Science’, Acta historiae rerum naturalium necnon technicarum, Special issue 9 (1977), 111–32. Harman, P. M. (ed.) Wranglers and Physicists: Studies on Cambridge Mathematical Physics in the Nineteenth Century, Manchester, 1985. Jungnickel, C. ‘Teaching and Research in the Physical Sciences and Mathematics in Saxony, 1820–1850’, Historical Studies in Physical Sciences, 10 (1979), 3–47. ¨ Lorey, W. Das Studium der Mathematik an den Deutschen Universitaten seit Anfang des 19. Jahrhunderts, Leipzig and Berlin, 1916. ¨ Marburg seit Beginn des 19. JahrhunMeinel, C. Die Chemie an der Universitat derts. Ein Beitrag zu ihrer Entwicklung als Hochschulfach, Academia Marburgensis 3, Marburg, 1978. ˜ en el siglo XIX’, Llull, Millan, A. ‘Los estudios de geometr´ıa superior en Espana 14 (1991), 117–86. Pahl, F. Geschichte des naturwissenschaftlichen und mathematischen Unterrichts, Handbuch der naturwissenschaftlichen und mathematischen Unterrichts 1, Leipzig, 1913. Reindl, M. Lehre und Forschung in Mathematik und Naturwissenschaften, ins¨ Wurzburg ¨ ¨ besondere Astronomie, an der Universitat von der Grundung bis ¨ zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts, Wurzburg, 1966. ¨ Rowe, D. E., ‘“Jewish Mathematics” at Gottingen in the Era of Felix Klein’, Isis, 77 (1986), 422–49. Scharlau, W. (ed.) Mathematische Institute in Deutschland 1800–1945, Braunschweig and Wiesbaden, 1990. Schubring, G. ‘Pure and Applied Mathematics in Divergent Institutional Settings in Germany: The Role and Impact of Felix Klein’, in D. Rowe and J. McCleary (eds.), The History of Modern Mathematics: Proceedings of the Symposium on the History of Modern Mathematics, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York, June 20–24, 1989, vol. II: Institutions and Applications, Boston, 1989, 171–220. Shinn, T. ‘The French Science Faculty System 1808–1914: Institutional Change and Research Potential in Mathematics and the Physical Sciences’, Historical Studies in Physical Sciences, 10 (1980), 271–332. Stichweh, R. Zur Entstehung der modernen Systems wissenschaftlicher Disziplinen. Physik in Deutschland 1740–1890, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1984. Vucinich, A. Science in Russian Culture: A History to 1860, London, 1965.

518

CHAPTER 13

BIOLOGY AND THE EARTH SCIENCES

ANTO LEIKOLA

the birth of biology The year 1802 was, in a sense, a turning point in the history of biology. In that year, the science of biology was formally born, simultaneously on both sides of the Rhine. In France, Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (1744–1829), professor of the Muséum d’Histoire Naturelle of Paris, defined biology as follows: ‘All that is generally common to plants and animals, as all those features which are, without exceptions, proper to all of these creatures, should be the sole and wide subject of a particular science which has not yet been founded, which has even yet no name and which I shall call Biology.’1 In his famous Philosophie zoologique, in 1809, Lamarck returned to this new discipline, mentioning that he had collected a great amount of material for a book with the title Biologie. But, as he somewhat sadly put it, ‘this work will now remain, as far as I am concerned, unwritten’.2 Lamarck was a controversial figure, and his work was soon nearly forgotten. In Germany, Gottfried Reinhold Treviranus (1776–1864) was more fortunate. In 1802, when he was only 26 years old, he began publishing his major work on Biologie. The word ‘biology’ had been used occasionally, but in Treviranus’s work, which became quite popular in the German-speaking world, the concept was well defined:

1 2

J.-B. Lamarck, ‘Discours d’ouverture de l’An X’, in J.-B. Lamarck, Recherches sur l’organisation des corps vivants (Paris, 1802). J.-B. Lamarck, Philosophie zoologique (Paris, 1809; 1907 edn), Avertissement, p. xxii: ‘. . . j’ai fait usage des principaux matériaux que je rassemblais pour un ouvrage projeté sur les corps vivants, sous le titre de Biologie, ouvrage qui, de ma part, restera sans exécution’; cf. J.-B. Lamarck, Zoological Philosophy. An Exposition With Regard to the Natural History of Animals (translated by Hugh Elliott) (Chicago and London, 1984), 6.

519

Anto Leikola The object of our study will be the different forms and phenomena of life, those conditions and laws, under which this state will occur, and those causes through which it is influenced. The science which works on these subjects will be called biology, or the science of life. We shall thus begin to work with material, which has so far been dispersed among many different disciplines, especially in natural history and theoretical medicine.3

Many other events in biological – and geological – sciences could be picked up from the years around 1800. There was the histology of Xavier Bichat (1771–1802), which was announced in 1800 in his Traité des membranes and in 1801 in Anatomie générale. There was the new comparative anatomy of Georges Cuvier (1769–1832), which, of course, had its roots in the Renaissance but which became manifest in a new sense in Cuvier’s Leçons d’anatomie comparée in the year VIII of the Revolution, i.e. 1800. The two Italian experimental physiologists and physicists, Luigi Galvani (1737–98) and Alessandro Volta (1745–1827), continued their dispute about the nature of electricity, especially ‘animal electricity’, until Galvani’s death; they paved the way for the rise of modern neurophysiology in the 1840s. As to geology, James Hutton (1726–97) had announced his uniformitarian theory in 1785 and in an enlarged form in 1795 in his book Theory of the Earth, but his ideas became more generally known only during the early years of the nineteenth century, when the ‘Neptunists’, headed by the influential German geologist and mineralogist Abraham Gottlob Werner (1750–1817), were in a long and sometimes bitter controversy with the ‘Vulcanists’ about the principal factor responsible for the formation of the earth’s crust; according to the Neptunists it was water, according to the Vulcanists it was fire. The beginning of the century was also the beginning of the era of Alexander von Humboldt (1769–1859), who returned with his friend Aimé Bonpland (1773–1858) from their great voyage to South America in 1804. Humboldt is nowadays mainly known as an explorer and as the founding father of plant geography, but during the first half of the nineteenth century he exercised great influence on all scientific thinking. Especially with his lectures in Berlin in the 1820s he raised among the public a new interest in the sciences, which soon led to a German hegemony in many fields, and not least in the biological ones. In his older days – he lived to be 90 – Humboldt became a symbol of science for the whole of Europe, comparable to Albert Einstein (1879–1955) a century later.

3

¨ ¨ Naturforscher und Arzte, G. Treviranus, Biologie, oder Philosophie der lebenden Natur fur ¨ 6 vols. (Gottingen, 1802–22), vol. I, 444.

520

Biology and the earth sciences In his mighty work Kosmos (1845–62) Humboldt described the world as a great whole governed by laws of universal harmony, an idea he had in common with the German Naturphilosophie, although in his scientific work he relied on observation and empirical facts. For the Naturphilosoph, empiricism appeared too limited and restricting, and they gave free rein to their imagination in the search for the ultimate secrets of Nature. The most influential of them all was Lorenz Oken (1779–1851), to whom we owe the word ‘infusoria’ as a designation of the most primitive living creatures. Oken’s philosophy was fantastic and obscure – it has been said that his prose has become virtually impenetrable to the modern reader unfamiliar with the enthusiastic outpourings of Romantic philosophy – but it appealed to the Romantic mind of the time, and his 4 ¨ alle Stande ¨ Allgemeine Naturgeschichte fur became very popular among the public, although at the time of its publication the Romantic movement was practically over in the natural sciences. The tide was changing from Naturphilosophie towards Naturwissenschaft, characterized by Matthias Schleiden’s (1804–81) and Theodor Schwann’s (1810–82) cell theory and Schleiden’s textbook, which in further editions was given a still more revealing name, Die Botanik als inductive Wissenschaft.5 Oken published his first memoir on Naturphilosophie in 1803, when he was only 24 years old and still an undergraduate. In France, the Romantic ideas culminated in Etienne Geoffroy St Hilaire’s (1772–1844) writings, especially as he grew older in the 1830s; his great controversy with Cuvier in 1830 on the unity of the structure of animals has become particularly famous because it attracted the attention of Goethe, who, as a holist, was determinedly on Geoffroy’s side. But the Romantic attitude had already become manifest earlier in Xavier Bichat’s vitalism, which was aphoristically expressed by the famous sentence ‘La vie est l’ensemble des fonctions qui résistent a` la mort’.6 Bichat, who died quite young in 1802, was widely read and highly respected during the whole first half of the century, even by researchers like Auguste Comte and Claude Bernard (1813–78), who strongly opposed his metaphysical vitalism, and a new edition of his Recherches was published in 1852, half a century after his death. different patterns: france and germany France and Germany were the countries which dominated biological research during the first part of the nineteenth century. In France, research was organized on a professional basis during and after the Revolution. 4 5 6

¨ alle Stande, ¨ L. Oken, Allgemeine Naturgeschichte fur 13 parts (Stuttgart, 1833–45). ¨ der wissenschaftlichen Botanik, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1842–43). M. Schleiden, Grundzuge X. Bichat, Recherches physiologiques sur la vie et la mort (1800; new edn, Paris, 1852), 1.

521

Anto Leikola The Jardin du Roy in Paris had been a focal research institution before the revolution, thanks to Buffon (1707–88), the Juissieux – Antoine (1686– 1758), Antoine Laurent (1748–1836) – and others, and its importance was certainly not diminished with the establishment, in 1793, of the Muséum d’Histoire Naturelle at the former Royal Garden, now Jardin des Plantes. The following year important institutions of learning were added, especially the Ecole Normale Supérieure and the Ecole Polytechnique; 1795 saw the founding of the Institut de France, in which the old Académie des Sciences was incorporated, together with four other academies. France had since the seventeenth century been a centralized country, and if the Revolution brought any changes in this, it was towards still more centralization. The scientific traditions lived in the Academy, the Muséum and the grandes e´ coles but not in the faculties, where these traditions had always been poor. Because of this centralization, it became possible for a leading figure like Cuvier to become a ‘dictator of biology’; he was, besides being professor at the Muséum, the perpetual secretary of the Académie des Sciences, and he was on good terms with all successive administrations, from Napoleon to the Bourbons and finally to Louis-Philippe. At the restoration of the Bourbons in 1814, Cuvier became the director of Protestant universities – including those parts of Germany which were under French control – and as a Councillor of State, he held a position equivalent to the Minister of Education. After Cuvier’s death in 1832, nothing in French biology remained as before, and in spite of much good work done by men like Etienne Geoffroy St Hilaire, his son Isidore (1805–61), who is remembered especially for his embryological experiments, the zoologists Achille Valenciennes (1791–1864) and Henri Ducrotay de Blainville (1778–1850), and the Brongniart family – father Alexandre the geologist (1770–1847), and son Adolphe the botanist (1801–76) – the leadership in biological sciences was taken by German university teachers. In Germany, with no central political power, a centralized system of higher education would have been impossible, and although there were several learned societies in the German countries, none of them – not even the Leopoldina Academy, founded originally as Academia Naturae Curiosorum in 1652 at Schweinfurt, nor the Academy of Berlin, founded by Leibniz in 1700 – could claim a leading position in scientific life. Science, when it was exercised, belonged to the universities, and these belonged usually to the states, whether kingdoms, duchies or city republics. What is more, medical instruction, and correspondingly, medical research, also belonged to the universities, unlike in France, where much instruction was given and research done in medical schools (Facultés) or hospitals independent from universities (even when the universities were in existence). Lamarck and Cuvier worked at the Jardin ˆ des Plantes and Bichat at the Hotel-Dieu hospital (at that time called the 522

Biology and the earth sciences Grand Hospice d’Humanité) in Paris, but Treviranus was a professor at the Bremen Lyceum, and Oken held several teaching posts in the universi¨ ties of Gottingen, Jena, Munich and Erlangen, before finally settling down at the University of Zurich. The fact that there were several universities and university-type colleges in the German-speaking world (including part of Switzerland, Austria, Bohemia, and even the Baltic provinces, notably the University of Dorpat (Turku)) provided a certain mobility for scientists: they could aspire to a better position in a better university, or, as in the case of Oken, change places when radical scientific or political ideas had made life and work difficult in the previous institution. A great move towards the ‘scientification’ of the German universities was effected by the founding of the University of Berlin in 1810, because its ideology included free scientific research as a necessary part of university life.7 Together with the mobility of the professors and other teachers it meant better possibilities for spreading new scientific ideas in receptive environments. And for the states, scientific achievements in the universities could become objects of national pride in a new way, when the value of the university was no longer counted in the bulk of learning but in the quantity of scientific innovations. a new physiology A famous example of the new German spirit was the case of Johannes ¨ Muller (1801–58). He studied at the University of Bonn in the spirit of the Naturphilosophie and received his medical degree in 1822. After some further studies in Berlin under the celebrated anatomist Karl Rudolphi (1771–1832) – one of the first to detach himself from Romantic idealism – he returned to Bonn and became a professor there, not yet 24 years old. ¨ After the death of Rudolphi, in 1832, Muller, who already had made himself a name in the field of physiology, wrote in a letter to Mr Altenstein, the Prussian Minister of Education: My friends in this country and abroad – as well as I myself – feel that I am destined to head a great institution. Here I will never find any opportunity to use all my capacities. When I now, in the full force of my young age, can sense what I could get done, I feel myself obliged and forced to turn to Your Excellency and recommend myself when this most important step will be taken, which for many years will determine the spirit which emanates from the splendid institutions of Berlin and which can with good reason be expected from them, judging from the most active life in other sciences. . . .8 7 8

See chapter 2, 47–52, and chapter 6, 169–75. ¨ ¨ ‘Brief, 7.1.1833’, in E. Du Bois-Reymond, Gedachtnisrede auf Johannes Muller (Berlin, 1860), 62.

523

Anto Leikola He wanted to make Berlin as central in anatomy and physiology as Paris had been in zoological anatomy during Cuvier’s time, which had recently ¨ ended. Although the style of this boastful letter was rather unusual, Muller got the professorship, and he did what he had promised: Berlin became ¨ a European centre for physiology and comparative anatomy. Muller’s Handbuch der Physiologie des Menschen,9 of which he had finished the first volume slightly before moving to Berlin, has been described as a milestone in European physiology, and its import to this science has been compared to that of Albrecht von Haller’s (1708–77) monumental Elementa physiologiae corporis humani in the previous century. And ¨ although Muller in the 1840s and 1850s moved away from physiology and concentrated on the comparative anatomy of lower animals, he had a ¨ number of students who adopted the experimental method, which Muller himself did not practise, and created the flourishing school of German ¨ physiology, rivalled only by Claude Bernard in France. Muller remained a vitalist in his theoretical views, but times were changing, and most of the students expressed a tendency towards a materialist interpretation of life processes. ¨ Among Muller’s students were Emil Du Bois-Reymond (1818–96), the ¨ pioneer of electrophysiology and Muller’s successor in Berlin; Carl Ludwig (1816–92), the inventor of the kymograph and other physiological instruments and the first professor of physiology in Leipzig, where he founded ¨ the first modern physiological institute; Ernst von Brucke (1819–92), who ¨ taught physiology in Konigsberg and then in Vienna – Sigmund Freud was one of his students – and who became especially noted for his studies of physiological phonetics, but who also worked on many other fields of physiology; and Hermann von Helmholtz (1821–94), whose name remains famous in energetics, physiological acoustics and optics, nerve physiology, and many branches of physics, such as energetics and hydro¨ dynamics, and who taught physiology first at Konigsberg, then at Bonn and Heidelberg, and finally physics in Berlin. All these brilliant physiologists had many students, not only from German-speaking countries but also from Scandinavia, where the new methods and attitudes were spread by such men as the Swede Frithiof Holmgren (1831–97) and the ¨ Finn Robert Tigerstedt (1853–1923). When the generation of Muller’s students passed away in the 1880s and 1890s, most of European physiology had been moulded by the German school, a fact that was to a great extent due to the fruitful combination of teaching and research in several universities.

9

¨ J. Muller, Handbuch der Physiologie, vol. I (Koblenz, 1833); vol. II (Koblenz, 1837–40).

524

Biology and the earth sciences t h e c e l l t h e o ry ¨ One of the most gifted students of Muller was Theodor Schwann (1810– 82), the father of the general cell theory. He received his decisive stimulus from Matthias Schleiden (1804–81), who first studied law in Heidelberg ¨ and thereafter medicine and botany in Gottingen and Berlin. Being aware of Robert Brown’s (1773–1858) discovery of the plant cell nucleus, Schlei¨ zur Phytogenesis, where den published in 1838 a paper entitled Beitrage he formulated plant cell theory, i.e. that all plants are composed of cells, that each cell has an individual life, and that the life of the plant is actually a result of the life of its cells. Even before publication he could describe ¨ the cells to his younger friend Schwann, who had assisted Muller in Bonn ¨ and then, after some years of study at Wurzburg, followed his teacher to Berlin. There he invented the ‘muscular balance’ for measuring muscular force – a bold attempt to treat a ‘vital’ phenomenon simply as a physical one – discovered pepsin as the first physiological catalyst, and propounded the view, later confirmed by Pasteur, that alcoholic fermentation is the result of the activity of yeast, which he conceived as an organism, and that putrefaction is the result of microbial activity and not vice versa. After having learned from Schleiden about the plant cells, Schwann began working with histological preparations of animal tissues and found cells everywhere. Thus he could extend Schleiden’s theory to all living matter, and general cell theory has ever since remained one of the most fundamental paradigms of the biological sciences. But even before Schwann had published his epoch-making Mikroskopische Untersuchungen,10 he was severely criticized and even ridiculed by the leading chemists Friedrich ¨ Wohler (1800–82) and Justus von Liebig (1802–73), who held an opposite view about alcoholic fermentation, and his university career in Germany was at an end. He accepted an invitation to a professorship of anatomy in Louvain, Belgium, from where he later moved to Liège, but his creative genius was emptied and his mind turned to spiritual meditations; during his 40 years as professor in Belgium he achieved nothing that could even distantly be likened to the brilliant achievements of his youth in Berlin. ¨ It was Muller, however, who picked the new cell theory for the second volume of his Handbuch, and this lent the theory an authority which it might not otherwise have attained, at least not so rapidly. It was soon accepted practically everywhere, and new applications of it were found in embryology and reproduction and other fields of biology; it is strange how little controversy this fundamental breaking of the ‘unity of the living 10

¨ ¨ T. Schwann, Mikroskopische Untersuchungen uber die Ubereinstimmung in der Struktur und dem Wachstum der Tiere und der Pflanzen (Berlin, 1839).

525

Anto Leikola organism’ actually caused, especially if it is compared with the tremendous controversies occasioned by the other great change of paradigm in biology, the evolutionary theory, launched twenty years later. Amongst those who developed cell theory at the German universities ¨ are Albert von Kolliker (1817–1905), who explained that the egg and the ‘spermatozoon’, or ‘sperm animalcule’, are actually cells (in the case of the egg he followed Schwann’s opinion); Karl von Siebold (1804–85), who stated that protozoans are independent organisms consisting of one single cell; Jakob Henle (1809–85), who created modern histology by treating all animal tissues in the light of the cell theory; Franz von Leydig (1821– 1908), whose textbook11 compared, on the basis of the cell theory, verte¨ brate and invertebrate tissues; Karl von Nageli (1817–91), who was the first to discover chromosomes (‘cytoblasts’) in cell division; Robert Remak ¨ (1815–65), a student of Muller, who described the cleavage of the fertilized amphibian and bird egg as a division of cells; and Rudolf Virchow ¨ (1821–1902), another student of Muller, who founded cellular pathology and carried to a triumph the opinion that all cells are born from previous cells by division (‘omnis cellula e cellula’), contrary to what Schleiden and Schwann had thought. Their careers reflect, once again, the mobility of the German university professor. Henle, for instance, studied both at ¨ Bonn and at Heidelberg, then followed Muller to Berlin and became his assistant and close collaborator, obtained a professorship at Zurich and then at Heidelberg, and settled down finally in 1852 at the University of ¨ ¨ Gottingen. Kolliker, who was Swiss, studied first in Berlin under the guid¨ ance of Muller, Henle and Remak, became Henle’s follower at Zurich, ¨ and taught then for 50 years, from 1847 to 1897, at Wurzburg. Leydig ¨ ¨ studied at Wurzburg and Munich, became in 1857 professor at Tubingen and taught at Bonn from 1875 to 1887. Virchow received his medical degree in Berlin, occupied the first German professorship in pathology at ¨ Wurzburg from 1849 to 1856 and was invited to a similar post in Berlin, where he worked until his death in 1902, increasing interest in anthropology and archaeology. Anthropology was a field that attracted Schleiden, too: in the early 1860s he even worked for a couple of years as a professor of this field at the University of Dorpat (Tartu). These careers, and many others, show that in most cases there were good opportunities for scientific talent in the German-speaking world, and in the students, assistants and Privatdozenten the professors often had a circle from which new scientists were recruited. Difficulties arose sometimes from having too radical opinions, or too powerful adversaries – as in the case of Schwann – or an unsuitable birth – as in the case of Remak, who was a Polish Jew and therefore could not be appointed to a 11

F. von Leydig, Histologie des Menschen und der Tiere (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1857).

526

Biology and the earth sciences permanent teaching post in Prussia until 1859, when his scientific work was nearly over. Remak’s first lectures twelve years earlier had been a real sensation, because he was the first Jew ever to lecture at the University of Berlin. But by and large the system worked well along the Humboldtian principles: research and teaching were intimately interwoven and they both enhanced each other. The result was a great rise in general scientific education, and a rapid progress of science in most fields. The Scandinavian countries followed very much the same pattern, although the mobility was necessarily more restricted: Denmark, Norway and Finland had each only one university (in Denmark Copenhagen, in Norway Christiania (Oslo), and in Finland Helsingfors (Helsinki)), and Sweden had two (Uppsala and Lund), whereas in the German-speaking world the number was already around twenty by the middle of the century. In Russia, several universities were founded in the early years of the nineteenth century, but practically all scientific work was done at the St Petersburg Academy of Sciences by academicians and professors with more or less German backgrounds and a German-type university education. Thus, for instance, Karl Ernst von Baer (1792–1876), who became perhaps the most famous of the St Petersburg academicians in the biological sciences, made his medical studies at Tartu (Dorpat), pursued his ¨ studies in Berlin, Wurzburg and Vienna, taught anatomy, zoology and ¨ anthropology at Konigsberg from 1817 to 1834, and spent the rest of his working life in St Petersburg, from 1846, as an academician. During his ¨ Konigsberg years he discovered the mammalian egg and laid the foundations of modern embryology, whereas in St Petersburg he turned towards geography, ethnography, anthropology and pisciculture; after retirement he returned to his old university town of Tartu (Dorpat) and participated actively in the work of the Estonian Naturalists’ Society. In Mediterranean Europe, research on a high international level was relatively rare. Scientific development did, of course, occur, although sometimes with considerable delay. Thus, for instance, Baer’s embryology and Schwann’s cell theory became established in Spain only during the 1850s ´ through the influence of Mariano Lopez Mateos (1800–63), professor at the University of Granada; a previous textbook, compulsory in all medical faculties in Spain, was notably retrograde and hostile to all new ideas. Only during the last decades of the century did new important contributions to histology and cytology begin to spring from Mediterranean Europe: in the 1870s and 1880s Camillo Golgi (1843–1926), working at the University of Pavia, established the modern concept of the neurone as a nerve cell with all its outgrowths, and in the 1890s and 1900s Santi´ y Cajal (1852–1934), professor in Barcelona and thereafter in ago Ramon Madrid, continued Golgi’s work, for which they both received the Nobel Prize in 1906. 527

Anto Leikola claude bernard and louis pasteur As has been mentioned earlier, the situation in France was very different, at least until the revitalization of the universities in 1896. Most of the work in the biological sciences was concentrated in Paris, at the Académie des Sciences, Muséum d’Histoire Naturelle and the Collège de France. For biological and biomedical research, the medical schools must also be taken into account. Claude Bernard, the great master of French physiology, came to Paris in order to make a career as a playwright but was counselled to study medicine instead. He took his degree at the Faculté de Médecine ˆ and was working at the Hotel-Dieu hospital, where François Magendie (1783–1855), the leading physiologist of the country, and soon professor at the Collège de France, ‘found’ him, and this encounter resulted in a collaboration of fifteen years. Magendie was above all an experimenter, but Claude Bernard, whose skill in experimentation was at least as good, was, in addition, interested in physiological theory. After the death of Magendie, Claude Bernard succeeded him at the Collège de France. In 1865, during a period of illness, he wrote his Introduction a` l’étude de la médecine expérimentale, which Henri Bergson (1859–1941) later compared to Descartes’ Discours de la Méthode, and which Emile Zola used as a ‘guidebook’ in his ‘experimental novel’.12 From 1854 to 1868 Claude Bernard held a chair at the Faculté des Sciences, thus giving courses in two separate institutions. Paul Bert (1833–86) took over his chair at the Faculté, but then Claude Bernard received a professorship at the Muséum, where Pierre Flourens (1794–1867) – an influential neurophysiologist and Claude Bernard’s predecessor in the Académie Française – had earlier taught comparative physiology. The eminent physiologist thus floated between several institutions, which, however, were all in Paris, and of which none was a proper university. A career based on the German model was not possible in France. Another substitute for the university in Paris was the Ecole Normale Supérieure, which became the stronghold of Louis Pasteur, the other giant in nineteenth-century French biology. Claude Bernard initiated a new phase in physiology, leading from his celebrated concept of the milieu intérieur towards the study of physiological regulation and the rapidly enlarging field of endocrinology, whereas Pasteur created the foundations of both microbiology and immunology. After initial studies at the Collège Royal of Besançon he came to Paris and entered into the Ecole Normale, where he studied chemistry under Jean-Baptiste Biot (1774–1862). After having become an agrégé in 1846 he was ordered to Dijon, soon thereafter 12

H. Bergson, ‘Discours au Collège de France, le 30 décembre 1913’, in R. Clarke, Claude Bernard et la médecine expérimentale (Paris, 1961), 197; E. Zola, Le roman expérimental (Paris, 1929), 11.

528

Biology and the earth sciences to Strasburg and after five years to the new Faculté at Lille. In 1854 he was called to the Ecole Normale, where he advanced to the Faculté at the Sorbonne, although he remained there only one year and then retired, on a full salary, at the age of only 46. The time at the Ecole Normale was his most productive as a scientist, although the facilities for research were, at least in the beginning, rather poor. Claude Bernard made his most important physiological discoveries, including the role of gastric and intestinal juices in digestion, the mechanism of the absorption of fatty substances, the glycogenic function of the liver, and the regulation of blood pressure by vasomotor nerves, in a modest basement room, and Pasteur had at his disposal two attic rooms, where he performed most of his fermentation experiments. French society and the government of the time were not very interested in supporting scientific work, although later the situation, in great part through Claude Bernard’s and Pasteur’s activities, and the pride which France could take in their fame and achievements, improved considerably. To obtain proper facilities for his work, Pasteur appealed directly to the Emperor Napoleon III, condensing his request into the phrase: ‘It is time to free the experimental sciences from the misery into which they have been forced’.13 Although the Emperor was positive, in principle, a new appeal was needed. It contains a passage which illustrates the situation of scientific expenditure in Europe in 1868: ‘Already for thirty years great laboratories, provided with ample resources, have been founded in Germany, and every year new ones are founded. . . . England, America, Austria and Bavaria have spent much for the same purposes. And Italy has taken steps on the same road.’14 Pasteur got his new laboratory, but some years later, after the FrancoPrussian war, he had occasion to remind his countrymen that a revival of science was needed in France. Towards the end of Pasteur’s career, another new institution was created. Inspired by Pasteur’s spectacular success in treating rabies, the Académie des Sciences decided that money should be raised for an institute for the preparation of rabies vaccine, and in 1888 the Pasteur Institute was inaugurated, with Pasteur himself as its first director. Soon it was enlarged to treat diphtheria as well, and the amount of theoretical study grew as well under the guidance of Pasteur’s students like Emile Roux (1853–1933), Alexandre Yersin (1863–1943), Albert Calmette (1863–1933) and others. Pasteur Institutes were founded in other countries, too, either privately or on a governmental basis, and in many cases they developed into important centres of microbiological and immunological research, sometimes only loosely connected to their original medical functions. 13

R. Vallery-Radot, La Vie de Pasteur, 2nd edn (Paris, 1905), 206.

529

14

Ibid., 216.

Anto Leikola charles darwin and darwinism In Great Britain, the universities had long been in a state of stagnation, at least as far as scientific pursuits were concerned. University education was aimed more at the ideal of a gentleman than at scientific excellence, and mathematics and related fields, like astronomy, were the only sciences in which regular teaching occurred during the eighteenth century. Aptly enough, an exhibition about the scientific past of Cambridge, opened in the early 1980s, was named ‘Science as a minority interest’. In 1819, the Cambridge Philosophical Society was founded by Adam Sedgwick (1785–1873) and John Henslow (1796–1861), in order to promote the study of natural sciences at the University of Cambridge. There had been, in fact, the Woodward Professorship in geology since 1695, but Sedgwick was practically the first of its holders of any scientific importance, and even he, when appointed to the office in 1818, had not yet made any geological excursion and claimed himself completely ignorant of his field. Henslow, who had studied mathematics, chemistry and mineralogy, was appointed in 1822 to the chair of mineralogy, and three years later to the new chair of botany, whereafter he became known as a devoted botanist. The Botanical Gardens in Cambridge still carry his name. These two men were instrumental in Charles Darwin’s (1809–82) education in science, Henslow as his mentor in the botanical garden and fieldwork, and Sedgwick by taking the young student on a geological tour in north Wales in August 1831, some months before Darwin began his grand tour around the world. Neither geology nor botany belonged to the regular curriculum at Cambridge, and the situation was no different at Oxford. It is characteristic that when Darwin returned in 1836, he did not aspire to a Ph.D. or to a university chair but became instead a member and later the secretary of the Geological Society of London. This became his scientific milieu, and although he abandoned the secretary’s post before moving in 1842 to Down House for the rest of his life, he did not resign from membership; at that time he was also a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and even of the Royal Society, later also of the Linnean Society, where his epoch-making papers were read in 1858, together with Alfred Russel Wallace’s (1823–1913) similar paper on evolution and natural selection. Although Darwin never taught at any university, he was often referred to as ‘Professor Darwin’ in the German and Scandinavian press, evidently because living and working as a Privatgelehrter outside the university was rather uncommon in those countries, where the professor’s title gave a scientist much greater social prestige than in Britain or France. Darwin and Wallace were both ‘private men’. So had been James Hutton, the great eighteenth-century geologist, and Sir Charles Lyell (1797–1875), who laid 530

Biology and the earth sciences the foundations of modern geology with his Principles of Geology.15 His work was a triumph of actualism – the principle that geological changes of the past can and must be explained through forces that act in the present time – and it was indispensable for the development of the young Darwin’s thought. Although Lyell’s teaching career was restricted to three years as professor at King’s College, he acquired an important position in science politics, and largely through his influence science curricula were enhanced at both Oxford and Cambridge. In 1827, less than 30 years old and still a practising lawyer, he had in public blamed the universities for their lack of interest in anything but classical scholarship. Although the British scientific culture was not as centralized as the French one and although France had no equivalent to Oxford and Cambridge, there was one important feature which both countries shared: the great public museums and gardens, which gave plenty of opportunities for descriptive and comparative research, or even, as in the Muséum of Paris, for experimental work. Darwin’s friend and supporter Sir Joseph Hooker (1817–1911), a first-rate botanist, became the director of Kew Gardens, like his father Sir William Hooker (1785–1865) – formerly professor of botany at Glasgow – before him. One of Darwin’s most important antagonists, Sir Richard Owen (1804–92), who has been described as the most distinguished vertebrate zoologist and palaeontologist in Victorian England, was for twenty years the Hunterian Professor at the Royal College of Surgeons of England and became in his old age the first director of the British Museum (Natural History), after having served as superintendent of the natural history collections of the British Museum since 1856. He was a well-known and popular lecturer, but regular university teaching was a field which he never entered. These examples show that the bitter scientific and ideological battles which followed the publication of Darwin’s Origin of Species in 1859 did not very much affect the British university world but took place in meetings of learned societies and other bodies, like the famous duel between Bishop Wilberforce (1805–73) and Thomas Henry Huxley (1825–95), ‘Darwin’s bulldog’, at the meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science in June 1860 at Oxford; even Huxley himself was no university man but a naval surgeon and then professor of natural history at the London School of Mines. But when the new doctrines reached German soil – and it happened very quickly – it became a matter for university teachers. Even the translator of the Origin,16 Heinrich Bronn (1800–62), a distinguished palaeontologist, was professor of 15 16

C. Lyell, Principles of Geology, 3 vols. (London, 1830–33; German trans. K. Hartmann, 3 vols., Weimar 1841–42). ¨ ¨ C. Darwin, Uber die Entstehung der Arten durch naturliche Zuchtwahl (Stuttgart, 1860).

531

Anto Leikola natural history at Heidelberg. He did not accept the whole theory but was, of course, not hostile towards it. Bronn died soon afterwards, and Ernst Haeckel (1834–1919), who had ¨ studied medicine in Berlin under Johannes Muller and listened to Vir¨ chow’s lectures at Wurzburg, became the main proponent of Darwinism in Germany. He became converted to this new doctrine in 1860, as soon as he had read Bronn’s translation. In his monograph on Radiolarians in 1862 he professed his support for Darwinism, and four years later he published his well-known book Generelle Morphologie der Organismen, soon to be followed by the popular work on ‘The History of Creation’, which became a great success but also a focus of bitter strifes. In these books Haeckel tried to develop a whole Weltanschauung on the basis of the theory of evolution; he later popularized it further in the best-selling book The Riddle of the Universe, where he adopted the role of a philosopher rather than that of a biologist.17 Unlike many other German academics, Haeckel remained faithful to the University of Jena, where he became Privatdozent in 1861 and worked as full professor and director of the Zoological Institute from 1865 to 1909. His influence spread more through his popular writings than through his immediate teaching, and much of what was said and written about Darwinism in the German-speaking – and German-influenced – world was actually about Haeckelism (a term that never came into use) and Haeckel’s ‘monism’.18 On a more scientific basis, the evolutionary theory was propagated by Carl Gegenbaur (1826–1903), the leading German ¨ anatomist of the latter half of the century. He had studied at Wurzburg and was called to an extraordinary professorship at Jena in 1856, whereafter in 1873 he settled down at Heidelberg. Although he developed a close friendship with Haeckel, he did not philosophize over ultimate causes or even more immediate causes of evolution, being content to reform comparative anatomy into a science based on the evolutionary theory. He was also active in the separation of anatomy and physiology, just as the physiologists were on their side; this separation of chairs was effected in the most important universities during the 1860s and 1870s. Throughout the whole latter part of the nineteenth century, Darwinism was given support – but not unequivocally – by the development of geology. The foundations laid by Lyell in his Principles of Geology and Elements of Geology, which both underwent several changes and amendments in subsequent editions during the 1840s, 1850s and 1860s, 17

18

E. Haeckel, Die Radiolarien (Berlin, 1862); Generelle Morphologie der Organismen, ¨ ¨ 2 vols. (Berlin, 1866); Naturliche Schopfungsgeschichte (Berlin, 1868; 8th edn, 1889), translated into twelve languages, in English: The History of Creation (1906); Die ¨ Weltratsel (Bonn, 1899), in 1903 100,000 copies were sold. E. Haeckel, Der Monismus als Band zwischen Religion und Wissenschaft (Bonn, 1892).

532

Biology and the earth sciences were not shaken, but the number of details in geology grew steadily, and new geological maps were published in various countries. More often than not these maps were produced by national geological surveys rather than by university people. Geology was, of course, connected with mining, and mining was connected with national wealth, so that there were several reasons for whole nations to undertake geological surveys. Geologists, however, could be Darwinist as well as anti-Darwinist. Lyell himself announced publicly his conversion to Darwinism only in 1864, and in consequence, he adjusted the tenth edition of his Principles to fit the Darwinian doctrines. Another geologist who was initially hostile to Darwinism but remained so during the rest of his life was Jean-Louis Agassiz (1807–73). Born in Switzerland, he studied at the universities of Zurich, Heidelberg and Munich, where he earned a doctorate both in philosophy and medicine. In 1832 he was appointed to a professorship ˆ at the College of Neuchatel, but in 1846 he went to the United States and taught at Harvard University until his death in 1873. Agassiz made important contributions to the study of fossil fish, but his great feat in geology was the creation of the concept of the Ice Age. Based on his studies of glacial formations not only in Switzerland but in the rest of the European Continent and Great Britain, he concluded that there had been a great glaciation covering most of Europe; later he found that the same was applicable to North America, too. Lyell and Darwin, among others, accepted Agassiz’s theory without difficulty, but Agassiz himself could never abandon the idea of fixity of species, partly because of his generally conservative religious views. In Germany, more than elsewhere, the debate on Darwinism was mixed with not only religious but also political issues. Darwinism, as it was understood by the Haeckelians, meant development and progress, also on a national scale, whereas the opposite party, headed by Virchow, claimed that it was not possible to draw such conclusions from a biological theory. Treating society as a kind of evolving organism would open the way to still more dangerous doctrines, like socialism, Virchow wrote, and although Haeckel denied this possibility, it is true that the socialists did cherish Darwinism as their ally. Darwinism was seen as an anti-religious doctrine promising progress and happiness for mankind like socialism. Later on, the emerging socialist countries, especially Soviet Russia, laid great emphasis on the theory of evolution, which however was conceived more in a Lamarckian-Haeckelian than in a true Darwinian sense. On the other hand, Darwin’s selection theory, in the form of socalled Social Darwinism, seemed to give legitimacy to the rudest forms of laissez-faire capitalism, as well as to national chauvinism, if the – originally Spencerian – slogan ‘survival of the fittest’ was applied to nations instead of individuals. 533

Anto Leikola In 1872, the German zoologist Johann Wilhelm Spengel (1852–1921) tried to compile a bibliography of books and articles on Darwinism in different European countries. Although it consisted of 34 pages with 315 names of authors, it was far from complete.19 In the Scandinavian countries, for instance, Spengel had found only three items, although the debate was in full swing there, especially in Sweden, but elsewhere in Scandinavia too. In Sweden, Professor Sven Lovén (1809–95), a leading zoologist and department head at the Naturhistoriska Riksmuseet, pioneered in March 1860 a lecture on Darwinism at the annual meeting of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, in a very favourable tone, and somewhat later Tycho Tullberg (1842–1920), the professor of zoology at the University of Uppsala, became a devoted supporter of the new doctrine. In Finland, the ¨ professor of zoology, Fredrik Vilhelm Maklin (1821–83), spoke on the subject in 1864 at the Finnish Society of Sciences with several critical remarks, but at the same time a young and unknown schoolteacher on the Finnish West Coast, Otto Alcenius (1838–1913), published at his own expense a booklet on the importance of Darwin’s theory to a natural plant system,20 and he even tried to construct a new plant system on an evolutionary basis. There were later some junior university biologists who became enthusiastic about Darwinism, and when one of them, Johan Axel Palmén (1845–1919), who had published a doctoral thesis on the migration of birds,21 applying evolutionary theory to it, was appointed ¨ as Maklin’s successor in 1883, not even the theologians at the University of Helsingfors opposed his nomination. The Scandinavian universities in general tried to avoid mixing ideological questions with the recruitment of academic staff. It is well known that in France Darwinism gained practically no foothold for a long time. There had been and still was some debate on transformism in general – Lamarck had not been completely forgotten – but it was seldom associated with Darwin, although the Origin of Species was available in French in 1862. There was no enthusiast to propagate Darwinism in France, such as Huxley in England, or Haeckel in Germany, and as for the idea of general progress associated with Darwinism in Germany and elsewhere, it was an old French idea that required no Englishmen to teach it. The great names in French biology, Claude Bernard and Louis Pasteur, avoided the subject – Pasteur, if anything, was hostile to it – and Pierre Flourens, the long-term perpetual secretary of the Académie 19

20 21

¨ J. W. Spengel, Die Darwinsche Theorie: Verzeichnis uber dieselbe in Deutschland, England, Amerika, Frankreich, Italien, Holland, Belgien und den Skandinavischen Reichen ¨ erschienenen Schriften und Aufsatze (Berlin, 1872). ¨ det naturliga vextsystemet (Vasa, 1864). O. Alcenius, Betydelsen af Darwins theori for ¨ ¨ J. A. Palmén, Om foglarnes flyttningsvagar (Helsinki, 1874), German translation: Uber ¨ die Zugstrassen der Vogel (Leipzig, 1876).

534

Biology and the earth sciences des Sciences, wrote a whole book against Darwin. And when in 1909 a full-size statue of Lamarck was raised in Paris near the main gate of the Jardin des Plantes, it was given the inscription Au fondateur de la doctrine de l’évolution. Although ‘transformism’ had by then and even earlier made its breakthrough in Lamarck’s homeland, Lamarckian explanations still had for a long time, practically until our own time, their stronghold in France, where modern genetics, remarkably enough, was introduced considerably later than in most European countries. In Italy, Darwinism was first introduced in 1864 by Filippo De Filippi (1814–67), a professor of zoology at Turin, through his lecture ‘L’uomo e le scimmie’, ‘Man and the Apes’, and an ardent dispute arose immediately. In the same year, the Origin of Species was translated into Italian by two biologists, Giovanni Canestrini (1835–1900), who worked as professor of zoology at the University of Padua, and Leonardo Salimbeni (1830–89), who taught natural history at the Collegio San Carlo at Modena. Especially Canestrini, who in addition to his teaching edited the first and then only zoological journal in Italy, remained a faithful follower of Darwin throughout his life and did much to propagate Darwin’s ideas, together with Michele Lessona (1823–94), another biologist and translator of the Descent of Man. In Italy, the cultural diversification within local universities and local academies was perhaps still more marked than in Germany, and thus the acceptance of the evolutionary theory happened more readily in some places than in others. It may be noted that Darwin was elected a foreign member of the highly respected Accademia dei Lincei in 1875, and four years later, the Academy of Sciences of Turin awarded Darwin a prize, which he subsequently donated to Anton Dohrn (1840–1909), founder of the Naples Zoological Station. In France, Darwin’s success was less honourable: from 1870 on, he was six times proposed for membership of the zoological section of the Académie des Sciences, until finally in 1878 he was elected a member of the botanical section! It is self-evident that much of the criticism against evolution came from the Catholic direction, and evidently Darwinism did worse in the Catholicdominated universities, although the Church, as an institution, never took a clear and unequivocal stand on the matter. Its interest in furthering the natural sciences, albeit on its own terms, arose only later; in the nineteenth century it was, if not openly hostile, at least reluctant to promote the progress of science. In rigorously Catholic countries, like Spain, this meant a general stagnation of the sciences. As for Darwinism, it was hardly mentioned in public in Spain before the revolution of 1868. Then the censorship was abolished, new courses of science were introduced to the universities and new departments were created. Much of this was lost in the reactionary Restoration of 1874, but the discussion nevertheless continued, and the Descent of Man was translated into Spanish in 1876, 535

Anto Leikola one year before the Origin of Species and two years before Haeckel’s ¨ Schopfungsgeschichte. As in several other countries, much of the Darwinist controversy centred around the ideas of Haeckel, with Peregr´ın Casanova Ciurana (1849–1919), professor of anatomy at the University of Valencia, as the chief agent. In his letters to Haeckel he praised his German colleague for the ‘truth of his judgements and the loftiness of his thoughts’,22 and in 1877 he published a work on general biology in a true Haeckelian spirit.23 Both in the north and in the south of Europe, the evolutionary theory as a biological doctrine was accepted at most universities, i.e. by most university biologists, during Darwin’s lifetime, although the plausibility of the selection theory was still much argued during the 1880s and 1890s. August Weismann’s (1834–1914) attempts to show the non-inheritance of acquired characteristics did not convince everybody. Evidently, something was still lacking in the evolutionary theory before it could become the ‘modern synthesis’, to use Julian Huxley’s expression of the year 1940.24 That something was genetics, the science of inheritance. n e w f i e l d s f o r t h e n e w c e n t u ry Genetics is usually, and rightly so, considered as a science which belongs completely to the twentieth century, and if the birth of the concept of ‘biology’ can be regarded as the landmark between the 1700s and the 1800s, the rediscovery of Mendel’s laws, which was in fact the birth of Mendelism, can well be used to distinguish the 1900s from the 1800s. The road to genetics was, however, prepared during the last decades of the nineteenth century, especially through the cytological work done at German universities. Many histologists contributed in the 1870s and 1880s to the understanding of cell division and particularly to the role and behaviour of the chromosomes therein. Evidence accumulated that chromosomes may be the true carriers of heredity, although it was for a long time questionable whether they were permanent structures or constructed anew at each mitosis. Weismann, who worked for a long time as a professor at the University of Freiburg, developed a theory, according to which inheritance belonged only to the cell line leading from the fertilized egg to the germ cells, the Keimplasma, whereas the rest of the cells – practically the whole cellular mass of an individual – formed the ‘useless’ Soma, which disappeared with the individual. 22 23 24

P. Casanova, ‘Letter to Ernst Haeckel from January 2, 1876’, in T. F. Glick, Darwin in ˜ (Barcelona, 1982), 83. Espana ´ P. Casanova, Estudios biologicos, vol. I: La biolog´ıa (Valencia, 1877). J. Huxley, Evolution: The Modern Synthesis (London, 1940).

536

Biology and the earth sciences Gregor Mendel’s (1822–84) discovery of the laws of heredity, which he published in the journal of the Brno Naturalists’ Society in 1866, remained unnoticed for several decades. The idea that heredity could be carried by small unchanging ‘elements’, as Mendel called them, was strange and seemed also to be contrary to the flow of evolution. Mendel had studied mathematics and sciences at the University of Vienna and taught these subjects in the Brno secondary school, but in his monastery he worked practically alone. We do not know to how many university scientists he ¨ sent his paper; at least Karl von Nageli (1817–91), who was professor of botany at Munich, and Anton Kerner (1831–1908), who held a similar chair at Innsbruck, did indeed receive it from Mendel. The journal itself had a relatively wide distribution but was evidently seldom read outside Moravia. Why Mendel did not send one of his 40 reprints to Darwin, in whose theory he was interested, can only be guessed. Anyhow, when Hugo ¨ de Vries (1848–1935), Carl Correns (1864–1933) – a student of Nageli – and Erich von Tschermak (1871–1962) in 1900 discovered ‘Mendelism without Mendel’, there was already a cytological explanation for the distribution of the hereditary units at hand. After 1900, the new science of genetics, as William Bateson (1861– 1926) baptized it in 1902, advanced at a very rapid pace. In 1901 De Vries developed his mutation theory, which seemed to reconcile Mendelism with Darwinism; in 1902 Correns, Walter A. Cannon (1871–1945) and Walter Stanborough Sutton (1877–1916) brought evidence that the genes are, in fact, located in the chromosomes, which, according to Theodor Boveri’s (1862–1915) experiments, could be functionally different from each other; in 1906 Bateson spoke about the gene linkage and created the concepts ‘allele’, ‘homozygote’ and ‘heterozygote’, and in 1907 Thomas Hunt Morgan (1866–1945) in the United States adopted the fruit fly, Drosophila, as the model animal of genetic study. Genetics was, right from the beginning, a truly international science, where different national schools were difficult to distinguish. Biological research in North America was matching that in Europe, as it had already begun to do in the field of general natural history, and more specifically, palaeontology, ecology and marine biology. Scandinavian contributions to this international exchange of experiences and ideas were brought by the Dane Wilhelm Johannsen (1857–1927), who discovered the constancy of variation in pure lines of descent and created the words ‘gene’, ‘genotype’ and ‘phenotype’; by the Swede Herman Nilsson-Ehle (1873–1949), who gave a Mendelian explanation to quantitative traits of organisms in the suggestion of ‘polygenes’; and by the Finn Harry Federley (1879–1951), who provided evidence of the individuality of chromosomes in moths at the same time that Morgan and his school were working on gene maps of the Drosophila. 537

Anto Leikola The study of experimental developmental biology, which as Entwicklungsmechanik tried to find causal explanations for phenomena of embryonic growth and differentiation, was initiated at the end of the nineteenth century by the pioneering experiments of Wilhelm Roux (1850–1924), Hans Driesch (1867–1941) and Hans Spemann (1869–1941), but only during the first decades of the twentieth century did it develop into a branch of biological science in its own right. Spemann’s influence in particular was considerable, and many students both from Germany and abroad poured into his laboratory at the University of Freiburg to learn the necessary operation techniques – and to teach them, in turn, to their own students. Spemann was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1936, but even his achievements, especially the discovery of the inductive phenomena in vertebrate embryology, would mark only a beginning in the most difficult task of elucidating the nature of the cellular interactions in a developing organism. If the beginnings of developmental biology can be traced to the end of the nineteenth century, the same would apply to a completely different branch of biological science, to which Haeckel in 1866 had given the name ‘ecology’. He defined it as the study of organisms’ relations to their environment, and somewhat later he paralleled it to the ‘economy of nature’, which, in fact, was a term used already by Linnaeus. Haeckel, however, hardly made any further contribution to ecology, but the same term appeared some 30 years later in Eugen Warming’s (1841–1924) textbook.25 Warming, who worked as professor of botany at the University of Copenhagen, noted that ‘ecological plant geography – in contrast to floral plant geography – teaches us how the forms and behaviour of plants and plant communities are adjusted to effective factors of their environment, such as the available amounts of heat, light, nutritives and water’.26 The other cornerstone in plant ecology was Andreas Franz Wilhelm Schimper’s (1856–1901) Pflanzengeographie auf physiologischer Grundlage (1898), which was translated into English in 1903, after the author’s untimely death. Schimper was the son of a geology and palaeontology professor at the University of Strasbourg. He studied there, was a fellow at The Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, and made his career in Bonn and Basle. The influential botanist in Bonn, Eduard Strasburger (1844–1912), considered him as one of his most outstanding colleagues. He did not try to create a theory of ecology but made some remarkable discoveries, such as the similarity of physical and physiological dryness, and the distinction of edaphic and climatic factors in the growth of plants. Until World War II, 25 26

¨ E. Warming, Lehrbuch der Oekologischen Pflanzengeographie, ubersetzt aus dem ¨ Danischen (Berlin, 1896); English translation: Oecology of Plants (Oxford, 1909). Warming, Oecology (note 25), 2.

538

Biology and the earth sciences plant ecology adhered to the foundations laid partly by Warming and Schimper, and partly by the American botanists Conway McMillan (1867–1929) and Frederic Edward Clements (1874–1945), who created at the turn of the century what Clements referred to as ‘dynamic ecology’. In 1927, most of what was known about the ecological relations of animal populations was condensed in Charles Elton’s (1900–91) Animal Ecology, which was, in new editions, used as a textbook in many universities until the 1950s. In the 1920s, however, more interest in whole populations was directed both in ecology and genetics, and their mathematical treatment became a necessity. In ecology, the pioneering work was done by Alfred James Lotka (1880–1949) and Vito Volterra (1860–1940), who were originally mathematicians and not biologists, and later by Georgyi Frantsevitch Gause (1910–86); and in 1935, Arthur G. Tansley (1871–1955), professor at Oxford, created the concept of ecosystem, an integrated whole of both living biocenosis and its abiotic environment, which was to characterize much subsequent work in ecology. In genetics Godfrey Harold Hardy (1877–1947) and Wilhelm Weinberg (1861–1937) formulated the conditions of equilibria for Mendelian populations in 1908, but it was only in the 1920s and 1930s that the geneticist John Burdon Sanderson Haldane (1892–1964) and the statistician Ronald Aylmer Fisher (1890–1962), the geneticists Sewall Wright (1889–1988) in Chicago, Sergei S. Chetverikov (1880–1959) in Moscow and Theodosius Dobzhansky (1900–75) in Pasadena made population genetics, with a mathematical analysis of gene frequencies in both experimental and natural populations, a central part of the science of genetics, thus paving the way for a new understanding of the evolutionary processes. Another science which contributed substantially to the confirmation and understanding of the theory of evolution was geology. Beginning with the discovery of Archaeopteryx soon after the publication of Darwin’s Origin of Species, ever more fossil material was accumulated in great museums, and while fossil evidence had, during Darwin’s time, been one of the weakest links of the theory, it now became the foremost proof of the fact of evolution. In the general public, greatest interest was directed to new findings on the evolution of man, from the Javan ‘Pithecanthropus’ to the South African ‘Australopithecus’, but for evolutionary palaeontology questions of gradual fossil series and possible laws of phylogenetic change were more important; their culmination was George Gaylord Simpson’s (1902–84) Tempo and Mode in Evolution (1944). Research in geology received a new impetus from oil drilling. The first oil well was drilled by 1859 in Titusville, Pennsylvania, but systematic prospecting of possible underground oil deposits did not begin before the 1920s, when the demand for oil grew rapidly and new geological and geophysical techniques were developed both in Europe and in North 539

Anto Leikola America. This, of course, led to different theories of the origin of oil and gas deposits, questions which could be combined with more fundamental problems of scientific geology: the origin of rocks, the formation of the mountain chains and the origin of continents. The origin of basalts and granites was subject to controversies between the Neptunists and the Vulcanists in the early nineteenth century. The invention of polarization microscopy in the 1860s by Henry Clifton Sorby (1826–1908) opened whole new worlds to mineralogists, and Karl Harry Ferdinand Rosenbusch’s (1836–1914) great monographs27 became an indispensable tool for every researcher in geology and mineralogy. Although most practical geology was done by the national geological surveys, Rosenbusch was typically a university man: he worked from 1869 until 1873 as Privatdozent in Freiburg, then as professor extraordinarius in Strasbourg, and from 1878 until 1908 as professor of mineralogy and geology in Heidelberg. But in spite of the great progress in descriptive mineralogy and petrology, widely different opinions were held as to the origin of granites. Rosenbusch himself, Eduard Suess (1831–1914) in Vienna, Auguste Michel-Lévy (1844– 1911) in Paris, Jakob Johannes Sederholm (1863–1934) in Helsinki, and Per Johan Holmquist (1886–1946) in Stockholm published around the turn of the century different theories on metamorphic rock, but the ‘granite controversy’ was far from settled during the first half of the twentieth century. Another great controversy which lasted nearly the whole century was the question of continental drift. The idea of the horizontal movement of whole continents was not very new – not to speak of the fabulous ‘lost continents’ in the style of Atlantis – and in the 1910s several Alpine geologists accepted the idea that the Alps had been born in a horizontal pressure from the African land mass. In his book Das Antlitz der Erde (1885–1909) Eduard Suess formulated a theory according to which all continents had once formed a single mass, the ‘Gondwanaland’, from which different parts – i.e. the present continents, notably the Americas, Australia and Antarctica – had been separated because of vertical sinking of those parts which nowadays form the Indian Ocean and South Atlantic. It was, however, Alfred Wegener (1880–1930) who took the possibility of drift into serious geological consideration. He, as many before him, had noticed how easily the east coast of South America and the west coast of Africa would fit together, and he was bold enough to find in geological, palaeontological, climatological, zoogeographical and other literature several facts that would support the idea that these continents had drifted 27

K. H. F. Rosenbusch, Mikroskopische Physiographie der petrographisch wichtigen Mineralien (Stuttgart, 1873); idem, Mikroskopische Physiographie der massigen Gesteine (Stuttgart, 1877).

540

Biology and the earth sciences apart. He even believed that geodetical measurements in Greenland had shown that the drift is continuing, and arrived at the estimate that the movement is some 10 to 30 metres per year – a figure which, in the light of modern measurements, would be a thousand times too high. After having collected material for five years he published in 1915 Die Entstehung der Kontinente und Ozeane, which nowadays, when the drift has been shown to be a reality, is considered a true classic in the field, despite its errors. Wegener, having grown up in Berlin, made a university career, first as lecturer at the Physical Institute at Marburg, from 1919 as professor of meteorology at the newly founded University of Hamburg, and from 1924 until his untimely death as professor at the University of Graz, where a special chair in meteorology and geophysics had been created for him. Before World War I, Wegener had already participated in two expeditions to Greenland, and in 1929 and 1930 he again led two Greenland expeditions and died there; his 50th birthday was the last time when he was seen by his companions. The controversy, which had been raging in the 1920s, nearly ceased in the 1930s, and Wegener’s theory was all but buried; but after World War II, when palaeomagnetism was added to the geologists’ tools and modern block tectonics was developed, new evidence began to show that Wegener had not been entirely wrong, after all. One of the most eminent supporters of the drift theory was Arthur Holmes (1890–1965), who worked as professor of geology at the University of Durham and later at the University of Edinburgh; with the help of radiochemical analysis Holmes established the most modern time scale for geological periods, arriving at an age of 4.5 billion years for the earth. During the twenty years between the two world wars, research was expanding in all fields, and the university patterns, with teaching intimately connected with research, became more similar in most parts of Europe. But even in Germany, where universities had traditionally been the bastion of research, science was no longer confined to the universities: the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society – nowadays the Max-Planck-Gesellschaft – supported research in its own institutes which usually had no direct connection with the university system, except, of course, that the researchers had received their basic training in universities and that the directors usually were allowed to teach at neighbouring universities. In Russia, scientific power that had grown rapidly during the latter half of the nineteenth century, both in the St Petersburg Academy of Sciences and in the universities, and the Soviet revolution seemed at first to enhance this development. Later on, however, Stalinist pressure destroyed a large part of the country’s best science, especially in genetics, where the Lysenkoist pseudoscience was, on ideological grounds declared the only valid doctrine, with the result that some of the best geneticists left the country others, like Nikolai Ivanovich Vavilov (1887–1943), were expelled to Siberia. 541

Anto Leikola Similarly, the National Socialist regime in Germany forced many of the most creative scientists to abandon their work or to emigrate to America, where research received new vigour from these immigrants. select bibliography ´ A. La teor´ıa celular, Historia de un paradigma, Madrid, 1983. Albarrac´ın Teulon, ´ de la teor´ıa ¨ G. and Garc´ıa Ballester, L. La introduccion Aréchaga, J., Olague, ˜ Granada, 1976. celular en Espana, Botting, D. Humboldt and the Cosmos, London, 1973. Bowler, P. J. The Fontana History of the Environmental Sciences, London, 1992. Burkhardt, R. W. The Spirit of System: Lamarck and Evolutionary Biology, Cambridge, Mass., 1977. Clarke, R. Claude Bernard et la médecine expérimentale, Paris, 1961. Coleman, W. Biology in the Nineteenth Century: Problems of Form, Function and Transformation, Cambridge, 1971. ¨ Danielsson, U. ‘Darwinismens intrangande i Sverige’, Lychnos, 1963–1964 (1965), 157–210; 1965–1966 (1967), 261–333. Summary: ‘The Penetration of Darwinism into Sweden’. Delaunay, A. (ed.) Présence de Pasteur, Paris, 1973. Florkin, M. Naissance et déviation de la théorie cellulaire dans l’œuvre de Théodore Schwann, Paris, 1960. ˜ Barcelona, 1982. Glick, T. F. Darwin en Espana, Glick, T. F. (ed.) The Comparative Reception of Darwinism, Austin, Tex., 1974. Hughes, A. A History of Cytology, London, 1950. Kohn, D. (ed.) The Darwinian Heritage, Princeton, 1985. ¨ Koller, J. Johannes Muller – das Leben eines Biologen, Stuttgart, 1958. Leikola, A. ‘From Descriptive to Experimental Science: Some Trends and Changes in Finnish Zoology’, Eidema, 1 (1982), 190–205. ‘J. A. Palmén, the Darwinist Reformer of Zoology in Finland’, Eidema, 1 (1982), 206–20. Montalenti, G. ‘Il darwinismo in Italia’, Belfagor, 38 (1983), 65–78. Morton, A. G. History of Botanical Science, London, 1981 Orel, V. and Armogathe, J.-R. Mendel un inconnu célèbre, Paris, 1985. Raikov, B. E. Karl Ernst von Baer 1792–1876. Sein Leben und sein Werk, Leipzig, 1968. Sturtevant, A. H. A History of Genetics, New York, 1965. Szyfman, L. Lamarck et son e´ poque, Paris, 1982. Vallery-Radot, R. La Vie de Pasteur, 2nd edn, Paris, 1905. Worster, D. Nature’s Economy: A History of Ecological Ideas, 2nd edn, Cambridge, 1994.

542

CHAPTER 14

MEDICINE

ANTONIE M. LUYENDIJK-ELSHOUT∗

introduction The training of medical practitioners became a crucial question in Europe after 1800. Medical education was no longer exclusively the domain of the universities. It became the centre of an intriguing triangle, which influenced its development from all three corners. At the top of the triangle, the governmental authorities became increasingly involved in the organization of medical education, both financially and professionally. At the righthand corner, the rapidly developing sciences exerted their influence: new drugs, new methods for the better care and cure of patients were to come and the student should be well prepared to handle them. At the left-hand corner, the social demands of the new society required controlled hygiene and the prevention of epidemics, licensed practice by safe practitioners and protection against quackery. The process of interaction along the sides of the triangle shaped the cultural pattern in which medical education was able to develop during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In this study, a choice was made to present medical education as a cultural process against the background of this triangular model. The whole period has been divided into: (1) the Romantic Era (1790–1830); (2) the New Learning (1830–70); and (3) the Growth of Medical Specialization (1870–1945), which includes the so-called Belle Epoque (1870–1914), the First World War and the inter-war period. Each period had its own ‘triangle’, with the top-most corner representing the political and economical situation which determined the waning or flourishing of medical education. The right-hand corner, the philosophy and state of the art of ∗

The author is indebted to Sir John Ellis for his encouragement and criticism. She also wishes to thank Professor Grigory A. Tishkin for his valuable comments on the passages dealing with Russia and the Baltic States.

543

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout science, contributed to the fame of the schools in the different countries. At the left-hand corner, the involvement of teachers and students in the condition of their patients, both inside and outside the hospital, became a mainspring for social reform. The leading countries in Europe were France, Great Britain, the AustroHungarian monarchy and Germany. They would contribute to the evolution of medical education into the model curriculum which was basically common to all European countries around 1940. This curriculum covered the basic sciences, theoretical medicine and clinical practice. After approximately six years, the student graduated and finished his training through a State Board Examination, which licensed him to enter general practice. In most countries specialized training for surgeons and other specialities took place after this examination. The costs of medical education rose rapidly from 1870 onwards. Investments had to be made in laboratory and hospital equipment. Most countries had state-controlled medical training courses by that time, some within the universities, others related to hospitals or medical institutes. Academic freedom of teaching and learning was an important issue, as were facilities for doing research. These goods were endangered by political circumstances, such as the Revolution of 1848 and the outcomes of the Russian Revolution in 1917. The impact of Nazism upon medical education in particular affected teachers, students and patients in a terrifying way. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, medical education was dominated by the effects of Enlightenment in a poor Europe, ravaged by Napoleonic wars. In 1945, medical educationalists were confronted with high quality techniques ‘for better or worse’ in a Europe ravaged by World War II. In between, the ‘intriguing triangle’ played its part. t h e r o m a n t i c e r a (1790–1830): t h e i n f l u e n c e of enlightenment By 1790, Enlightenment had brought new movements into the medical world. Physicians and surgeons had become more involved in the miserable conditions of the people; the care of the sick in the hospitals, the treatment of the insane in the asylums, the care of the wounded on the battlefields and the fight against epidemics, both in man and in cattle. The spirit of Enlightenment called for the improvement of man’s condition, both materially and spiritually. Not Christian Charity, but Reason should be the basis of help. Man’s world being no longer separated from nature, both nature and society should be studied in similar fashions. Man should get a better understanding of nature’s laws and their impact upon human institutions. Medicine should be reformed into a simple useful 544

Medicine system, based on the laws of nature, as far as these could be studied by observation. A French group, the so-called Idéologues, followed the sensualist philosophy of Etienne Bonnot de Condillac (1715–80). They were guided by three great principles: freedom of conscience, tolerance and social reform. They advanced a philosophie laborieuse et bienfaisante, an industrious and beneficent philosophy.1 The Idéologues were deeply impressed by ˆ Jacques Tenon’s (1724–1816) Mémoires sur les Hopitaux de Paris (1788), ˆ which revealed the appalling condition of the Paris hospitals, the Hotelˆ Dieu and the Hopital Général. They symbolized death and pollution, and the failure of medical care and nursing. Together with the detention houses and asylums for the insane, the Bicêtre, la Salpêtrière and la Pitié, where unwanted persons were sent and disappeared, they were one of the main evils leading to the French Revolution in 1789.2 Two Idéologues were to contribute to the reform of medical education in France and abroad: Pierre Jean George Cabanis (1757–1808) and Philippe Pinel (1745–1826). As physicians they were particularly attracted to a philosophy that emphasized the observation of man, using ‘le Regard’, the gaze, as the principal instrument for the acquisition of medical knowledge. Free from the burden of doctrinal systems the physician should observe his patients, thus creating a new medicine with new certainties.3 To realize this new medicine, clinical schools were indispensable, where progress in chemistry and biology could be combined with the results of clinical observation, in the search for analogies.4 With Cabanis and Pinel, philosophy was to play an active and often determining role in medical reform and in social restructuring. Their writings introduced new fundamental concepts into European medical education.5 They led to two main changes: the hospital 1 2

3 4

5

S. Moravia, ‘Les Idéologues et l’Age du Lumières. Un problème de periodisation et de réhabilitation historique’, Tijdschrift voor Studie van de Verlichting, 1 (1973), 344–96. M. Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic: An Archeology of Medical Perception, World of Men Series (New York, 1973) (translated from the French by A. M. Sheridan Smith); L. S. Greenbaum, ‘Measures of Civilisation: The Hospital Thought of Jacques Tenon on the Eve of the French Revolution’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 40 (1975), 43–56; T. Gelfand, ‘Gestation of the Clinic’, Medical History, 25 (1981), 169–80. Foucault, Birth (note 2), 100; E. Lesky, ‘Cabanis und die Gewiszheit der Heilkunde’, Gesnerus, 11 (1954), 152–82. A. M. Luyendijk-Elshout, ‘Die Revolution und Reformation der Heilkunde. Arbeitsame ¨ und wohltatige Philosophie von Pierre Jean George Cabanis (1757–1808)’, in K. E. Roth¨ ¨ zur Geschichte und Theorie der Medischuh and R. Toellner (eds.), Munstersche Beitrage ¨ zin (Munster, 1978), 49–59. D. B. Weiner (ed.), P. Pinel, The Clinical Training of Doctors: An Essay of 1793, L. G. Stevenson (ed.), The Henry E. Sigerist Supplements to the Bulletin of the History of Medicine n.s. 3 (Baltimore and London, 1980); P. J. G. Cabanis, ‘Rapport fait au Conseil des Cinqo-Cents sur l’organisation des Ecoles de Médecine. Séance du 29 Brumaire An VII’, in Œuvres complètes de Cabanis, accompagnées d’une notice sur sa vie et ses ouvrages (Paris, 1823), vol. I, 361–402.

545

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout as a centre for medical teaching and the decision to give the medical profession a protected and liberal status. While in revolutionary France progressive social aspirations motivated medical reformers, Germany and Central Europe underwent a different process. In 1779, the first volume of Johann Peter Frank’s (1745– ¨ 1821) System einer vollstandigen medizinischen Polizey was published in Mannheim. Eight volumes would follow, the last in 1827. Although Frank discussed the main issues of health care, such as nutrition, communicable disease control, environmental sanitation and the provision of medical care for the indigent, his conclusion differed substantially from conditions prevailing in Great Britain and France.6 Frank was influenced by Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712–78) as far as the relationship of man to nature was concerned. He also agreed with the popular concept of cities as hotbeds of diseases.7 But his ‘system of a Comprehensive Medical Police’ was based upon the doctrines of Johann Heinrich Gottlob Justi (1717–71) who lectured on cameralistic subjects at the Collegium There8 ¨ sianum in Vienna from 1750 to 1753 and later in Gottingen. Justi advocated Enlightened Despotism. Cameralism considered the ruler responsible for the people, it justified centralized administration and state control. Furthermore, it supported the growth of the population. For medical care this meant that the monarch should do all he could to diminish sickness among his subjects and prevent the outbreak of contagious diseases. In furtherance of this aim, medicine in all its aspects must be improved and encouraged by government.9 During the late eighteenth century the concept of ‘medical police’ inspired administrators and university teachers, mainly in Central Europe, Germany and Italy. But by the middle of the nineteenth century the concept of ‘medical police’ was backward looking, as Absolutism gave way to a liberal, industrialized society.10 6

7 8 9

10

G. Rosen, ‘The Fate of the Concept of Medical Police 1780–1890’, Centaurus, 5 (1959), 97–113. Also published in From Medical Police to Social Medicine: Essays on the History ¨ of Health Care (New York, 1974), 142–56. Cf. W. Ruegg, ‘Der Kranke in der Sicht der ¨ ¨ burgerlichen Gesellschaft an der Schwelle des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in W. Arlt and W. Ruegg (eds.), Der Arzt und der Kranke in der Gesellschaft des 19. Jahrhunderts, Studien zur Medizingeschichte des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts 1 (Stuttgart, 1967), 35–49, on Frank’s notion of ‘medizinische Polizey’, 43. E. Lesky, Johann Peter Frank, Akademische Rede vom Volkselend als der Mutter der Krankheiten (Pavia 1790), Sudhoffs Klassiker der Medizin 34 (Leipzig, 1960). G. Rosen, ‘Cameralism and the Concept of Medical Police’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 27 (1952), 21–42. J. H. G. von Justi, Staatswirthschaft, oder systematische Abhandlung aller oekonomischen und Cameral-Wissenschaften, die zur Regierung eines Landes erfordert werden (Leipzig, 1758), vol. I, 173–6. After Rosen, ‘Cameralism’ (note 8), 133. Rosen, ‘Medical Police’ (note 6), 143.

546

Medicine In France, the term ‘medical police’ was never popular and was soon replaced by hygiène publique.11 This concept spread all over Europe, primarily through the journal Annales d’hygiène publique et médecine légale, founded in 1829. Furthermore, local councils for health care were founded in the cities. In the Low Countries, they were called ‘Committees for medical supervision’. They were charged with the inspection of medical practitioners and pharmacists and the regulations for the prevention of epidemics. In Great Britain the Industrial Revolution was the major cause of the problems linked to ‘public health’. This term soon replaced ‘medical police’, although Frank’s work was introduced by Andrew Duncan (1744– 1828), professor at Edinburgh in 1798, and a book was published there in 1800 which relied heavily on Frank’s concepts.12 But new social theories, such as those presented by the utilitarian Jeremy Bentham (1748– 1832), played an important role in the installation of new regulations in England.13 The most crucial method applied was the use of sanitary statistics, introduced by E. Chadwick (1800–90) in 1836. His reports demonstrated clearly the correlation between the sanitary conditions of the different social classes and their life expectancy. Statistics became one of the main instruments in medical and social reform.14 In some European countries numerous small intellectual and cultural societies, attracting the elite of the bourgeoisie, promoted health care and public hygiene. For instance they inoculated against smallpox and translated books on the subject into the vernacular of the country. Edward Jenner’s (1749–1823) ‘An Inquiry into Causes and Effects of the Variolae Vaccinae’, published in 1798, was almost instantaneously translated into French, German, Italian and Dutch.15 Besides promoting what we should call today ‘preventive medicine’, they monitored the training of pharmacists and midwives and advanced research, such as microscopy. In the second half of the century, when the universities obtained laboratories and better facilities for research, they lost their influence. Moreover, professionalization of the sciences and medicine brought new 11 12

13

14 15

R. H. Shryock, ‘Medicine and Society in the Nineteenth Century’, Cahiers d’histoire mondiale, 5 (1959), 116–45. J. Roberton, Medical Police: or, the Causes of Disease with the Means of Prevention: . . . Adapted Particularly to the Cities of London and Edinburgh, and Generally to all Large Towns, 2nd edn (Edinburgh, 1812). After Rosen, ‘Medical Police’ (note 6), 153. H. J. ten Have, Geneeskunde en filosofie, De invloed van Jeremy Bentham op het medisch denken en handelen (Leiden, 1983) with an English summary: Medicine and Philosophy: Jeremy Bentham’s Influence upon Medical Thought and Medical Practice. Ibid., 180–210. F. H. Garrison, An Introduction to the History of Medicine, 4th edn (Philadelphia and London, 1963), 374–5.

547

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout associations, uniting the members in order to safeguard their professional and financial interests.16 Since France during the Revolution and the countries under French influence had dissolved the old guilds of surgeons and apothecaries, a new supervision of the medical profession was necessary, to prevent quackery and unqualified practice. Cabanis’ demand for one highly qualified educational training programme for all professional groups was not realized, but medical education underwent some drastic reform.17 The old Faculté de Médecine in Paris was closed in 1792. The new Ecole de santé opened in 1795 with a new curriculum, far better adapted to the acquisition of practical knowledge. It represented the new philosophy of medical education: ‘peu lire, beaucoup voir, beaucoup faire’, as stated by Antoine François de Fourcroy (1755–1809), the actual reorganizer of French higher education in November 1794 before the Convention.18 The most important innovation was the revived interest in clinical teaching in hospitals. ‘Beaucoup voir’ meant the observation of many patients and the two large infirmaries ˆ ˆ of Paris, the Hotel-Dieu and the Hopital Général, became the training centres for the young medical world throughout the century. The term ˆ Ancien interne des hopitaux de Paris had such an effect that it was explicitly mentioned on French doctors’ name plates when they opened their practice.19 In this new situation two important branches of medicine developed rapidly: pathological anatomy and surgery. Autopsy rooms already existed in hospitals where clinical teaching was carried out, for instance in Vienna and Edinburgh, but a new interest arose with the new concept of pathology. This was stimulated by Giovanni Battista Morgagni (1682– 1771) in his famous work De sedibus et causis morborum per anatomen indigatis libri quinque, published in Venice in 1761. Morgagni’s work was the start of the search for the site of disease in the solid parts of the body, and no longer in the old humours of blood.20 The excellent opportunity for observation, which the Paris school offered, led to considerable innovations in pathology. It led to a classification of the membranes according to their properties and specific 16

17 18

19 20

M. J. van Lieburg, ‘Geneeskunde en medische professie in het genootschapswezen van Nederland in de eerste helft van de negentiende eeuw’, De Negentiende Eeuw, 7 (1983), 123–46. Cabanis, ‘Rapport’ (note 5), vol. I, 395. E. H. Ackerknecht, Medicine at the Paris Hospital 1794–1848 (Baltimore, 1967), 32; C. Coury, ‘The Teaching of Medicine in France from the Beginning of the Seventeenth Century’, in C. D. O’Malley (ed.), The History of Medical Education: An International Symposium Held February 5–9, 1968, UCLA Forum in Medical Sciences 12 (Los Angeles, Berkeley and London, 1970), 121–30. Ackerknecht, Medicine (note 18), 38. S. Jarcho, ‘G. B. Morgagni, his Interests, Ideas and Achievements’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 11 (1948), 503–27.

548

Medicine reactions towards stimuli, such as inflammation. Xavier Bichat (1771– 1802), whose guideline was dissections, experiment and post-mortems, became the founder of the doctrine of the specificity of the tissues, which offered an entirely new understanding of pathological processes.21 Also Jean-Nicolas Corvisart (1755–1821) much improved the clinical diagnosis of pathological processes by giving new importance to physical examination of the patient. In 1808, he drew the attention of the students to percussion, which Leopold von Auenbrugger (1722–1809) from Vienna had demonstrated as early as 1765.22 Pathology and physical examination became even more closely connected, through the invention of auscultation by means of a stethoscope by René Théophile Laennec (1781–1826) in 1819. The diseases of the thoracic organs could now be diagnosed by a new range of signs and internal medicine developed a new dimension.23 Surgical pathology, based on the local pathology of the internal organs, contributed to new techniques and better results in surgery.24 Here again, Paris was the guiding star. Surgeons, physicians and medical students from ˆ all countries flocked to Paris, especially to the Hotel-Dieu. Here Guillaume Dupuytren (1777–1835) demonstrated his skills. He symbolized the great progress of surgery in France after 1815. Surgery was transformed from a skilful handicraft into a technique inspired by scientific knowledge, originating in anatomy, pathology and the new field of histology.25 In none of the European countries were the developments in surgery and pathology so spectacular as in Paris. The main rise of German Austrian surgery only occurred in the 1870s. Europe already had a tradition of clinical teaching before the great reform in Paris took place. Pinel mentioned the schools of Leiden, Vienna, Edinburgh and Pavia in his essay of 1793. He praised Boerhaave for having inspired his disciples in Vienna and Edinburgh to create teaching hospitals, 21

22

23 24 25

X. Bichat, Recherches physiologiques sur la vie et la mort (Paris, 1800) and idem, Traité des membranes (Paris, 1800). See E. Haigh, ‘Xavier Bichat and the Medical Theory of the Eighteenth Century’, Medical History, suppl. no. 4 (1984). Inventum novum ex percussione thoracis humani ut signo abstrusos interni pectoris morbos detegendi (Vienna, 1761). See C. Coury, ‘Les Débuts de la percussion thoracique, de son inventeur Autrichien et son promoteur Français’, in E. Lesky (ed.), Wien und die ¨ Geschichte der MediWeltmedizin: 4. Symposium der Internationalen Akademie fur ¨ Geschichte der Medizin der Universitat ¨ Wien 17. –19. zin veranstaltet im Institut fur ¨ Wien 9 (Vienna, Cologne and September 1973, Studien zur Geschichte der Universitat Graz, 1974), 64–73. R. Kervran, Laennec: His Life and Times (Oxford, London, New York and Paris, 1960) (translated from the French by D. C. Abraham Curiel). D. de Moulin, A History of Surgery: With Emphasis on the Netherlands (Dordrecht, Boston and Lancaster, 1988), 262. A. Richerand, Histoire de progrès récent de la chirurgie (Brussels, 1825). The term ‘histol¨ ogy’ was introduced by Carl Mayer in 1819, and immediately used by Johannes Muller. ¨ See B. Lohff, ‘Johannes Mullers Rezeption der Zellenlehre in seinem Handbuch der Physiologie der Menschen’, Medizinhistorisches Journal, 13 (1978), 246–58.

549

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout and Simon André Tissot (1728–97) for his concept of the construction of such a hospital at Pavia.26 Moreover, Pinel urged the grouping of selected patients into teaching wards, as had been done at Leiden, Vienna and Pavia.27 Pinel founded his nosology upon a Hippocratic system and his guidelines for his lessons were definitely based on Coan lines.28 Pinel’s therapy was fully in accord with his policy of waiting: materia medica should be of extreme simplicity, derived from ordinary plants and uncomplicated chemical substances – ‘all these have the very great advantage of reducing therapy to its simplest elements and showing clearly how nature proceeds when man does not interfere’.29 The vis medicatrix naturae was Pinel’s first principle. His ‘soft law in therapy’ was not only accepted in France, but also in Vienna.30 Actually, it was directed against the physiological medicine of François Joseph Victor Broussais (1772–1838) with its aggressive therapy and denial of a nosological system.31 The controversy between Pinel and Broussais was impressive, becoming one of the most fanatic medical polemics of the century, not least from the point of view of Broussais’ unlimited aggressiveness. This fight contributed to the acceptance of Pinel’s hippocratism in Vienna by Joseph Dietl (1804–78) and even led to therapeutic nihilism, not as a total rejection of the materia medica, but as the search for a rational pharmacology.32 The French never went as far as nihilism, but their famous physiologist, François Magendie (1783–1855), opened up a new era in drug therapy by testing through experiment the value of certain newly found chemically pure drugs (e.g. strychnine, emetine, quinine, iodine, bromine) and thereby contributing to the founding of experimental pharmacology.33 The concern of the Idéologues was not only for hospitals in general, but also for insane asylums. Although Pinel’s book Traité médicophilosophique sur l’aliénation mentale ou la manie (1801) was translated in 1806 into English and in 1801 into German, the most impressive 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

33

S. A. Tissot, Essais sur les moyens de perfectionner les e´ tudes de médecine (Lausanne, 1785). See Weiner (ed.), Pinel (note 5), 68. Weiner (ed.), Pinel (note 5), 68. W. Riese, ‘Les Sources hippocratiques de l’œuvre de Philippe Pinel’, Annales Thérapeutiques de l’œuvre de Philippe Pinel, 4 (1969), 130–48. Weiner (ed.), Pinel (note 5), 83. ¨ ¨ E. Lesky, ‘Von dem Ursprungen des therapeutischen Nihilismus’, Sudhoffs Archiv fur Geschichte der Medizin, 44 (1960), 1–39. E. H. Ackerknecht, ‘Broussais or a Forgotten Revolution’, Bulletin for the History of Medicine, 27 (1953), 320–43. Ackerknecht, ‘Broussais’ (note 31); C. Wiesemann, Joseph Dietl und der therapeutische Nihilismus: zum historischen und politischen Hintergrund einer medizinischen These, Marburger Schriften zur Medizingeschichte 28 (Frankfurt-am-Main and Bern, 1991). E. H. Ackerknecht, ‘Aspects of the History of Therapeutics’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 36 (1962), 389–419. On Magendie: J. M. D. Olmstedt, François Magendie: Pioneer in Experimental Physiology and Scientific Medicine in XIX Century France (New York, 1944).

550

Medicine concept of treatment of the insane came from the layman William Tuke (1732–1822), founder of ‘The Retreat’ at York. In this institution, medical treatment was subordinated to moral treatment on both a psychological and ethical basis. The general comfort of the patient, the limit of restraint, the encouragement of self-restraint were the instruments which the Quaker philanthropist Samuel Tuke (1784–1857) advocated in his ‘Description of the Retreat’ in 1813.34 Moral treatment was to become one of the most important issues in psychiatry during the first decades of the nineteenth century. It would lead to a new concept, moral insanity, some diseases of the psyche beginning in vice – in a deterioration of the moral sentiments.35 Although these disputes were academic, teaching of psychiatry as a medical discipline was an exception at the universities. Moral treatment, as described by Tuke and also by Pinel in a different context, would stimulate social and humanitarian reform of the care of the insane, but would not influence university teaching, as psychiatry was seldom taught at the universities. The content of medical learning changed considerably in the European universities during the Romantic era, not only through the patientdirected teaching in the hospitals but also by the new concepts of medicine. Various theories were based upon an incorporeal agent, acting in both health and disease. Vitalism originated in Montpellier, started by the médecin-philosophe Théophile de Bordeu (1722–76).36 His theories, which attributed a specific force to the organs of the body, were accepted by the French medical faculties. The rest of Europe stayed with the mechanical concept of the body introduced by Herman Boerhaave in the early eighteenth century. But around 1800 the theories of the Edinburgh doctor John Brown (1735–88) became popular in Europe, mainly in German and Italian medical faculties. The so-called ‘Brownianism’ (or ‘Brunonianism’) became one of the most powerful movements in the medical world. It simplified medical practice and it broke with the strict rules of therapy imposed by the eighteenth-century medical schools. Instead of rigorous bloodletting, purging and a complicated system of therapeutics, known as ‘antiphlogistic’, it offered the patient wine, camphor, musk and, above all, opium. The 34

35 36

R. Hunter and I. MacAlpine, Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry (1535–1860): A History Presented in Selected English Texts (London, New York and Toronto, 1963), 684–90; A. Digby, Madness, Morality and Medicine: A Study of the York Retreat 1796–1914 (Cambridge and New York, 1985). J. C. A. Heinroth (1773–1843) and James Cowles Prichard (1786–1848). See Hunter and MacAlpine, Three Hundred Years (note 34), 837. E. L. Haigh, ‘Vitalism, the Soul and Sensibility: The Physiology of Théophile Bordeu’, Journal of the History of Medicine, 31 (1976), 30–41; J. Roger, Les Sciences de la vie dans la pensée française du XVIIIe siècle: La Génération des animaux de Descartes a` l’Encyclopédie (Paris, 1963), 618–30.

551

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout doctrine of sthenic and asthenic diseases, the delicate balance between excitement and excitability of the body were easily understood by students.37 Also, the prescribed regimen was attractive: fresh air, a daily glass of Madeira, well-seasoned meat and broth. Those prescriptions would be incorporated in textbooks for general practitioners, such as the Encheiridion Medicum, published by Christoph Wilhelm Hufeland (1762–1836) in 1836.38 Brownianism as such was moderated, but notions of stimulus, excitability and incitantia would dominate in various medical schools throughout the first decades of the nineteenth century. Furthermore, vital force was also the main principle in homeopathy, introduced by Samuel Hahnemann (1755–1893) in 1833. Also, the famous ‘doctrine physiologique’ of François Joseph Victor Broussais was based upon a bio-dynamic concept.39 His system would be remembered for his rigorous bleeding by leeches: it was said that Europe lost more blood through his therapy than through the Napoleonic wars.40 Medicine based on the immaterial principle of a vital force became engulfed in the philosophical speculations of Naturphilosophie in Germany. Friedrich W. J. von Schelling (1755–1854) believed in the capacity of physicians and scientists to discover the main principles on which the entire natural world had been fashioned, merely by philosophical reflection.41 The system of John Brown was most appropriate for such a philo¨ sophical approach. The challenge was taken up by Andreas Roschlaub (1768–1835), who created a Brunonian curriculum at the medical faculty of the University of Bamberg in Germany, under the banner of Schelling’s Naturphilosophie.42 These ‘philosophical’ doctors, pupils of Schelling, truly believed in a new system of medicine, based on the new discoveries in the natural sciences, especially phenomena such as magnetism, electricity and chemistry. They believed in their connection with incorporeal agents such as vital forces in one system, uniting all natural powers. A complicated, vitalistic physiology was the result of these speculations, with often ingenious concepts of organic matter and the manifestation of ¨ vital phenomena. The work of Johannes Muller (1801–58) was especially 37 38 39 40 41 42

G. B. Risse, ‘The Brownian System of Medicine: Its Theoretical and Practical Implication’, Clio Medica, 5 (1970), 45–51. Ibid. K. E. Rothschuh, Konzepte der Medizin in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart (Stuttgart, 1978). Ackerknecht, ‘Broussais’ (note 31). G. B. Risse, ‘Kant, Schelling and a Science of Medicine’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 27 (1972), 145–58. Rothschuh, Konzepte (note 39), 386; N. Tsouyopoulos, ‘Die neue Auffassung der Medizin ¨ als Wissenschaft unter den Einflusz der Philosophie vom fruhen 19. Jahrhundert’, Berichte der Wissenschaftsgeschichte, 1 (1978), 87–100.

552

Medicine ¨ widely read.43 Muller combined a ‘realistic’ vitalism with active laboratory research when he became professor of anatomy and physiology in 1833 at the Anatomisch-Zoologisches Museum in Berlin. Under his guidance students were encouraged to use the new experimental and conceptual tools of chemistry and physics, with vitalistic explanation being used only as a last resort.44 the romantic era: organization of medical education The reform of medical education in France raised two main issues: (1) should medicine be taught in the great hospitals of central cities only, or should it be spread over the provincial faculties? (2) To what extent should the education of all workers in health care be elevated to university level? The second question had important political and financial implications and would not be answered for a long time. In most European countries, the university training of pharmacists and dentists would not be realized before the last decades of the century. But during and after the Napoleonic wars, the need for practitioners and army surgeons was urgent. Unqualified practice increased after the dissolution of the guilds in France and in the countries under its influence. The law of 10 May 1806 set up the Imperial University of France, which included the medical schools of Paris, Montpellier and Strasburg. In other cities, national secondary schools were founded. From 1803, French medical practitioners were divided into two categories, the Doctors in Medicine and Surgery and the ‘officiers de santé’, simple health officers.45 This situation continued until 1892. The basic principles of this system were adopted by the countries which had been under French rule during the Napoleonic expansion, especially the Low Countries, which were incorporated into the French Empire in 1810. Medical faculties, which could not affiliate with a municipal hospital, were closed.46 Others became secondary schools, such as the University of Utrecht. After 1813, when the Low Countries were united in a kingdom, several medical faculties were reactivated, but like most European countries they were still unable to raise the medical profession and health care to a higher rank. An attempt was made to found medical schools in provinces where a general hospital offered facilities for clinical 43 44 46

E. Benton, ‘Vitalism in Nineteenth Century Scientific Thought: A Typology and Reassessment’, Studies in the History and Philosophy of Science, 5 (1974), 17–48. 45 Coury, ‘Teaching’ (note 18). Ibid., 29. G. Legée, Cuvier et la réorganisation de l’enseignement sous le Consulat et l’Empire (Paris, 1974).

553

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout teaching, and where the municipality was willing to provide funding.47 Between 1824 and 1828, six clinical schools were opened in the north, including the Military Medical School at Utrecht. In the south, the school of Antwerp was reactivated in 1824, though several other cours pratique could not be continued, because the municipal authorities lacked funds.48 The programmes offered by these were more practically orientated than the university training. The admission fee was low, students who were sixteen, could write and read, and had an irreproachable personal record could matriculate.49 They could follow training courses in surgery, pharmacy and obstetrics. They had a limited admittance to practice in certain areas in the country. Most of them settled in agricultural districts or small provincial towns where they set up a combined practice of surgery, obstetrics and a pharmacy. This so-called second medical rank was common in the Netherlands during the period 1818–65.50 In Belgium, following the independence of 1830, the second rank was gradually replaced by university trained doctors. In 1835, Belgium was the first European country to raise the training of physicians, surgeons, obstetricians and pharmacists to a university level.51 The Netherlands unified medical education by the law of 1865, Prussia in 1852.52 In Great Britain it was not until 1886 that students were required to show competence in medicine, surgery and obstetrics before being licensed to practice. A General Council of medical education and registration had been established in 1858,53 but the pre-existing Colleges of Physicians, Surgeons and the Societies of Apothecaries continued to hold examinations for entry to their respective orders of the medical profession. The General Council recognized them as licensing bodies along with the universities of Oxford, Cambridge and London, the four Scottish universities of Glasgow, Aberdeen, St Andrews and Edinburgh and Trinity College, Dublin.

47 48

49

50 51 52 53

M. J. van Lieburg, ‘Municipal Hospitals and Clinical Teaching in the Netherlands During the 19th Century’, Clio Medica, 21 (1987–88), 125–52. R. Schepers, De opkomst van het Belgisch Medisch Beroep: de evolutie van de wetgeving en de beroepsorganisatie in de 19de eeuw, Nieuwe Nederlandse bijdragen tot de geschiedenis der geneeskunde en der natuurwetenschappen 32 (Amsterdam and Atlanta, 1989). M. J. van Lieburg, Het medisch onderwijs te Rotterdam (1467–1967): een kort historisch overzicht, Nieuwe Nederlandse bijdragen tot de geschiedenis der geneeskunde 3 (Amsterdam, 1978), 63. M. J. van Lieburg, ‘De tweede geneeskundige stand (1818–1865)’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 96 (1983), 433–53. Schepers, Opkomst (note 48), 106. ¨ ¨ C. Huerkamp, ‘Arzte und Professionalisierung in Deutschland. Uberlegungen zum Wandel des Arztberufs im 19. Jahrhundert’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 6, 3 (1980), 349. C. F. Varlaam, ‘The Origins and Development of the General Medical Council as a Socio-legal Institution’, Ph.D., London (Economics), 1978, ch. I: 7–46. After Schepers, Opkomst (note 48), 107.

554

Medicine In Scotland and Ireland the universities provided clinical teaching in charity hospitals with an emphasis on lectures from university appointed teachers. Oxford and Cambridge had no clinical schools and their graduates obtained practical experience in London or elsewhere before taking the examination of one of the Royal Colleges of Physicians, in London, Edinburgh or Dublin, which conferred a licence to practise as a physician. London University was founded in 1836 but functioned only as an imperial examining body till the end of the nineteenth century. Medical education in London and the major provincial cities took place in medical schools, based on the Charity Hospitals founded in the eighteenth century. The first complete medical school was founded in 1785 alongside the London Hospital. It remained a private school for nearly a century, during which the governors of many other charity hospitals recognized the value of medical students as cost-free providers of medical care. So medical schools developed in which students received lectures and demonstrations but learned mainly by participating in the care of the sick as interns and clinical assistants.54 The requirements for entry to licensing examinations were very lax until 1815 when the Apothecaries Act specified a wide range of subjects to be studied and required hospital experience as well as apprenticeship to an apothecary. The College of Physicians and Surgeons then demanded fuller courses of training before entry to their examinations.55 Increasing numbers of students obtained their licence from both a Society of Apothecaries and a College of Surgeons, and as surgeon-apothecaries became the country’s first general practitioners, though with little training in obstetrics. Although new university colleges were founded in London and elsewhere in the nineteenth century,56 the connection between university and medical schools remained tenuous up until World War II.57 The total number of medical schools, metropolitan, university and provincial was considerable, but they offered no single portal of entrance to the medical profession through the kind of state examination that became common elsewhere in Europe.58 But it was different from the continental French system, which comprised medical workers of a second rank, as we have seen.

54 55

56 57 58

F. N. L. Poynter, ‘Medical Education in England since 1600’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 235–45. J. Ellis, ‘Medical Education in the U.K. and Europe’, in J. Walton, P. B. Bason and R. Bodley Scott (eds.), The Oxford Companion to Medicine (Oxford and New York, 1986), 714–32. Poynter, ‘Medical Education’ (note 54), 243. Ellis, ‘Medical Education’ (note 55), 723ff. C. Newman, The Evolution of Medical Education in the Nineteenth Century (London, 1957), 227.

555

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout Another form of medical education, which flourished in this period, was the training of military surgeons. The first school of this type was founded in Vienna by Joseph II in 1782. The ‘ancient medical school’ of Vienna, founded by Gerard van Swieten (1700–72), already paid attention to diseases which afflicted the armies on campaign.59 The best-known European Military Training Centre for Medical Surgeons was opened ˆ in 1896 in Val-de-Grace, a former monastery in Paris. Broussais was its chief between 1820 and 1837.60 In Berlin, Johannes Goercke (1750–1822) founded the Pépinière. In Spain and Russia, in the Low Countries and Italy, similar institutions also came into existence.61 From 1798 on, a special role was played by the St Petersburg Military Medical Academy (now the Naval Academy in St Petersburg) in the growth of military medical training in Russia. Since St Petersburg did not have its own faculty of medicine in the nineteenth century, all the leading experts in anatomy, surgery and to some extent in physiology worked in the Academy. This institution trained most of the surgeons for the Russian army and navy.62 The Moscow Medical Surgical Academy which functioned as a department of the St Petersburg Military Medical Academy, was combined in 1844 with the faculty of medicine of Moscow University. From 1832 till 1844 the Vilnius Medical Surgical Academy also became an important training centre.63 These military medical training centres had the advantage of hospitals which were under their direct control and were not charity institutions.64 Furthermore, the training of medical officers included both medicine and surgery. They could apply military strategy to their campaigns against the spread of epidemics. They had a well-organized administration and even interns, who were obliged to report every day. The e´ lèves (pupils) had daily exercises and regulations for study-hours. Graduation took place by means of a concours, a competitive examination. Many pioneers in medicine were trained in these schools. Graduates could be shipped to the colonies for medical service. The military medical training centre at Utrecht trained several medical officers who were sent to Japan. One of them, Johan Lidius Catharinus Pompe van Meerdervoort (1829–1908), 59

60 61

62 63 64

G. van Swieten, Kurze Beschreibung der Heilungsart der Krankheiten, welche am ¨ Offtesten in den Feldlagern beobachtet werden (Vienna, 1758). This book was translated into several languages. ˆ (Paris, 1951). A. Monery, Le Val de Grace D. de Moulin (ed.), ’s-Rijkskweekschool voor Militaire Geneeskundigen te Utrecht (1822–1865), Nieuwe Nederlandse bijdragen tot de geschiedenis der geneeskunde en der natuurwetenschappen 26 (Amsterdam, 1988), Introduction. M. M. Levit, ‘Russia in the Period of the Decay of Feudalism During the First Half of the 19th Century’, The History of Medicine (Istoria meditsinij) (1981), 121. V. P. Grizkevitch, With Hypocrat’s Torch: From the History of Medicine in Byelorussia (Minsk, 1987), 175–88. Moulin, ’s-Rijkskweekschool (note 61), 3–14.

556

Medicine founded a medical school at Nagasaki, based on the model of the Utrecht medical training centre in 1857.65 During the nineteenth century numerous medical schools were founded in European colonies in Africa and Asia. For instance, the New Medical College at Calcutta was established for the instruction of Indian youths in 1835. The content of this learning was Western learning, including science, and the language of instruction was English. In 1843, the Royal College of Surgeons recognized three medical colleges, in Calcutta, Madras and Bombay. These schools were modelled on the British mode, introducing British authors on every subject.66 The reorganization of medical education in Europe after 1795 not only led to the abolition of several old medical faculties, it also created new curricula. The old-style medical faculties generally had five chairs: anatomy, botany and materia medica, chemistry and pharmacy, theoretical medicine (Institutiones) and practical medicine. The students graduated by passing a theoretical examination and by presenting a thesis pro gradu. Theoretical medicine was still the main issue, though in France, control over professional training was centralized by the government and practical training was promoted in all medical schools. Basic changes in all medical faculties in Europe were the creation of special chairs, for surgery and obstetrics, and the teaching assignments for medical police or hygiène publique and forensic medicine. Moreover, nearly all medical faculties cherished their anatomical collections and enlarged them with pathological specimens. The musea anatomica kept these specimens, but also skulls and skeletons, collected by physical anthropologists. The biologists brought classification and system into their collections on natural history. The museums were the workshops of the students, as the laboratories would be during the second half of the century. In Germany, which consisted of many small independent states, there was ‘federal’ licensing or control of medical education and medical faculties varied, according to the philosophy and scholarly aspirations of their leaders. In general, German science was penetrated by a philosophy of questioning, which, as Carl August Wunderlich (1815–77) remarked, should not be identified with Naturphilosophie.67 This encouraged medical faculties to do research within the structure of the university, and influenced other European centres to do the same. This was also expressed in their teaching programmes, which sometimes comprised such subjects as historische Pathologie, physical anthropology 65 66 67

J. Z. Bowers, ‘The History of Medical Education in Japan: The Rise of Western Medical Education’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 391–416; chapter 6, 224. N. Kumar and H. Keswani, ‘Medical Education in India since Ancient Times’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 329–66. O. Temkin, ‘Wunderlich, Schelling and the History of Medicine’, Gesnerus, 23 (1966), 188–95.

557

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout and history of medicine. Two important events took place which influenced medical education: Wilhelm von Humboldt’s (1767–1835) memorandum on medical teaching and the founding of the Friedrich-Wilhelms¨ in 1810 in Berlin. Universitat Humboldt believed implicitly in the unity of research and teaching in the universities for both the professors and students and was vehemently opposed to medical schools separated from the universities, with a great contempt for Fachhochschulen, including the Pépinière, the army medical training centre. This is one of the reasons why clinical schools in the French style did not come into existence in Germany, and why the University of Berlin became exemplary for other German universities. It offered both laboratory and clinical research throughout the century. It was to become the new centre of medical education in Europe.68 In Sweden, the two small universities, Uppsala and Lund, had been under attack by the liberal politicians, who wanted to close the universities and to centralize higher education in Stockholm. The newly founded ¨ Jacob Berzelius Karolinska Institutet had a brilliant spokesman in Jons (1779–1848), the great chemist. It had been planned as a purely practical school of applied medicine, after the French model. Stockholm had the large hospitals, and in Berzelius’ view, medical education should be concentrated there and abolish humanistic culture, which blocked the study of the modern natural sciences. But the Educational Committee decided in 1828 to keep the universities in the provinces. The great university controversy continued until 1873, when the Karolinska Institute received the right to award the Bachelor of Medicine degree, along with Uppsala and Lund.69 In Norway and Denmark, the universities of Oslo and Copenhagen maintained the old structure of their medical faculties until c. 1850. In 1826, the National Hospital of Oslo was opened, offering 100 beds for practical training. Copenhagen and Sweden were primarily influenced by Germany and France.70 Russia expanded at the beginning of the nineteenth century during the reign of Alexander I, which lasted from 1801 to 1825. Alexander re-established the old Swedish University in Estonia, Dorpat (Tartu), in 1802.71 The medical faculty was very modest at the beginning, but a man

68

69 70 71

H. H. Simmers, ‘Principles and Problems of Medical Undergraduate Education in Germany during the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 133–200. X. Almquist and X. Winsell, ‘Uppsala in the Age of Romanticism’, in S. Lindroth (ed.), A History of Uppsala University 1477–1977 (Uppsala, 1976), 146–57 (chapter V). W. Kock, ‘Scandinavia since 1600’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 263–97. A. Buchholz, Ernst von Bergmann. Mit Bergmann’s Kriegsbriefen von 1866, 1870/71 und 1877, 2nd edn (Leipzig, 1911), 84.

558

Medicine like Karl Friedrich Burdach (1776–1847), who taught anatomy and physiology from 1810 to 1814, was one of their first prominent teachers. The ancient school of Wilna in Lithuania became a university in 1803.72 In 1804, after becoming ‘persona non grata’ in Vienna, Johann Peter Frank was called to St Petersburg, where he organized the Military Surgical Academy. Afterwards, he was called to Wilna to organize clinical teaching, which was continued by his son Joseph Frank (1771–1842), after Frank left again for St Petersburg.73 The Military Medical-Surgical Academy there had more to offer to prominent physicians than the small Baltic universities, in spite of their progressive attitudes, inspired by the liberation movements. The Russian physician Matvej Jakovlevic Mudrov (1776– 1831) studied in Germany, Vienna and Paris and became a prominent hygienist and one of the leading clinical professors in Moscow. From 1809 until 1917, the Russians governed the School of Medicine of Helsinki.74 In Central Europe, the State Administration of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy had an important impact upon the universities in Prague and Pest since the great reform by the Empress Maria Theresia of the University of Vienna was carried out, for the medical university, by Gerard van Swieten in 1749. Medical students from Hungary, especially those from German or Jewish origin, went to Vienna for their medical training. Modernization of the medical faculty of the University of Budapest started after 1867, in relation to the enlargement of the hospitals and the founding of research institutes and laboratories.75 The interaction between Vienna and Prague was of the same type, but the transformation of Prague into a state university, according to the Theresian reform, was more successful than in Hungary, where the Jesuits opposed the modernization for fear of the Protestants and the Jews. In Poland, intellectual life and medical care suffered severely from the partitions and suppression in the late eighteenth and the whole of the nineteenth century. In the so-called ‘Congress Kingdom’, which was created in 1815 after the Congress of Vienna and ruled by the Russian Tzar, the medical faculty of the Alexandrian University, founded in 1817, was 72

73

74 75

V. G. Mitselmacheris, Essays on the History of Medicine in Lithuania (Leningrad, 1967), 46–124; J. Kubilius, A Short History of Vilnius University (Vilnius, 1979), 51–3, 61–3, 75–9. V. Kalnin, The History of Tartu University, 1632–1982 (Tallin, 1982), 58 [chapter 3 on medicine]; V. Kalnin, ‘The Role of Tartu University in the Development of Science in the 19th Century’, ibid., 116–24 [ch. 5]. M. Grmek, ‘The History of Medical Education in Russia’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 303–27. ¨ ´ P. Hanak, ‘Wandlungen der Osterreichisch-Ungarischen Wissenschaftlichen Beziehungen im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in R. G. Plaschka and K. Mack (eds.), Wegenetz ¨ Europaischen Geistes, vol. I: Wissenschaftszentren und geistige Wechselbeziehungen ¨ zwischen Mittel- und Sudosteuropa vom Ende der 18. Jahrhunderts bis zum ersten Weltkrieg (Vienna, 1983), 343–56.

559

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout organized in Warsaw. Napoleon had founded Départements for medicine in 1809, but after 1817 the courses were incorporated in the universities.76 Most of the professors were Polish, in contrast to the surrounding universities in the Baltic countries, which attracted foreign scholars to their chairs. The medical faculty of Cracow, whose university was under Austrian rule until 1815, was given a new status after the Congress of Vienna, from an exclusive Austrian to a more international, particularly French, model. Cracow became a free city with a flourishing university until 1846, when it was annexed to Austria and became Germanized. In spite of these annexation problems, the medical faculty developed along with the other European centres, not least with the help of Joseph Dietl (1804–78), a representative of the younger, innovative Viennese Medical School.77 Warsaw University was suppressed by the Russians after several uprisings; actually there was not much medical education left on Polish territory until 1857, and the number of physicians decreased drastically.78 Illiteracy became a great problem. The same held true for Romania, where no proper school system was present, let alone a higher education of some standard. Drastic reorganization would only take place after 1850, beginning with the primary schools. In 1860, the first modern university was established at Iasi. Its ´ founder, Mihail Kogalniceanu (1817–91) who was educated at French and German universities, and who at the time was prime minister in the country’s liberal government, intended to create a university which would embrace the full range of disciplines. He attracted foreign scholars, like the German scientist Jacob Czihak from Heidelberg to set up the faculty of natural sciences.79 However, because of limited resources the university only could afford three faculties: theology and law besides the natural sciences. The fourth faculty, the medical one, had to wait until 1879. In 1864, the second Romanian university was founded at Bucharest. It comprised a medical faculty after 1869. Greece had problems of a similar character. Italy was closely connected with Greece, and 50 students graduated from the universities of Padua, Bologna and especially from Pisa. After 1821, when Greece became independent, graduates from this university would return to their country and 76 77 78 79

J. Topolskiego (ed.), Dziejc Polski (Warsaw, 1977), 443. L. Tochowicz et al., Outline of the History and the Structural Organisation of the Medical Academy in Cracow (Cracow, 1981), 16–20. R. Sikorski and L. Kowieski, ‘Reception and Assimilation of Innovative Medical Ideas in Poland in the 19th and Early 20th Centuries’, Clio Medica, 21 (1987–88), 95–103. ¨ ¨ J. Livescu, ‘Die Entstehung der rumanischen Universitaten’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz (note 75), 21–35; J. Sadlak, ‘The Use and Abuse of the University Higher Education in Romania 1860–1900’, Minerva. A Review of Science, Learning and Policy, 29 (1991), 195–225.

560

Medicine become prominent politicians, authors, legal advisors and professors at the University of Athens, which was founded in 1834. The medical faculty became a clear example of the German teaching system. Throughout the nineteenth century the foreign-trained doctors, the ‘Hesperia’ (trained in the West), were held in high esteem.80 The other countries of south-east Europe were still under Ottoman rule. The first medical school was founded in a military hospital in Istanbul in 1827. The teachers were Hungarian and Turkish. They instructed physicians and surgeons along the lines of the French military medical training centres. The surgeons were instructed in French, the physicians in Italian. In 1839, a medical faculty was founded in Galatasaray (Istanbul) by combining the two schools. This time the teaching programme was set up according to the model of the Vienna school. As professors, Austrian physicians were recommended by Metternich to the Ottoman ruler Sultan Mohammed II. In 1842, this school had a library with 1,300 books, written in French. It had a botanical garden with an Austrian curator and a museum with anatomical specimens, prepared by Joseph Hyrtl (1811–94), and many instruments for physics and also a dispensary. Clinical teaching, instruction in surgery and obstetrics, the last with a special course for midwives, were given in five wards at Galatasaray. Compared with the poor facilities present in the Balkan medical schools, Galatasaray was the best-equipped medical school in the south-east Mediterranean basin at the time.81 In the western part of the Mediterranean basin, Spain underwent the same reforms as Italy during the Napoleonic campaign. Various old universities, like Salamanca, lost their medical faculties or were totally closed down. The main centres for medical training were located in Madrid, Valencia and Barcelona. These three locations had practical medical training, installed in 1795, 1787 and 1797. In Madrid, the school was orien´ tated towards France. The leading surgeon, José Severo Lopez (1754– 1807), had close connections with Cabanis and other French scholars. Barcelona, and especially Valencia, traditionally looked to Vienna. These schools adopted the same teaching programmes, used translated Viennese textbooks, and adhered to the therapeutic and clinical concepts of Maximilian Stoll (1742–88) and his school. After 1817, new ordinances had to be passed for the reorganization of medical education in Spain. In 1822, the practical medical school of Madrid joined the transferred 80

81

¨ ¨ Z. N. Tsirpanles, ‘Die Ausbildung der Griechen an Europaischen Universitaten und deren ¨ Rolle im Universitatsleben des modernen Griechenland (1800–1850)’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz (note 75), 250–72. ¨ ¨ ¨ A. Terzioglu, ‘Die Verdienste der osterreichischen Arzte bei der Grundung der modernen ¨ in der Osmanischen Reichshauptstadt Istanbul am Anfang der medizinischen Fakultat 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Lesky (ed.), Wien (note 22), 136–46.

561

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout school of Alcala´ to become the University of Madrid.82 It would last until 1857, when a new regulation, the Moyana Law, guaranteed the seat of medical faculties at Barcelona, Valladolid, Granada and Madrid. Sevilla and Valencia were already safeguarded in 1847. In Portugal, surgeons had been trained at the school of surgery in Lisbon since 1825 and also in Oporto. In 1836, the University of Coimbra modernized its curriculum, looking especially to the Lisbon school. The surgical schools of Lisbon and Oporto would be incorporated into the newly established universities in these cities in 1911.83 Italy, which also underwent military and political turmoil during the period 1795–1830, had to close down the main part of the medical faculties, with the exception of Genoa, which was granted a separate school for medicine by Napoleon in 1805, mainly for the training of surgeons. Pavia was Johann Peter Frank’s first attempt at innovation in medical education. He designed an entirely new teaching programme for the medical faculty in 1785/86, including the basic sciences and physiological anatomy, inspired by Brunonian concepts.84 The faculty expanded after the fall of Napoleon; it obtained the twelve chairs proposed by Frank and his successors in 1817. Two chairs were quite special, one for ophthalmology and one for veterinary medicine. Being close to Milan, where a practical veterinary school already existed, this led to a unification of the school with the University of Pavia until 1859, when the law of education (the Casati law) reorganized medical education yet again.85 The famous medical faculties of Bologna and Padua were in decline, several of their facilities being limited. Still, there was a lot of reverberation of the glory of Italian science around 1800. Paolo Mascagni (1755–1815) was working in Florence on his famous anatomical atlas, after his previous studies and contributions to the fabrication of wax-models. The co-operation between Felice Fontana (1720–1805) and the skilful artist Clemente Michelangelo F. Susini (1754–1814) in this field led to the world-famous Italian collection of wax-models.86 Clinical teaching was continued and percussion and auscultation were introduced from Vienna, where Joseph Skoda (1805–81) combined these techniques to come to a more accurate diagnosis. This method found much 82 83 84 85 86

˜ J. M. Lopez Pinero, ‘The Relation between the “alte Wiener Schule” and the Spanish Medicine of the Enlightenment’, in Lesky (ed.), Wien (note 22), 11–26. F. Guerra, ‘Medical Education in Iberoamerica’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 419–62. E. Lesky, ‘Johan Peter Frank als Organisator des medizinischen Unterrichtes’, Sudhoff’s ¨ Geschichte der Medizin, 39 (1955), 1–29. Archiv fur L. Belloni, ‘Italian Medical Education after 1600’, in O’Malley (ed.), Medical Education (note 18), 113. B. Lanza and M. L. Azzaroli Pucetti et al., Le Cere Anatomiche della Specola (Florence, 1979).

562

Medicine approval in the universities, where Morgagni’s pathological anatomy was founded.87 Brownianism was not accepted in the traditional Italian faculties. The quest for certainty in medicine became urgent in all European countries. And this certainty could not be attained without a new scientific method, which would develop in the next period. t h e n e w l e a r n i n g (1830–1870) ¨ The ‘new physiology’, practised in the school of Johannes Muller in Berlin, initiated a modern scientific spirit in Germany. His pupils were coming to feel that vitalism was useless, even as a last resort. He had inspired them to study vital phenomena in terms of purpose, but that purpose itself could be best defined in an objective and even mathematical man¨ ner.88 Muller did not object to mechanistic explanations; the differences between vitalists and mechanists became ever more related to philosophical interpretations, rather than to programmes or methods of research.89 This can also be studied in his Handbuch der Physiologie des Menschen (1834–40), in which he emphasized that progress in research is based on observation and experiment and does not rely on any of the established ¨ systems. Muller’s philosophy was holistic, in fact he occupied five chairs at the university, which had to be given to five successors! His broad view of the vital phenomena inspired various famous pupils, some rebellious, some obedient to the master. The spectacular development of the natural sciences contributed to a firm belief in progress. According to Ludwig Feuerbach (1804–72), the real revolutionary forces of history came from the truth of the natural sciences and not from politics.90 Therefore, opposition to groundless authority was the task of young, progressive researchers and natural science was its justification. Feuerbach’s philosophy inspired many young intellectuals, who wanted to protest against the a priori use of illusive and artificial idealism in science, political and clerical institutions.91 Among them were the so-called ‘scientific materialists’, Karl Vogt (1817–95), Jacob ¨ Moleschott (1822–93) and Ludwig Buchner (1824–99). In their work we find a far more radical criticism of Naturphilosophie and the ‘immaterial 87 88 89 90 91

L. Premuda, ‘Die anatomisch-klinische Methode: Padua–Paris–Wien–Padua’, Gesnerus, 44 (1987), 15–32. R. Shryock, The Development of Modern Medicine: An Interpretation of the Social and Scientific Factors Involved (New York, 1947), 200. T. Lenoir, The Strategy of Life: Teleology and Mechanics in Nineteenth-Century German Biology, Studies in the History of Modern Science 13 (Dordrecht, 1982), 276–80. F. Gregory, Scientific Materialism in 19th-Century Germany, Studies in the History of Modern Science 1 (Dordrecht and Boston, 1977), 9. F. Gregory, ‘Science versus Dialectic Materialism: A Clash of Ideologies in 19th-Century German Radicalism’, Isis, 68 (1977), 206–23.

563

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout ¨ forces’ than the reductionalist’s programme of Johannes Muller could ¨ accomplish. Buchner’s book Kraft und Stoff became the bible of materialism, and it was translated into seventeen languages.92 Moleschott’s Die ¨ ¨ das Volk (1850) and Der Kreislauf des Lehre der Nahrungsmittel, Fur Lebens (1852) were likewise received. Karl Vogt’s Physiologische Briefe ¨ Gebildete aller Stande, ¨ fur a series of letters first published as articles for the Allgemeine Zeitung between 1845 and 1847, were soon collected in a book which also went through many reprints and translations. These books were intended to popularize physiology, to educate and to gain support for the new ‘anti-idealistic’ materialism, directed against the belief in the existence of any realities outside force and matter, including the human soul. Radicalism was not well received by the reactionary German authorities. During the so-called Biedermeier period (1830–50), the German bourgeoisie showed their disappointment at the delay of social and political reform by political resistance. Young intellectuals and labourers united in protest against the authorities and revolt, exile and imprisonment would be their lot during the years to come. They took part in the beginnings of Communism and socialism and many students and professors were ¨ persecuted. In 1842, five professors at the Wurzburg medical faculty were removed from office because of their interest in democratic and liberal reforms.93 Vogt, professor at Giessen since 1847, had to escape for the second time to Bern in 1849, after the uprising of 1848. Moleschott, who had taught physiology at the University of Heidelberg since 1847, resigned from his post in 1854, after a warning to infect no longer the mind of youth with his immoral and frivolous doctrines.94 Feuerbach’s over-enthusiastic reviews of Moleschott’s work, in which he carried Moleschott’s materialistic emphasis to the extreme, like ‘ohne Phosphor keine Gedanken’, may also have contributed to this criticism.95 For many scholars, the reform of science fused with the reform of society. This became particularly clear during the uprising of 1848 in Berlin. In that year, the young Rudolf Virchow (1821–1902) reported to the Prussian Government on the typhus epidemic in Upper Silesia, which devastated the famine-ridden Polish minority. This report is a model protest against the authorities for allowing such a catastrophe. Virchow’s recommendations 92 93 94

95

¨ ¨ W. Bolsche (ed.), Ludwig Buchner’s Kraft und Stoff (Leipzig, 1932), xxv (Vorwort). J. Bleker, ‘Biedermeiermedizin, Medizin der Biedermeier? Tendenzen, Probleme, Wider¨ spruche 1830–1850’, Medizinhistorisches Journal, 23 (1988), 5–22. Gregory, Scientific Materialism (note 90), 97; O. Temkin, ‘Materialism in French and German Physiology of the Early 19th Century’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 20 (1946), 322–7. Gregory, Scientific Materialism (note 90), 91. In fact, Moleschott wrote: ‘without calcium ¨ and phosphor no bones, without fat no brain’. Die Lehre der Nahrungsmittel (Erlangen, 1850), 80.

564

Medicine were not drugs, articles or food but ‘plainly full and unlimited democracy’, or, ‘education, freedom and prosperity’.96 For Virchow and his generation medicine became a social science. The doctor should become the ‘natural attorney of the poor’97 and oblige the state to provide medical supervision of working conditions, prisons and the like. The medical reform movement of 1848 arose from the Industrial Revolution in Germany. It also affected the social status of doctors. They had become materially very insecure, since the old middle class, to which they belonged, rapidly became proletarianized. Ackerknecht emphasized the humiliation of the German doctors, not only by poverty and ruthless competition, but by the continual incompetent interference of the bureaucracy of the absolutist state.98 So the doctors joined the revolution and the Medical Reform Movement with the cry for ‘freedom’, not only for their poor patients, but also for themselves. Through publishing the weekly Die medizinische Reform, Virchow, the gifted hygienist Salomon Neumann (1819–1908), the psychiatrist Rudolf Leubuscher (1821–61) and the physician Ludwig Traube (1818–76), all became influential medical statesmen, who met with a considerable amount of support for their ideas. But medical reform was slow. France had been their leader in this respect with the concept of hygiène publique. But in all European countries and also in America doctors, civil engineers and teachers came together to discuss sanitary conditions with the authorities. The epidemics of smallpox, cholera, typhus, typhoid and yellow fever galvanized the authorities into action, and the so-called hygienists became involved in statistics, mortality rates and census reports to the governments. Moreover, the problems of public health received increasing attention at the meetings of medical societies and in their publications.99 The Sanitary Conferences, which started in Paris in 1851, were meeting-points for the hygienists.100 The Sanitary Reform Movement would be joined by many prominent men, it would influence university teaching and motivate students to become active in the field of epidemics and health care. At the same time, the Medical Reform, proclaimed by Virchow and other radical doctors, contributed to social 96

97

98 99 100

E. H. Ackerknecht, Rudolf Virchow: Doctor, Statesman, Anthropologist (Madison, ¨ zur Geschichte der Medizinal Reform Wisc., 1953), 15; E. H. Ackerknecht, ‘Beitrage ¨ Geschichte der Medizin, 25 (1932), 61–129. von 1848’, Sudhoffs Archiv fur Anwalt der Armen, Virchow’s contributions to the ‘Medizinische Reform’, were partly published by himself in his Gesammelte Abhandlungen aus dem Gebiet der oeffentlichen Medizin und der Seuchenlehre in 1879. Ackerknecht, Virchow (note 96), 139. Shryock, Development (note 88), 211–47 (chapter on Medicine and the Public Health Movement 1800–1880). E. H. Ackerknecht, ‘Anticontagionism between 1821 and 1867’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 22 (1948), 562–93.

565

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout reform, albeit slowly. Virchow’s proclamation: ‘It is the constitutional right of the individual citizen to live a healthful existence’,101 expounded in his Medizinische Reform of 1848, was not realized for many years. The chemical approach to physiological studies increased in importance with the development of organic chemistry by Justus von Liebig ¨ (1803–73), Friedrich Wohler (1800–82) and other prominent European chemists. During the Romantic era the chemists considered the production of organic substances to be a process under the influence of the ‘vital ¨ force’, which could not be repeated in a laboratory. But in 1828 Wohler ¨ Jakob Berzelius (1779–1848), the highly respected wrote a letter to Jons Swedish chemist: ‘I must tell you that I can prepare urea, without the help of kidneys, or even the use of an animal, dog or man!’102 Soon other organic substances would be synthesized in laboratories, ¨ but Wohler’s first discovery became a symbol of the ‘philosophical revolution of mankind’, according to Auguste Comte (1798–1857), the French philosopher who founded positivism and sociology as a science per se. For ¨ Comte, Wohler’s result proved that vital transformations were subordinated, like all other transformations, to universal laws of chemical processes.103 His theory of the three stages of philosophy – the theological, the metaphysical and finally the positive stage on the solid base of the natural sciences – was warmly welcomed by the physiologists. Comte’s Cours de philosophie positive (1830–42) became widely known. An important part of this work deals with ‘philosophie biologique’, lectures on biology, its relations with other sciences. Above all, he discussed the way biology should be studied and the interpretation of the observations. Comte considered the purpose of positive biology to connect the ‘static and the dynamic state’ of the studied object, in other words the relation between form and function. He attached great value to the environment of the studied organism, which he wanted to consider in direct relation with the organism as a whole. Furthermore, he wanted to relate the physiological actions of different organs to each other by way of a consensus vital.104 Environment in direct relation with the organism also drew the attention of Claude Bernard (1813–78). Bernard understood environment (milieu) not only as the outside environment, air and water in its different compositions, but also as the milieu intérieur. This included blood and tissue fluids, which surrounded the cells. The interaction between the two 101 102 103 104

Ackerknecht, Virchow (note 96), 131. ¨ Letter from Wohler to Berzelius, 22 February–1828: O. Wallach, Briefwechsel zwischen ¨ ¨ J. Berzelius und F. Wohler (Gottingen, 1901; Wiesbaden, 1966), vol. I, 206. R. Morgue, La Philosophie biologique d’Auguste Comte (Lyon, 1909), 35. Morgue, Philosophie (note 103), 20–6; G. Canguilhem, ‘La Philosophie d’Auguste Comte et son influence en France au XIXe siècle’, in G. Canguilhem, Etudes d’Histoire et de Philosophie des Sciences (Paris, 1968), 76–98.

566

Medicine milieux became the centre of his physiological research. Bernard founded experimental medicine in his famous study Introduction a` l’étude de la médecine expérimentale (1865). In this work, he formulated the theoretical base for medicine which respected the unique character of organic phenomena, with acknowledgement to determinism in medicine.105 His definition of experimental science, its methodology, the necessary quality of its instruments, remain valid today. Bernard lectured at the Collège de France from 1852 and from 1854 at the Sorbonne with a new chair of general physiology. The facilities at the Collège de France were much better for research and instruction. At the Sorbonne, he could not give demonstrations and he had to wait ten years before he obtained a laboratory.106 So his main research was done outside the university. Bernard became the outstanding leader in physiology. He analyzed the digestive processes, he discovered the storage of glycogen in the liver and did basic research on the metabolism of sugar. He employed extensive animal experimentation for a study of various poisons: especially curare and carbon-monoxide. By applying his scientific method to this field he made pharmacology an experimental science, discovering specific actions of drugs upon particular parts of the organism. These studies revealed when a drug was operating upon diseased tissue and how.107 It opened another new field of research: experimental pathology. Bernard distinguished the ‘empirical physician’ from the experimenting one. He was by no means opposed to the healing art, supported by Hippocratic expectation, but he opposed blind empiricism, the use of empirical medication at random and passive expectancy.108 Bernard founded Western medicine on a scientific basis, the best guarantee for certainty, just as Cabanis would have wished. The chemical approach to morphological studies also became an important issue, since various organic phenomena could be observed through the microscope and scientists were inclined to explain the structures in analogy to chemical processes. Such a structure was the ‘blastema’, introduced by Theodor Schwann (1810–82) in 1837, together with his new theory of the significance of the cell.109 Schwann compared the genesis of cells with a chemical process of crystallization. His ‘blastema’ was an amorphous substance which had plastic qualities and could coagulate into 105

106 107 108 109

J. Olmsted and E. Harris Olmsted, Claude Bernard and the Experimental Method in Medicine, Life of Science Library 23 (New York, 1952), ch. 11; F. Grande and M. B. Visscher (eds.), Claude Bernard and Experimental Medicine (Cambridge, Mass., 1967). Olmsted and Harris (eds.), Bernard (note 105), 85; cf. chapter 13, 528–9. Shryock, Development (note 88), 208, 210. C. Bernard, Introduction a` l’étude de la médecine expérimentale (Geneva, 1945), 389 (ed. by C. Bourquin). Ackerknecht, Virchow (note 96), 70–85 (‘On the Road to Cellular Pathology’).

567

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout a nucleus around which the cell was formed.110 Like protein, the blastema could be analyzed. Protein and fibrin had become important organic substances; much research had been done by von Liebig in Giessen and Gerardus Johannes Mulder (1802–80) in Utrecht. Mulder was the first to use elementary analyses from 1837 onwards.111 Schwann’s theory of the ‘blastema’ as an organic substance drew the attention of Carl Rokitansky (1804–78), the Viennese pathologist who had one impressive work in the tradition of the French school. In his Handbuch der pathologischen Anatomie, published 1842–46, he offered his students a wide panorama of the pathological changes of organs, describing and classifying various lesions in combination with specific diseases.112 Rokitansky realized that various diseases could not be localized, because the observed lesions were so insignificant that the fatal course of the disease could not be explained. For these diseases, Rokitansky pointed to the blood as the ever-present organic substance, holding protein and other material which could deteriorate into a dyskrasia, the ancient concept in humoral pathology. He compared the blood serum with Schwann’s ‘blastema’, and he tried to classify the diseases in the third volume of his Handbuch with this hypothesis in mind. A new field of research seemed to come alive, the study of exsudat pathologie.113 This became very popular among the Viennese clinicians, but the chemists could not make head or tail of this concept. Still, Rokitansky’s Krasenlehre dominated the Central European schools during the mid-century. Even Virchow, who criticized sharply the exsudat pathologie was impressed by Rokitansky’s contributions to macro-morphological pathology, which he compared with the classifications of Linnaeus.114 Virchow was more fortunate with his pathological studies. He considered the blastema of secondary importance and paid full attention to the cell. Virchow’s greatest medical achievement is known in history as the foundation of ‘cellular pathology’. For this theory, he rejected the blastema and replaced it by the formation of cells by division in 1852, stating that there was no life but through direct succession. In Volume 8 of the Archives in 1855 he gave the famous aphorism Omnis cellula e cellula and proclaimed cells to be the ultimate units of life and 110 111 112 113 114

Ibid., 73. H. A. M. Snelders, ‘The Mulder–Liebig Controversy Elucidated by Their Correspondence’, Janus, 69 (1982), 199–221. E. Lesky, Die Wiener medizinische Schule im neunzehnten Jahrhundert, Studien zur ¨ Wien 6 (Graz and Cologne, 1965), 129–41. Geschichte der Universitat Ibid., 135. In the Wiener Medizinische Wochenschrift from 1855, after Lesky, Wiener Schule (note 112), 132.

568

Medicine disease.115 So medicine was dominated by pathology, albeit three different kinds: French pathology, the search for analogies by many autopsies and Claude Bernard’s patho-physiology, Viennese exsudat pathologie, combined with the methodology of the French school and German ‘cellular pathology’. National characteristics kept the three apart, but new diseases were described in Great Britain, France and the German-speaking nations by excellent scientists, often simultaneously. In fact, the impact of pathology involved varied fields in medicine. For instance, dermatology was looked upon as a group of pathological phenomena, manifesting itself on the skin, which could be classified according to the quality of the eruptions. On this point, various schools had different insights, which were highly confusing for the students. Although various classifications would be overruled by Virchow’s ‘cellular’ pathology, founded on better insights into the pathological changes of cells, pathology and morbid anatomy in particular kept their central place in all special fields, such as neurology, ophthalmology, children’s diseases and gynaecology.116 The interest in pathological changes of the brain also dominated psychiatry. The main cause of psychiatric disease was now believed to be localized in the brain substance, which could be analyzed with the help of the new tools: microscopic study with the help of chemicals, which stained the brain tissue. A remarkable representative of this school was Theodor Meynert (1833–92), whose studies on the architecture of the brain and the spinal cord would become fundamental in the further developments of neuroanatomy.117 Pathology also played a role in the concepts of Semmelweis on the origin of puerperal fever during his stay as an assistant in the Viennese maternity wards in 1847. The heavy reliance of the Viennese school on autopsies furthered the contacts of the students between the autopsy room and the bedridden women in the maternity wards. Semmelweis attributed the high percentage of childbed fever in the ward to a poison, brought to the ward by the students from the autopsy room. Moreover, he warned, in the style of his teacher Rokitansky, against the danger of exudations of the living organism, which could transport the cause of childbed fever from one woman to another.118 The discipline of hand-washing with a solution of chloride of lime was gradually accepted all over Europe. Drastic antiseptics were used in the maternity wards long before the pathogenic 115 116

117

Ackerknecht, Virchow (note 96), 82–3. Lesky’s chapters in Wiener Schule (note 112) on the separate specialisms; H.-H. Eulner, ¨ ¨ Die Entwicklung der medizinischen Spezialfacher an den Universitaten des deutschen ¨ Sprachgebietes, W. Artelt and W. Ruegg (eds.), Studien zur Medizingeschichte des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts 4 (Stuttgart, 1970), 95–112. 118 Ibid., 215. Lesky, Wiener Schule (note 112), 377.

569

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout action of streptococci and other bacteria were known.119 In 1867, Joseph Lister (1827–1912) published his antiseptic method of wound-dressing which, during the years to come, would come into use in most hospitals.120 Operations and difficult labour were relieved by the introduction of anaesthesia, from America to England in 1846. The first inhaler was used in London, a year later anaesthesia was used all over Europe.121 Moreover, as surgery and surgical obstetrics were challenged to try out more invasive surgery, the area of heroism in medicine was in view. New techniques and sophisticated instruments came into use during the Belle Epoque; the twentieth century would start with the beginnings of technology, which would become a blessing and a burden for the generations to come. the expanding medical faculties By 1870, the aim of medical education in nearly all European countries was the production of general practitioners. It was carried out in universities, usually under government supervision. The new concepts of medical education, based on the natural sciences as the true and only foundation of medicine, required well-equipped laboratories and the modernization of ancient hospitals for the purpose of clinical teaching. As the costs for expansion had to be paid by government, the decisions had a political and often nationalistic character. New buildings had to be constructed, for physiology, morbid anatomy and chemistry, apart from the modernization of the old anatomical institutes. In the universities associated with the hospital, maternity wards and accommodation for contagious and venereal diseases were of urgent need. In 1876, the Viennese surgeon Theodor Billroth (1829–94) published his famous report on the situation of medical education in the German-speaking countries.122 He made a rough estimate for modernizing a medical faculty. He estimated a capital cost of 1.5 million Austrian florins and 300,000 Austrian florins yearly expenditure.123 Needless to 119

120

121

122

123

H. Beukers, ‘De opkomst van het universitair onderwijs in de verloskunde en gynaecologie in Nederland’, in F. J. J. van Assen (ed.), Een eeuw vrouwenarts (Amsterdam, 1987), 241–58. J. Shepherd, ‘Lister and the Development of Abdominal Surgery’, in F. L. N. Poynter (ed.), Medicine and Science in the 1860s, Publication of the Wellcome Institute, n.s. 16 (London, 1968), 105–15. Moulin, History of Surgery (note 24), 280. See also J. Ruprecht and J. J. de Lange’s survey of the introduction of ether narcosis on the European continent, in J. J. de Lange et al., Van aether naar beter. Veertig jaar Nederlandse vereniging voor anaesthesiologie, 1948–1988 (Utrecht, 1988), 5–12. ¨ T. Billroth, Uber das Lehren und Lernen der Medicinischen Wissenschaften an den ¨ ¨ ¨ Universitaten der Deutschen Nation, nebst allgemeine Bemerkungen uber Universitaten (Vienna, 1876). Ibid., 405.

570

Medicine say most European countries were slow in raising money for the new demands of their medical faculties. Basic sciences, such as chemistry and physics, were scarcely taught at the humanistic Gymnasia or other European high schools. So the universities had to start teaching programmes in the basic sciences, before the medical students could receive instruction in applied chemistry relevant to pharmacy, toxicology, forensic medicine and hygiene.124 Physics was important because of advances in hydrodynamics, electricity, optics and the new field of sound.125 Latin was abolished in most European universities after 1850. The students, especially the more radical ones, were eager to replace the traditional humanistic learning by the advances of the natural sciences. The more contemplative disciplines, such as logic, the social aspects and history of medicine were repressed. In spite of this, most universities could not offer practical training in chemistry for their medical students, nor were these youngsters welcome in the ‘Physical Cabinets’.126 New laboratories had to be built with facilities for practical exercises. These would only be realized in the later decades of the nineteenth century, or at the beginning of the twentieth. Anatomy was a basic part of medical education. But from 1840 onwards, this discipline had to give way to physiology and morbid anatomy. From the early nineteenth century, most universities had dissection rooms used by students and by surgeons practising operations on the cadaver. The same building housed physiology and morbid anatomy, and museums of anatomical specimens, both normal and pathological. These collections grew larger and conservation became a problem. The anatomist, whose main interest was the new physiology, was not eager to act as a keeper of an anatomical museum, with the new experimental research as his primary interest. They looked forward to the separation of the disciplines. New buildings were promised to newly appointed professors, but not always realized within a reasonable length of time. Claude Bernard had to wait ten years for an appropriate laboratory at the Sorbonne. The German universities and those in the Low Countries had laboratories for physiology constructed mainly during the decades 1870–1900.127 Between 1850 and 1890, morbid anatomy left the autopsy building, adjacent to the hospital, to be transferred to a more appropriate building, where the pathological collections could be housed properly. The pathologist in particular relied upon a varied collection of specimens, 124 125 126 127

Ibid., 69. H. von Helmholtz, Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen als physiologische Grundlage ¨ die Theorie der Musik (Heidelberg, 1862). fur Billroth, Lehren und Lernen (note 122), 73, 80. ¨ Ibid., 508; Eulner, Spezialfacher (note 116), 63.

571

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout to demonstrate pathological changes caused by specific diseases to his students. Various universities bought artificial specimens, fabricated for teaching purposes, such as the famous specimens from the Musée d’anatomie pathologique, by Félix Thibert.128 They were made of plaster and brought out in relief. Especially interesting were the presentations of skin diseases, since the reliefs were painted and the disease was repˆ resented as a true copy of reality.129 Also Louis Thomas Jérome Auzoux (1797–1880) fabricated models for the teaching of anatomy, even complete artificial bodies, which could be taken apart. They were made of papier maché, and painted in accordance with the colour of the parts of the human body.130 Auzoux’s specimens were likewise exported all over the world, and military medical training centres were especially interested in his models.131 By 1870, most European medical faculties had added established chairs for pathology, including morbid anatomy, and physiology to the traditional chair of anatomy.132 In Germany, Giessen was the last medical faculty to separate the chairs of anatomy and physiology in 1891.133 The new branch of histology, so important in relation to embryology and cellular pathology, became an apple of discord between the three disciplines: anatomy, physiology and pathology. Before 1850, histology was the responsibility of the anatomist, but soon histology was claimed by the physiologist for the study of living tissue and chemical physiology. The pathologist claimed histology in relation to cellular pathology; the students should observe abnormal cells such as cancer cells. An excellent ¨ model of co-operation was provided in Wurzburg, where Albert Koelliker (1817–1905) gave regular courses in histology from 1848 on.134 After the ¨ appointment of Rudolf Virchow in 1849 at Wurzburg, they attracted a group of young prominent assistants and radically modernized together the teaching of anatomy and physiology in the old ‘caves of the Julius Spital’.135 In much of Europe, other countries followed the German pattern. The British applied the new sciences both to the practice and teaching of medicine, but the necessary new facilities for teaching and learning in either hospital or medical school had to be provided by appeal to the 128

129 130 131

132 133 135

G. T. Haneveld, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis der pathologische anatomie: Utrecht in de eerste helft van de negentiende eeuw (Pathologische Anatomie in Utrecht, circa 1800– 1850/Pathological anatomy in Utrecht circa 1800–1850) (Amsterdam, 1978), 283. The first series of specimens was described in 1839. ˆ These can be still admired today in the Musée Baretta in the Hopital Saint Louis in Paris. Haneveld, Bijdragen (note 128), 281–3. Such an artificial body was ordered by Pompe van Meerdervoort for the Nagasaki Medical School in Japan, see Catalogue of the Historical Writings and Materials in Early Stage of the Development of Modern Medicine in Japan (Kyoto, 1959), 39. ¨ See the diagrams in Eulner, Spezialfacher (note 116), 495–538. 134 A. Koelliker, Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben (Leipzig, 1899), 181. Ibid., 61. Ibid., 39.

572

Medicine public. This development was lacking in Russia, where the traditional emphasis upon clinical teaching and demonstrations was maintained and given priority over basic disciplines and experimental research.136 But in 1863, Nikolai Pirogov (1810–81) published a progressive report on the reform of the universities. New university statutes were promulgated, giving the universities more freedom and the deans of medical faculties the right to establish a curriculum and to decide many matters concerning the professors and the students.137 Flynn states that from the middle of the century to the First World War, Russia was profoundly influenced by 138 ¨ the example of Germany, especially the University of Gottingen. Russian students visited the German universities to become acquainted with ¨ the ‘new physiology’. They had read the books of Buchner and Moleschott secretly. After 1848, materialistic ideas were strictly forbidden by Tzar Nicholas, ‘new physiology’ was not admitted at the universities and any innovations in this field were regarded with suspicion.139 Only St Petersburg offered new possibilities, in particular through the work of Ivan M. Sechenov (1839–1905), creator of the Russian school of neurophysiology. The physio-pathological orientation of research and teaching characterized a whole period of the Academy of St Petersburg and found its best expression in the work of Ivan P. Pavlov (1849–1936).140 In most European countries clinical teaching did not make spectacular progress between 1830 and 1870. It was mainly performed by demonstrations. The senior students were not encouraged to go beyond a physical check-up of the patient and the writing of a case-report. The technical equipment at the hospitals was modest. Clinical thermometry was introduced by Karl Reinhold August Wunderlich (1815–77) in the late 1860s.141 Microscopes were mostly owned privately by professors, successful practitioners and rich students. The laryngoscope, introduced in ¨ 1858 by Ludwig Turck (1810–68) and Johann N. Czermak (1828–73), became popular at once and gave the strongest impulse to the emancipation of the special domain after 1870. Also the perforated hollow mirror, a familiar attribute of the cartoonist’s physician, was easily adopted.142 These instruments were easy to handle and relatively inexpensive. The 136 137 138 139 140 141 142

J. T. Flynn, ‘Russia’s University Question: Origins to Great Reforms 1802/1863’, History of Universities, 7 (1989), 1–37. Grmek, ‘Medical Education’ (note 74). On Sechenov: K. S. Koshtoëi`ıanët`ıs, I. M. Sechenov (1829–1905) (Moscow, 1950), 140. ¨ Flynn, ‘Russia’s University’ (note 136) mentions Gottingen, perhaps because of its close relation with the St Petersburg Academy. A. Ga¨ıssinovitch, Elie Metchnikov Souvenirs. Recueil d’articles autobiographiques (Moscow, 1959), 26. Grmek, ‘Medical Education’ (note 74), 319. ¨ C. R. A. Wunderlich, Das Verhalten der Eigenwarme in Krankheiten (Leipzig, 1868). ¨ Eulner, Spezialfacher (note 116), 340–86 (chapter on otorhinolaryngology).

573

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout light from a gas or paraffin lamp was sufficient for proper observation. Chemical analysis of urine became routine from 1855 on; the refinement of urine testing enabled the private physician to discover the presence of abnormal constituents with simple, new methods of analysis.143 But we have no indication that the handling of instruments or chemical analysis of body fluids was an institutionalized part of the teaching programme of the universities before 1870.144 In France, the system of externs and interns provided the students with a certain practical experience. In Britain, especially in London, the curriculum for all students provided a wide range of clinical appointments enabling them to learn mainly by caring for the sick. Billroth complained in 1876 about the lack of diagnostic training of the students and the total absence of internships in the German-speaking universities.145 But most European university hospitals were not properly equipped to house assistants and interns. In the smaller universities, the hospitals were closed during the summer holidays and the patients were sent home.146 Billroth insisted upon a holistic training for the medical students. He strongly opposed the advance of specialization. Clinical medicine, surgery and obstetrics should remain the basic disciplines for clinical training. The students saw most of the daily cases in outpatient clinics, sometimes connected with the university hospitals, sometimes in dispensaries for the poor in the cities. In this respect, students could learn more in the smaller universities, where such a dispensary provided more surgical cases than the hospitalized patients in the university hospital. We should not forget that most patients, who came for treatment, came with local infections, such as paronychia and ulcers, or traumatic lesions and burns. Also many children came to the outpatient clinics, the parents being unwilling to send their children to a hospital with high risks for infection, poor accommodation for children and poor nursing. Vienna had a special private hospital for children from 1837. Before that time, students could

143 144

145

146

W. D. Forster, ‘The Rise of Chemical Pathology’, in F. L. N. Poynter, Chemistry in the Service of Medicine (London, 1963), 89–104. J. Bleker, ‘Medical Students – to the Bed-side or to the Laboratory? The Emergence of Laboratory-training in German Medical Education 1870–1900’, Clio Medica, 21 (1987–88), 35–46. ¨ Billroth, Uber Lehren und Lernen (note 122), 99–106. He refers to the programme, made up by H. von Ziemssen, ‘Ueber den klinischen Unterricht in Deutschland’, Deutsches ¨ Klinische Medizin (1875), 13. Archiv fur This happened in Leiden in the Caecilia Hospital and in the Nosocomium Academicum, which was in use until 1875. H. Beukers, ‘De Leidse Medische Faculteit in het derde kwart der negentiende eeuw’, in W. Otterspeer, Een universiteit herleeft: wetenschapsbeoefening aan de Leidse Universiteit vanaf de tweede helft van de negentiende eeuw, Studies over de geschiedenis van de Leidse Universiteit 2 (Leiden, 1984), 76–103.

574

Medicine study children’s diseases in the orphanages, which certainly housed many diseased children.147 t h e g r o w t h o f m e d i c a l s p e c i a l i z a t i o n (1870–1940) Industrialization affected medicine in the most impressive way. New products were warmly welcomed by scientists who wanted to apply chemistry, physics and engineering to biological research and health care, and there was a rapidly growing market for new instruments and new drugs. Diagnosis could be improved with the help of new technical devices such as the electrocardiogram, sphygmomanometer and X-rays. Surgery was greatly advanced by the fabrication of stainless-steel instruments, which could be sterilized and the introduction of anaesthesia with better anaesthetics. Edison’s lamp of 1880 opened up a new field of exploration: the inspection of the body cavities. Optics were of crucial importance for the study of micro-structures in the tissues and in microbiology. The pharmaceutical industry became essential to the application of new, well-tested and standardized drugs. The plagues of the nineteenth century – cholera, tuberculosis, syphilis and many of the tropical diseases threatening the European colonies – could be identified by the demonstration of the causal organisms and steps taken to limit them. Diseases such as diabetes mellitus and pernicious anaemia were analyzed and effectively treated. The ‘firm belief in progress’, so commonly expressed in the mid-nineteenth century, was actually bearing fruit! Alfred Nobel (1833–96) was one of the influential European industrialists who recognized the importance of the new advances for mankind. The list of the Nobel-laureates between 1901 and 1940 with their achievements marks the main points in medical research during the first decades of the twentieth century.148 There may have been a firm belief in progress in the 1930s, but there were also drawbacks. Occupational diseases, due to the daily handling of poisonous material and insufficient safeguarding of industrial machinery, opened up a new area of problems. Furthermore, aggressive surgical intervention and accidents with X-ray treatment were reported, and medical ethics had to be adapted to the new situation and the new dangers. Nineteenth-century medical ethics, the moral excellency of the physician, as postulated by John Thomas Percival (1803–76), were not enough for 147 148

¨ Eulner, Spezialfacher (note 116), 202–21 (chapter on children’s diseases). W. B. Huddleton Slater in his Introduction to Daniel Kellner’s A Nobel Dijas Orvosk, e´ letées munkassaga. This book was translated from the Hungarian into German, and in 1940 into Dutch. It deals with the Nobel-laureates from 1901 to 1940.

575

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout the twentieth-century ‘nobile officium’.149 The new drugs and the new instruments invited the young doctors to experiment on human beings, sometimes with fatal results.150 Vivisection was openly criticized, especially in Great Britain, where a longstanding tradition of anti-vivisection sentiment blocked the development of English physiology between 1840 and 1870. Newly formed antivivisection societies led to legislation in 1876. This Vivisection Act may have done British experimental physiology more good than harm.151 The growing incidence of abortion as a consequence of the industrial society attracted the attention of laymen and doctors and led the Neo-Malthusian movement to argue for contraception and birth-control.152 Urbanization and prostitution increased the incidence of venereal diseases, and a better understanding of sexual life became a crucial necessity.153 Prudery was an important aspect of the bourgeois-morality, it was one of the safeguards against the danger of unwanted pregnancy. The rise of sexology as a new discipline promoted by pioneers like Richard von Krafft-Ebing (1840–1902), August Forel (1848–1931) and Havelock Ellis (1859–1939) inspired many others to pave the way to a better guidance of sexual life.154 Their works became very popular among young married couples and stu¨ Sexualreform was founded in 1927, by Forel, Ellis dents. The Weltliga fur and Magnus Hirschfeld (1867–1935). Many intellectuals were active in this league, especially from the left wing. Prominent authors, like Bernard Shaw and Thomas Mann, were early members. But the transformation of birth-control advocacy from a radical cause to a middle-class reform movement had a long way to go. Last but not least, Sigmund Freud (1856– 1939) developed his psychoanalytic theories, in which unconscious sexual urges were indicated as the mainsprings for human behaviour. Freud’s influence upon diagnosis and treatment in psychiatry was considerable; it would switch the interest from the diseased human brain to the manysided disturbances of the human psyche.

149 150

151

152

153 154

I. Waddington, ‘The Development of Modern Ethics: A Sociological Analysis’, Medical History, 19 (1978), 36–51. J. F. Rang, ‘Medisch experiment op de mens en strafrecht’, in A. G. M. van Melsen et al. (eds.), Recent medisch-ethisch denken II, Nederlandse Bibliotheek der Geneeskunde 60 (Leiden, 1970), 33–87. G. L. Geison, ‘Social and Institutional Factors in the Stagnancy of English Physiology, 1840–1870’, Bulletin for the History of Medicine, 46 (1972), 30–58; R. D. French, Antivivisection and Medical Science in Victorian Society (Princeton, 1975). M. Borell, ‘Biologists and the Promotion of Birthcontrol Research (1918–1938)’, Journal of the History of Biology, 20 (1987), 51–87; N. E. Himes, Medical History of Contraception (New York, 1963), esp. chapter XIII. J. M. W. van Ussel, Geschiedenis van het sexuele probleem (Meppel, 1968). J. de Bruijn, Geschiedenis van de abortus in Nederland. Een analyse van opvattingen en discussies 1600–1979 (Amsterdam, 1979), 144.

576

Medicine Another type of reaction to ‘industrialized medicine’ was the revival of homeopathy, since anti-materialistic influences in medicine were gaining territory, inspired by the results of immunotherapy such as Pasteur’s vaccine or Koch’s tuberculin.155 The changing society wanted new specific medicines against various diseases and prevention against discomfort caused by the infirmity of old age. The leading men of the Belle Epoque were fascinated by the new theories of the bacteriologists and the endocrinologists on the possibilities of rejuvenation. The most spectacular results were obtained by the Russian surgeon Serge Voronoff (1866–1959), who transplanted the gonads of monkeys in man. The pictures of the revitalized old gentlemen in his book have impressed many a surgeon.156 Industrialization changed the trade of apothecaries and instrumentmakers. Small shops were replaced by industrial enterprises which would develop into multi-national concerns within a century, affecting the whole medical world, from the basic sciences to daily routine in the hospital. Their technical staff often co-operated with the universities. In fact this was one of the most necessary arrangements. In 1896 Carl Zeiss (1816–88) pleaded for the settlement of the factory near a university: ‘die unmittel¨ bare Verbindung mit den Mannern der Wissenschaft bietet die sicherste Gelegenheit: so erscheint mir in unserm Groszherzogstum die Univer¨ ¨ die von mir beabsichtigte Einrichtung als der gunstigste ¨ sitatsstadt Jena fur Ort’.157 In Germany, the Zeiss Company at Jena became the leading industry from 1884 on to provide the medical market with optical instruments.158 One of their technical advisors was Ernst Abbe (1840–1905), who solved the problem of the condensation of light in the microscope ¨ together with Carl Zeiss. Abbe was a university professor at Gottingen in physics and mathematics, with a great affinity for medical problems. The microscope was fast becoming the indispensable instrument for the ‘microbe-hunters’, as was the use of electric light for the inspection of the body cavities. The advantages of the Edison-lamp (1880) were soon recognized by ‘inspectors of the body-cavities’, such as urologists, laryngologists and ophthalmologists. Also in this field doctors co-operated with instrument-makers. In Europe, several outstanding companies took to the fabrication of the newly developed instruments, like Down Bros. Ltd. in 155

156

157 158

¨ R. Tischner, Die Homoopathie seit 1850 (Leipzig, 1939); F. von Hueppe, Naturwis¨ senschaftliche Einfuhrung in die Bakteriologie (Wiesbaden, 1896). After A. van ’t Riet, August Bier en de homeopathie (Eindhoven, 1978). G. Greeman, ‘An Introduction to Literature on the History of Gerontology’, Bulletin of Medical History, 31 (1957), 78–83; S. Voronoff, Etudes sur la vieillesse et le rajeunissement par la greffe (Paris, 1925–6). ¨ A. Schomerus, ‘Vor 120 Jahren und vor 90 Jahren. Carl Zeiss zum Gedachtnis’, Zeiss Notizen, 32 (1936), 3–5. H. Hovestadt, Jena Glass and its Scientific and Industrial Applications (London, 1902) (translated by J. D. and Alice Everett).

577

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout London, Alb. Stille in Stockholm, the Maisons Luer and Mathieu in Paris, and Fischer and Co in Freiburg, Germany. For the USA, S. White became an important supplier of medical instruments. They also specialized in furniture for the operating room and protheses.159 In 1869, Maison Luer produced injection syringes, as the pharmaceutical industry had marketed new drugs for which new ways of application had to be found.160 Aids to laboratory diagnosis, primarily chemical, became a very important issue in the universities.161 The rapidly developing chemical industry provided physicians with simple diagnostic agents for urine-analysis and blood-tests. After 1870, new chemical stains, used in the textile industry, could be applied to both organic tissues and bacteria. Under the microscope, new structures hitherto undiscovered were observed.162 A number of alkaloids were isolated during the first decades of the nineteenth century, such as morphine in 1806, by Friedrich Wilhelm Sertuerner (1783– 1841), but they had to be produced by extraction, isolation and purification and their chemical structure was as yet unknown. Well-known pharmaceutical industries, like Ciba in Basle and Bayer in Elberfeld, did not contemplate the production of medicines before synthetic production of widely used therapeutics like quinine and aspirin had become possible.163 Uniformity in measurement became an absolute necessity in industrialized society. In 1887, Germany founded the Physikalische Technische Reichsanstalt in Charlottenburg, where standards for precision instruments were established. With reliable equipment, physicians could practise a more reliable medicine.164 Before the twentieth century, Austria, Russia and England also installed instrument-testing centres modelled on the Reichsanstalt. The USA followed in 1901.165 Life Insurance Companies sought the standardization of instruments, to predict the life expectancy of their customers,166 and standardized instruments were needed for the medical examination of employees or applicants for special jobs. At the International Medical Congress in 1881 criteria were laid 159

160

161 162 163 164 166

A. B. Davis and M. S. Dreyfuss, The Finest Instruments Ever Made: A Bibliography of Medical, Dental, Optical and Pharmaceutical Company Trade Literature; 1700–1939 (Arlington, Mass., 1986) (ed. by Medical Historical Publications Associate). A. B. Davis, Medicine and its Technology: An Introduction to the History of Medical Instrumentation, Contributions in Medical History 7 (Westport, Conn., and London, 1981). S. J. Reiser, Medicine and the Reign of Technology (Cambridge, 1978), chapter 6, on the birth of the diagnostic laboratory. ¨ W. Vershofen, Die Anfange der Chemisch-Pharmazeutischen Industrie. Eine Wirtschafthistorische Studie (Berlin and Stuttgart, 1949), 72. ¨ Vijftig jaar Bayer Geneesmiddelen (1888–1938) (Leverkusen, 1938); Vershofen, Anfange (note 162), 91. 165 Davis, Medicine (note 160), 187. Ibid., 187. Ibid., 188–210 (chapter 8 on Life Insurance Medicine).

578

Medicine down for visual standards for drivers, requested by the Railroad Companies in the USA.167 The eye-test type, introduced in 1862 by the Dutch ophthalmologist Herman Snellen (1834–1908), became a standard criterion.168 The pharmacists were among the first in the medical community to seek a uniform system that applied to the measurement, naming and dispensing of prescribed drugs.169 They pleaded for the metric system, applied in Germany since 1858, and the use of Latin names of drugs in prescriptions. Uniformity of measurements was urged in the sectional meetings of the new disciplines – otology, ophthalmology, pharmacology – and also by pathologists and internists. They wanted uniformity in clinical reports, as stated at the International Medical Congress in Geneva in 1877.170 After 1880, there was an overall quest for precision in medicine: precision in instruments, precision in diagnosis and precision in drug administration. the ‘modernization’ of medical education ¨ In spite of the great achievements of men like Johannes Muller, Virchow, Pasteur and Koch, whose researches led to the great discoveries of the Belle Epoque, medical education adapted slowly to the new demands of society. A quest for certainty had been the key-note to reform of medical education at the beginning of the century. In the early twentieth century, the quest was for safety, by requiring a guarantee of the adequacy of the doctor’s knowledge. Most countries demanded a licence to practise, approved by a state board, around 1900. Medical education was not exclusively a matter for the universities, though they were obliged to accept disciplines, such as pharmacy, dentistry and veterinary medicine, which previously had been taught in most countries in schools outside the universities. The registration of the medical profession would end unqualified practice and give the new society the safe general practitioners it required.171 It also wanted well-trained pharmacists, familiar with the new standards called for by the industrial production of drugs, new regulations and new laws. Finally, dentistry would obtain a higher standard and become ‘a more honourable profession’.172 167 168 169 170 171 172

Ibid., 215. H. Snellen, Optotypi ad visum determinandum, Reports from the Dutch Ophthalmic Hospital (Utrecht, 1862). Translated in many languages, eighteen editions until 1902. Davis, Medicine (note 160), 221. E. Seguin, ‘Uniformity in the Practice of Physic’, Medical Record, 13 (1876), 556; Davis, Medicine (note 160), 224. Newman, Evolution (note 58), 135. G. J. van Wiggen, In meer eerbare banen. De ontwikkeling van het tandheelkundig beroep in Nederland van 1865–1940, Nieuwe Nederlandse bijdragen tot de geschiedenis der geneeskunde en der natuurwetenschappen 23 (Amsterdam, 1987). This book

579

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout These reforms were made all over Europe, but each country had different problems to face, resulting in different laws and different models for the training of medical students and others. The modernization of medical education called for the introduction of new specialities in the medical faculties. Around 1850, most medical faculties could still manage with five chairs: anatomy, materia medica, surgery, obstetrics and internal medicine. At the beginning of the twentieth century, there could be fifteen chairs: anatomy, physiology, biochemistry, pathology, pharmacology, bacteriology as basic medical sciences and internal medicine, paediatrics, obstetrics, surgery, ophthalmology, otorhinolaryngology, dermatology, psychiatry and neurology as clinical disciplines. In addition, there could be special chairs, such as one for the history of medicine. The German-speaking countries and northern Europe would be the first to install a departmental structure of this kind in their medical faculties, albeit with different facilities for the disciplines involved, and certainly not with a full professorship for each chair. Abraham Flexner (1866–1959), whose reports have recently been reviewed by historians interested in medical education, saw in Europe two models of medical education; the logical model, which developed within the universities, and the natural model, which developed mainly in the hospitals.173 To him as a teacher, the logical model was far superior to the natural. Flexner greatly admired leading German reformers who designed this model. This educationalist (he was originally a schoolmaster from Kentucky) had been hired to report on the situation of medical education in the USA and had paid whirlwind visits to all kinds of medical schools, using a system which enabled him to come to a quick judgement of the quality of each school.174 Flexner made this inspection between 1909 and 1910, ‘the sorry state of America’s medical schools was no secret before 1910’.175 He considered pre-medical education, entrance requirements and their enforcement in addition to the curriculum. He considered the quality of teachers, the laboratories and the hospital facilities. When he visited Europe to compare the different systems in France, Great Britain and Germany, he followed the same line in his enquiries. He developed gradually an ‘Idea of a Modern University’ in which he stated what he thought a university should be inside the general social fabric of a given era. In this introductory lecture, given at Oxford in 1928, he

173 174 175

discusses the problems of emancipation of dentistry as a qualified profession in the Netherlands. A. Flexner, Medical Education: A Comparative Study (New York, 1925), 18, 118. G. H. Brieger, ‘The Flexner Report: Revised or Revisited?’, Medical Heritage, 1 (1985), 1–25. R. P. Hudson, ‘Abraham Flexner in Perspective: American Medical Education 1865– 1910’, Bulletin for the History of Medicine, 46 (1972), 545–61.

580

Medicine described a professor of medicine as primarily a student of problems, and a trainer of men, capable of finding their own way. To Flexner, the university was primarily a place for research and teaching. In his opinion, clinical practice, however important, was not sufficient justification for academic recognition, but rather a reason for exclusion from it.176 He saw the appointment of full-time clinical professors as the only effective way to create clinics in America comparable to those in Germany. Flexner praised abundantly Friedrich Althoff (1839–1908), the fertile administrator of the Prussian Kultus-Ministerium from 1882 to 1907, who forwarded research in the universities or in related institutes. In Flexner’s opinion, the Johns Hopkins medical school, modelled on German and English medical education in 1876, had been influential in promoting medical research by founding and developing the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research in 1901. He much admired Theodor Billroth (1829–94), who had outlined in 1876 what a modernized medical faculty, based on the natural sciences, should accomplish in the field of research and teaching. He heavily criticized the French system, the clinical type of medical education, where practising surgeons and physicians appointed by non-university hospitals walked the wards, demonstrating to students, and where the basic sciences were taught by clinicians: anatomy by surgeons, physiology by agrégés of internal medicine. The French tradition of centralizing medical education, especially in the Paris hospitals, prevented the growth of the basic sciences indispensable to the new laboratory medicine. During the period 1830–65, when France was tied to the splendour of the clinic, determined to remain general and refusing medical specialization, a kind of private teaching developed outside the faculties. ‘Free’ professors, not attached to the hospitals or the faculty, lectured on selected subjects such as the use of the microscope and histology at the Collège de France or the Ecole Pratique.177 What did not seem to have come to Flexner’s attention were the profound changes in French medical teaching, induced by the defeat in the war of 1870. The professors of the faculty of medicine in Paris went abroad to study medical education in other countries. After much deliberation, new chairs were created for the specialized branches of medicine, and the basic disciplines, especially anatomy, were given their proper place in the curriculum, albeit an under-organized curriculum. These changes were put into effect by the law of 1892, which once and for all abolished the health officer and 176

177

A. Flexner, Universities: American, English, German (New York, London and Toronto, 1930); T. Neville Bonner, ‘Abraham Flexner and the Historians’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 45 (1990), 3–10. M. J. Imbault-Huart, ‘The Teaching of Medicine in France and More Particularly in Paris During the Nineteenth Century (1794–1892)’, in T. Ogawa (ed.), History of Medical Education (Tokyo, 1983), 55–83.

581

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout reorganized medical studies to the advantage of the basic sciences indispensable to the new laboratory medicine, which originated in Germany before the middle of the century.178 In Great Britain, the General Medical Council was empowered in 1886 to license only those who demonstrated at final examination ‘the possession of knowledge and skill requisite for the efficient practice of medicine, surgery and midwifery’, thus ensuring the production of safe general practitioners.179 Oxford and Cambridge universities still offered no clinical teaching but, as impartial arbiters, examined in medicine, surgery and obstetrics those of their graduates in basic medical sciences who had attended clinical courses in medical schools elsewhere. Those who passed received the degrees of Bachelor of Medicine and Surgery and a licence to practise as general practitioners. The Societies of Apothecaries broadened their examinations to provide diplomas which conferred a licence to engage in general practice. The Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons combined (in London, Edinburgh, Glasgow and Dublin) to offer ‘conjunct’ diplomas which remained the commonest route to a general licence until after World War II. In 1990 London University was reconstituted as a teaching and research university and university colleges in the main provincial cities were upgraded to universities conferring their own degrees of Bachelor of Medicine and Surgery and their own higher degrees of Doctor of Medicine and Master of Surgery. Medical education everywhere, however, remained very much a practical and vocational training. In 1913 a Royal Commission on University Education (the Haldane Commission) advocated the German-type of professorial medical university. It was the famous Canadian professor, Sir William Osler (1849– 1919), who had come from Johns Hopkins to Oxford, who urged on the Haldane Commission that, just as a professor of chemistry needed a laboratory and assistants, so a professor of medicine needed the organization of the ‘clinical unit’ to enable him to treat, to teach and to research.180 This German-Hopkins model, championed by Flexner and Osler, was not immediately adopted by the traditional British universities and was not fully implemented in London for many decades.181 But gradually, research became a greater feature in England. Michael Foster’s (1836–1907) school of physiology contributed greatly to the fame of Cambridge as a centre for advanced studies of modern physiology, by studies on the heartbeat and the reflex-actions in the nervous system.182 178 181

182

179 Ibid., 271. 180 Ibid., 269. Newman, Evolution (note 58), 241. T. Neville Bonner, ‘Abraham Flexner as Critic of British and Continental Medical Education’, Medical History, 33 (1989), 472–9; J. Ellis, L.H.M.C. 1785–1985: The Story of the London Hospital Medical College, England’s First Medical School (Loughton, Essex, 1986). G. L. Geison, Michael Foster and the Cambridge School of Physiology (Cambridge, 1978).

582

Medicine Flexner’s work and influence on medical education were nearly as well known in Europe as in America. In the 1920s and 1930s, his books were widely read in medical centres and elsewhere.183 As Brieger has stated, Flexner represented the heart of the progressive era; all-conquering science had made the union between science and medicine both inevitable and irreversible.184 It is no wonder that he played a powerful role in changing ideas and institutions in and outside Europe. During the first decades of the twentieth century the students who entered the universities to study medicine were in many respects different from their predecessors. The entrance requirements of the universities permitted only those well versed in the natural sciences and mathematics to matriculate in the medical faculties. Furthermore, they could expect practical courses in anatomy, physiology, bacteriology and clinical laboratory work. The student should not merely watch, listen and memorize, but practise, both in the laboratory and in the clinic. The first things he had to buy when he started his course were a microscope and a set of dissection knives. He had to dissect a fish or a rat to begin with, and later, in groups, the whole human body. He decerebrated a frog to study the reflexes in a practical course of physiology, handling rather complicated laboratory instruments, such as the kymograph, where muscle movements were registered along the lines of Carl Ludwig’s discoveries in physiology. He had to cut hardened tissue, stain the sections and study the cells, both normal and pathological. After 1900, he had to assist during operations, wearing a white coat and rubber gloves. He was expected to administer ether or chloroform on a mask for narcosis and to give injections. He would learn to read an electrocardiogram and to interpret X-rays. With each step in his curriculum, he would be confronted with technology. After finishing his training, he might decide to become a specialist. The training and registration of medical specialists became a new chapter in the history of medical education, but it would take some time before the powerful professors of the German and Central European countries would yield any of their generalized practice to specialized colleagues. The status of these professors was one of undisputed authority and they were careful to keep it this way. Prague was the first to accept a new special field, otology, in 1867.185 It was easier for the military-medical students, who in several countries joined the university training courses or had access to special facilities there after the abolition of the military-medical training-schools, like the 183 184 185

Ibid., 476. The University of Leiden has about ten copies registered, also German translations, in several departments. Brieger, ‘Flexner Report’ (note 174), 22; Neville Bonner, ‘Flexner as Critic’ (note 181), 476. ¨ Eulner, Spezialfacher (note 116), 29 (‘Introduction’ (Allgemeines)).

583

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout famous Josephinum in Austria in 1870.186 For the military authorities, the correct diagnosis of diseases of the external senses, like the eye and the ear, was important in detecting simulation by those wishing to avoid service.187 For students registering for the colonies to be sent as civil servant physicians, or physicians in military service, courses in bacteriology and tropical hygiene were of primary interest. After 1890, when besides European health the health of the indigenous population in the colonies received more attention, the new knowledge of tropical fevers was integrated with that of the public health service which shifted from general sanitary measures to the targeting of specific diseases, with specific measures.188 Qualified doctors were indispensable for this purpose. A distinct special discipline of tropical medicine was created, and institutes within or outside the universities were created to provide special training courses, such as in Liverpool, Hamburg, Marseille, Bordeaux, Brussels and Amsterdam.189 Last but not least, the female student entered the curriculum. The first university to admit female students was Zurich in Switzerland. The Swiss universities accepted foreign women without entrance examinations or Gymnasium certificates.190 This was of importance for Russian women, who were excluded from most university-level studies in Russia in 1863, after a short period of liberalism when they were admitted as auditors to the lecture halls in St Petersburg’s university. Many Russian young men were sent abroad to the German and Swiss universities between 1850 and 1870. They joined together in a movement of intellectual idealism, looking towards the natural sciences as the new source of progress and prosperity for the masses of ordinary people in Russia. Science pushed back the barriers of religion and superstition and ‘proved’ through the theory of evolution that (peaceful) social revolutions were the way of nature.191 Women shared these ideals, which brought them to the Swiss universities to join their male colleagues. This intellectual movement was distrusted by the Tsarist Government, since revolutionaries considered medicine and the sciences as weapons for social activism.192 Women were 186 187 188

189

190 191 192

Lesky, Wiener Schule (note 112), 594. E. Zaufal, ‘Zur Geschichte der k. k. Deutschen oto-rhinologischen Klinik in Prag’, Archiv ¨ Ohrenheilkunde, 82 (1910), 110–31. After Eulner. fur M. Worboys, ‘British Tropical Medicine and Tropical Imperialism: A Comparative Study’, in Medicine in the Dutch East Indies, 1816–1942 (Amsterdam, 1989), 149– 63 (ed. in Dutch and in English). Worboys, ‘British Tropical Medicine’ (note 188); M. C. Treille, ‘De l’Enseignement de la pathologie tropicale dans les Universités de l’Europe’, Janus, 7 (1903), 238–44 and 281–7. A. Hibner Koblitz, ‘Science, Women, and the Russian Intelligentsia’, Isis, 79 (1988), 208–26. Ibid., 209. See also Ga¨ıssinovitch. Elie Metchnikof Souvenirs (note 139). Hibner Koblitz, ‘Science’ (note 190), 219.

584

Medicine ordered back to Russia in 1873. However, they had been by far the largest group in Switzerland, and later they pioneered in other universities, like the Sorbonne in Paris and the German universities.193 It must be said that the USA already had its first woman doctor, Elisabeth Blackwell, who graduated in 1849 from a small rural university in the state of New York. The first European woman doctor with a licence to practise was a Russian, Nadezhda Suslova (1843–1918), who took her Zurich degree in 1867.194 Other countries followed, but not a single country opened its medical schools as widely as Switzerland. Bonner states that, as late as 1907, more than 1,000 women were studying medicine in Swiss universities, a number greater than the rest of Europe combined and equal to the total enrolment of women in the 150 medical schools of all kinds, including women’s schools, in the United States.195 t h e i n t e r - wa r p e r i o d During the inter-war period, two main changes in political environment influenced higher education: Marxism in Russia after the October Revolution of 1917, and National Socialism (Fascism) in Germany in 1934. The First World War (1914–18) had disastrous consequences for the economic situation of Germany, which lost its leading position in Europe in both research and higher education. The October Revolution in Russia opened new perspectives of a great future for the vast territory of the Soviet Union. The universities were changed; the government stressed a doctrinaire and accelerated training of Marxist professors as a revolutionary means of renewing teaching staff.196 The students should be proletarianized; admission standards were lowered for the children of the working classes. Furthermore, the authorities reserved much of the research for highly specialized research institutes, such as the Institute of Experimental Medicine (founded 1890) where Ivan Pavlov (1854–1929) was working, and the Institute of Experimental Biology (founded 1917) where N. K. Koltsov (1870–1940) became one of the famous scientists in the field of genetics.197

193 194 195 196 197

T. Neville Bonner, ‘Pioneering in Women’s Medical Education in the Swiss Universities 1864–1914’, Gesnerus, 45 (1988), 461–74. T. Neville Bonner, ‘Rendez-vous in Zurich: Seven who Made a Revolution in Women’s Medical Education’, Journal of the History of Medicine, 44 (1989), 7–27. Neville Bonner, ‘Rendez-vous’ (note 194), 25. In 1887 Giuseppina Cattani received a lectureship in general pathology at the University of Turin, see chapter 5, 133. A. Vucinich, The Empire of Knowledge: The Academy of Sciences of the USSR (1917– 1970) (Berkeley and London, 1984), 73. Z. A. Medvedev, The Rise and Fall of T. D. Lysenko (New York and London, 1969), 83–5 (translated by M. Lerner, with the editorial assistance of L. G. Lawrence).

585

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout Until 1928, Marxist ideology had only a limited influence upon research. The Russian Academy of Sciences of the USSR wanted to communicate with foreign scholars, considering science to be an international discipline. But the authorities wanted a Soviet science, an interaction between science and ideology, as a strategic component of national unity.198 They were suspicious of individual scientists who tried to contact foreign colleagues, especially after Joseph Stalin came to power in 1930. Many scientists were dismissed or sent to prison. Stalin’s political strategy went much further, as is well known from the political debates around the Lysenko affair between 1937 and 1962. During this period, scientists were attacked because their scientific ideas were deemed to be incompatible with dialectical materialism. More scientists were executed or sent to prison when Stalin came to power, more sciences were abolished or distorted during his later career.199 Medical education had been modelled on the German system, which was dominant in Europe as we have seen. The Soviet administration did not change this structure. Their first decisions were inspired by three factors: the desire for a Marxist-Leninist ideological alignment, the fear of epidemics, and finally the urgent need for a greater number of practitioners.200 New medical schools were created in regions hitherto deprived: such as Tiblisi in Georgia (1918), Tashkent in Uzbekistan (1919) and various others. After 1934 more medical schools came into existence, separated from the universities after the radical reforms of the early 1930s. Most were founded in distant regions of the USSR, such as Irkutsk in Siberia and Samarkand in Kazakhstan. These so-called Institutes of Medicine were organized in three faculties: medical prophylaxis and general medicine, sanitary hygiene, paediatrics.201 The programmes of study were no longer copied from a Western model, but the basic disciplines were taught along the same lines. The principles of Marxism-Leninism were incorporated, more attention was given to hygiene and public health, especially in the training of epidemiologists and health inspectors. On the whole, medical education did not undergo profound changes, though attempts to organize some form of postgraduate training for all young doctors were made earlier than in most parts of the world. The authorities left the teaching-body undisturbed, as long as they collaborated with the regime. Only during the Stalinist period were various medical schools under attack, especially in the field of human genetics as a branch of the intensifying aggravation of the controversy in the Lysenko affair. During the 1936 discussion, human genetics were erroneously identified with 198 199 200

G. D. Komkov, B. V. Levsin and L. K. Semenov, Geschichte der Akademie der Wissenschaften der UdSSR (Berlin, 1981), 376 (translated by Conrad Grau et al.). Vucinich, Empire (note 196), 358. 201 Ibid., 322–3. Grmek, ‘Medical Education’ (note 74), part II, note 57.

586

Medicine racism and Fascism. Particularly sharp attacks were made on Koltsov, the foremost specialist in this area.202 Not only the USSR, but also the other European countries were worried about the growing power of the Nazi ideology in Germany. Medical education in Germany between 1932 and 1945 was even more radically afflicted by Nazi ideology than the Russian medical education by Marxism. The reform of the medical curriculum was initiated by the National Socialist physicians, with the state leaving the medical faculties more or less undisturbed.203 The Nazi physicians wanted a new German medical care, based on biological principles: fortification of the health and defence power of the German population and care of healthy procreation of the eminent German race. The concept of ‘health’ in relation to economic and social factors was considered to be liberal or Marxist. For the Nazis ‘health’ meant political power. They attached more value to constitution, heredity (genetics!) and racial hygiene. The so-called hereditary biological elements, which had already played a role in German science from the early decades of the century, were now put forward as essential. Highly valued ‘blood’ should be protected, low-grade life should be destroyed. In 1933, Jewish and Communist students were excluded from the universities. The Nazis were more careful with the Jewish professors; those who were heroes of the First World War were left undisturbed at the beginning.204 Several changes in the curriculum were made, especially in favour of racial hygiene, eugenics and military medicine including the effects of gas warfare and protection against air raids. Furthermore, physical activities were advanced, and the students had to work in factories, hospitals and in special units in the army. Although an important part of the medical students was enthusiastic about the new life in the ‘Third Reich’, there were also protests and resistance among the populations of the German universities. In Berlin, where 120 Jewish teachers and co-workers at the medical faculty of the university were dismissed and persecuted, much protest arose among students and teachers.205 The reception of Nazi regulations for the destruction of low-grade life were received by the medical faculties with uneasiness, since it meant the extinction of chronic and mentally deficient patients in the psychiatric wards of the university hospital and a stringent screening of new-born babies in the maternity clinics for congenital malformations 202 203 204 205

Medvedev, Rise (note 197), 78–85 (chapter 4, Medical Genetics in 1937–1940). H. van den Bussche, ‘Im Dienste der Volksgemeinschaft’. Studienreform im National¨ sozialismus am Beispiel der arztlichen Ausbildung (Berlin and Hamburg, 1989), 193. ¨ der Albert Ludwigs Universitat ¨ Freiburg im BreisE. Seidler, Die Medizinische Fakultat gau. Grundlagen und Entwicklungen (Berlin, 1991), 305ff. (chapter 3). ¨ Gestern-Heute-Morgen (Berlin, 1960), ¨ G. Kruger (ed.), Die Humboldt Universitat. 110–18.

587

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout or racial impurities. But both physicians and students accepted the law of 14 July 1933, which foresaw the enforced sterilization of carriers of diseases considered to be hereditary.206 This so-called racial hygienist euthanasia programme, even as it was based on a long tradition of Biologismus und Sozial Darwinismus, has made a deep impression upon mankind. It certainly influenced the ethical committees of the medical faculties, which came into existence after World War II. concluding remarks The sides and the corners of the intriguing triangle surrounding medical education in Europe between 1790 and 1945 changed considerably during this period, affecting medical education in a most impressive way. At the top, a direct influence of political developments can be observed, mainly due to the consequences of the French Revolution, the Napoleonic wars and the First World War. At the right-hand corner, the spectacular scientific revolutionary ideas around 1850, the Industrial Revolution and the newly developing markets for medical drugs and instruments contributed to important changes in the curricula of medical students. At the left-hand corner, the Revolution of 1848 contributed to social and medical reform, supported by a firm belief in progress in both science and social justice. The mid-century saw a transition from Romanticism to anti-Romantic positivism, based on the pillars of capitalism and a liberal approach to science. It also saw the belief in utilitarianism, actions determined by the goodness and badness of their consequences, as postulated by John Stuart Mill in 1861. The professionalization of medical practitioners, surgeons and other workers in health care was still disorganized. England kept its colleges and guilds. But during the century, new regulations and laws were enacted, standardizing the training and examinations of doctors at the requested level for licence. Training in clinical and military medical schools with lower entrance requirements continued in most European countries until the last decades of the century, especially in those under French rule. These schools followed a programme of united medicine and surgery, with the aim of training general medical practitioners for the country, the army or the colonies. Around 1830, the leading medical faculties – Paris, Vienna and Edinburgh – promoted clinical teaching in surgery and internal medicine with a tendency towards Hippocratism. Pathology became an important 206

¨ (note 204), 360; H. F. Spate ¨ and A. Thom, ‘Psychiatrie Seidler, Medizinische Fakultat ¨ die Gesamte Hygiene, im Faschismus – Bilanz der historischen Analyse’, Zeitschrift fur 26, 6 (1980), 553–60.

588

Medicine issue in medical training. In most countries, the concept of ‘medical police’ was incorporated into the teaching programme. But there was still a long way to go before a better training of students in public health, such as hygiene, maternal and paediatric care, was requested. After 1830, the Humboldtian concept of education, not only for the university, but also for primary and secondary schools, would be the start of an upsurge of German higher education and lead to the unification of learning and research in the German universities. Berlin became ¨ a leading centre for medical education besides Wurzburg, Heidelberg and ¨ Gottingen. In France, research stayed outside the universities until the end of the century, but Claude Bernard founded experimental medicine a long time before he finally obtained a laboratory at the Sorbonne. His work was the great stimulus for new fields to be explored in pathology, physiology and pharmacology. Clinical medicine was refined by these new trends, new specialities would arise and medical education would require more investment to be provided by the authorities all over Europe. More students matriculated in the medical faculties and more accommodation was needed for both teaching and research. Not all European countries could afford these demands. The same holds true for those university hospitals which had no facilities for clinical research or could not deal with the new demands of surgery. Antiseptics were introduced into most European hospitals after they were recommended by Semmelweis and Lister, but the students were more familiar with the smell of carbolic acid than with the essence of its action. But England could be proud of Guy’s Hospital in London with outstanding teachers such as Thomas Addison (1793–1860) and Thomas Hodgkin (1798–1866). In Ireland, the Medical School of Dublin attracted many American students. France maintained its shining attraction in clinical teaching with Armand Trousseau (1801–67), who ˆ taught at the Hotel-Dieu hospital. After 1870, an international medicine flooded the world, affecting all continents. Great discoveries, especially in the field of microbiology and the surgical disciplines, gave medicine in this period an aura of heroism, which inspired many students to devote themselves to these disciplines. They moved from being passive listeners to lectures to being more active, both in the laboratories and in the wards. The new technology brought its dangers: society asked for safety in the course of medical treatment of patients and for precision in the preparation of drugs. Standardization of drugs and instruments became indispensable, as did a tight control of the administration of drugs and X-rays. An expanding Europe trained its young doctors in tropical medicine to be of service in the colonies, for both the European colonists and the indigenous population. Also, women were admitted to the curricula, but they had a long way to go before they found the recognition they deserved. 589

Antonie M. Luyendijk-Elshout The famous Flexner Report made a deep impression upon the educational staff of the European universities. Before 1940, many professors stood for research, connected with advanced teaching, as Flexner had presented in his work. During the Interbellum, new and unexpected changes would enter the curriculum from the top of the triangle, this time closely connected with ideological changes in different countries. Impressive ideological changes affected medical education in Russia after 1917 and Germany after the installation of the ‘Third Reich’. Medical education in the USSR was gradually reformed, the study programme was not radically changed, in spite of the Marxist effects on science. In Nazi Germany, a frightening programme of destruction of so-called low-grade life was executed in both the university hospitals and private institutions. Racial hygiene and a Nazi outlook upon hereditary biology were obligatory in the medical training programme. It was a long way from the ‘industrious and beneficent philosophy’ expressed by the French ideologists, but Europe would find its balance again after World War II, facing new problems and new demands by society for medical education.

select bibliography Ackerknecht, E. H. Rudolf Virchow: Doctor, Statesman, Anthropologist, Madison, Wisc., 1953. Medicine at the Paris Hospital 1794–1848, Baltimore, 1967. ¨ Arlt, W. and Ruegg W. (eds.) Der Arzt und der Kranke in der Gesellschaft des 19. ¨ Jahrhunderts, W. Arlt and W. Ruegg (eds.), Studien zur Medizingeschichte des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts 1, Stuttgart, 1967. Davis, A. B. Medicine and its Technology: An Introduction to the History of Medical Instrumentation, Contributions in Medical History 7, Westport, Conn., and London, 1981. Ellis, J. L.H.M.C. 1785–1985: The Story of the London Hospital Medical College, England’s First Medical School, Loughton, Essex, 1986. ¨ an den UniverEulner, H.-H. Die Entwicklung der medizinischen Spezialfacher ¨ ¨ sitaten des deutschen Sprachgebietes, W. Arlt and W. Ruegg (eds.), Studien zur Medizingeschichte des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts 4, Stuttgart, 1970. Flexner, A. Medical Education: A Comparative Study, New York, 1925. ¨ ¨ Foucault, M., Die Geburt der Klinik: eine Archaologie des arztlichen Blicks, Munich, 1973. Garrison, F. H. An Introduction to the History of Medicine, Philadelphia and London, 4th edn, 1963, 374–5. Geison, G. L. Michael Foster and the Cambridge School of Physiology, Cambridge, 1978. Grande, F. and Vischer, M. B. (eds.) Claude Bernard and Experimental Medicine, Cambridge, Mass., 1967.

590

Medicine Gregory, F. Scientific Materialism in 19th Century Germany, Studies in the History of Modern Science 1, Dordrecht and Boston, 1977. Legée, G. Cuvier et la réorganisation de l’enseignement sous le Consulat et l’Empire, Paris, 1974. Lesky, E. Die Wiener medizinische Schule im neunzehnten Jahrhundert, Studien ¨ Wien 6, Graz and Cologne, 1965. zur Geschichte der Universitat Lesky, E. (ed.) Wien und die Weltmedizin: 4. Symposium der Internationalen ¨ Geschichte der Medizin, veranstaltet im Institut fur ¨ Geschichte Akademie fur ¨ Wien 17.–19. September 1973, Studien zur der Medizin der Universitat ¨ Wien 9, Vienna, Cologne and Graz, 1974. Geschichte der Universitat Medvedev, Z. A. The Rise and Fall of T. D. Lysenko, New York and London, 1969. Moulin, D. de A History of Surgery: With Emphasis on the Netherlands, Dordrecht, Boston and Lancaster, 1988. Newman, C. The Evolution of Medical Education in the Nineteenth Century, London, 1957. Ogawa, T. (ed.) History of Medical Education, Tokyo, 1983. O’Malley, C. D. (ed.) The History of Medical Education: An International Symposium Held February 5–9, 1968, UCLA Forum in Medical Sciences 12, Los Angeles, Berkeley and London, 1970. Poynter, F. L. N. (ed.) Medicine and Science in the 1860s, Publication of the Wellcome Institute n.s. 16 (1968). Rosen, G. From Medical Police to Social Medicine: Essays on the History of Health Care, New York, 1974. Rothschuh, K. E. Konzepte der Medizin in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, Stuttgart, 1978. ¨ der Albert Ludwigs Universitat ¨ Freiburg im Seidler, E. Die Medizinische Fakultat Breisgau. Grundlagen und Entwicklungen, Berlin, 1991. Shryock, R. The Development of Modern Medicine: An Interpretation of the Social and Scientific Factors Involved, New York, 1947. ten Have, H. J. Medicine and Philosophy: Jeremy Bentham’s Influence upon Medical Thought and Medical Practice, London, 1983. van den Bussche, H., ‘Im Dienste der Volksgemeinschaft’. Studienreform im ¨ Nationalsozialismus am Beispiel der arztlichen Ausbildung, Berlin and Hamburg, 1989. Walton, J., Bason, P. B., and Bodley Scott, R. (eds.) The Oxford Companion to Medicine, Oxford and New York, 1986. Worboys, M. ‘British Tropical Medicine and Tropical Imperialism: A Comparative Study’, in Medicine in the Dutch East Indies, 1816–1942, Amsterdam, 1989.

591

CHAPTER 15

TECHNOLOGY

ANNA GUAGNINI∗

introduction At the turn of the nineteenth century, the forms of instruction that were available for the training of engineers in Europe were a combination of apprenticeship and of basic scientific knowledge of a kind that was not necessarily related to practical ends. In general, technical subjects were regarded as inappropriate fields of activity for institutions of higher education. Advanced schools that did provide instruction in the applied sciences were few, and their main objective was to prepare state officials for the military or the civil service. By the end of the nineteenth century, this old nucleus of military and administrative schools had been swamped by the growth of new institutions, and, in the process, the emphasis had shifted from public service towards training for the industrial professions. The pattern of growth of these new forms of technical education was uneven: the number of institutions offering instruction for industrial careers and the number of students enrolled in them differed markedly from one country to another. The quality of the facilities, too, was very variable. The fact remains, however, that in the aftermath of the First World War, technical courses and degrees at university level were available in all the industrialized countries of Europe. Virtually everywhere, in fact, they constituted one of the most rapidly growing sectors of higher education. The process that led to the extraordinary proliferation of higher technical schools and courses was not a linear one. One of the most peculiar features of the sector was the diversity of the origins of its constituent ∗

This survey is largely based on the volume edited by R. Fox and A. Guagnini (eds.), Education, Technology and Industrial Performance in Europe, 1850–1939 (Cambridge and Paris, 1993). The chapter draws heavily on the essays of the contributors to this book and on discussions with them.

593

Anna Guagnini institutions. The majority of the new schools were created outside the university system, in a variety of quite distinct institutional contexts, and they were admitted to the highest levels of the educational hierarchy only slowly. The upgrading of those schools was generally brought about by a gradual redefinition of their aims and by a reorganization of their programmes. In the course of this transformation, more uniform standards were adopted. Nevertheless, higher technical schools often retained characteristic marks of their heterogeneous background. In this survey special emphasis is placed precisely on this aspect, namely on the variety of the backgrounds from which higher education developed, not only in different national contexts, but also within the boundaries of individual nations. Without exception, the growth in the number and size of the institutions of higher technical education during the nineteenth century caused significant tension in the upper levels of the educational system. In all European countries, resistance to change was a deeply entrenched feature of higher education, and there is no doubt that the ‘utilitarian’ character of the new curricula continued to fuel hostility towards technological education long after engineering schools were accepted as a recognized part of the university system. Attitudes to those schools were also hardened by the rapidity with which they proliferated and by the heavy demands they made on financial resources. It was inevitable that the growth in enrolments and the ever-increasing sophistication of the programmes would cause internal problems and heighten the difficulty of preserving exacting standards in teaching and a serious commitment to research, while coping with the inexorable pressure towards specialization and the fragmentation of curricula. These were dominant themes in the history of higher technical education between the First and Second World Wars, and, in many respects, they remained unresolved after 1945. technical education for public servants Science has always drawn ideas from the world of practice, though it has done so with aims that have been predominantly theoretical. The second half of the eighteenth century was no exception to this trend; however, in this period, there were also new attempts to point the arrow in the other direction, by using theoretical knowledge to illuminate the problems of manufacture. In the process, experimental and mathematical research, stimulated by an interest in the scientific principles underlying machines and processes, yielded a considerable amount of knowledge that was relevant to practical questions, especially in mechanics and

594

Technology hydrodynamics.1 The interaction was assisted by institutional developments. Throughout Europe, this was a period in which natural philosophers became increasingly involved in practical matters. Members of academies and scientific societies and the professoriate of institutions of higher education acted as consultants and advisors, and occasionally as the directors of public works and state-owned industries.2 The case of the chemist Claude-Louis Berthollet (1748–1822), who in the 1780s was director of dyeing at the royal tapestry works in Paris, the Gobelins, is only one of the many examples of the active role played by natural philosophers.3 The institutional seats of knowledge had other important links with sites of practice. Models of machines were, albeit on a small scale, an essential component of the natural philosopher’s world, as instruments for demonstration and experimental research. They acted as a focus for the bond between scholars and instrument-makers, and hence as a channel for the cross-fertilization between science and technology.4 The importance of this channel in the development of technology is perhaps best exemplified by the association between James Watt (1735–1848), the instrumentmaker who invented the separate condenser and other improvements in the steam engine, and the scientific community centred on the University of Glasgow.5 The conviction that science was the necessary foundation for the improvement and development of the useful arts had much support among natural philosophers. However, the aim of institutions devoted to the teaching of science was not to train practitioners in any of the useful arts; their main concern was theoretical, and the abstract notions that were formulated did little to guide the work of men who were engaged in the design and production of manufacts. It is true that some members of the scientific community did make contributions to technology. But these contributions were the fruit of personal research interests. The fact remains that there was little in the scientific curricula offered by the traditional centres of learning in the late eighteenth century that could help practising engineers and mechanics in the solution of their problems. The involvement of individual scientists in technical matters, at a private as well as a public level, continued throughout the nineteenth 1 2 3 4 5

On these themes see various chapters in C. Singer, C. E. J. Holmyard, A. R. Hall and T. I. Williams, A History of Technology, vol. IV: The Industrial Revolution (Oxford, 1958). C. Gillispie, Science and Polity in France at the End of the Old Regime (Princeton, 1980). Gillispie, Science (note 2), chapter VI. L. Stewart, The Rise of Public Science: Rhetoric, Technology and Natural Philosophy in Newtonian Britain (Cambridge, 1992). On Watt and the Glasgow scientific circle: D. S. L. Cardwell, The Rise of Thermodynamics in the Early Industrial Age (London, 1971).

595

Anna Guagnini century. However, already by the second half of the eighteenth century, the scale and complexity of some sectors of government-controlled activities had grown to such an extent that technical responsibilities began to be entrusted to specially appointed civil servants. In most European countries, corps of technical experts were established in the army and in those sectors of the public administration, such as mining and highways, in which governments had a direct interest and could exercise their authority. It was precisely with a view to preparing candidates for these sectors that new schools were created with a special focus on the applied sciences. Their aim was at once to provide what were regarded at the time as the scientific foundations of the useful arts, and to confer the necessary qualifications for public appointments, in either the army or the civil service. The academic standards of the new institutions varied significantly between countries, depending on the status of the positions to which they gave access. But even schools that functioned initially at a rather elementary level tended quite soon to upgrade their syllabuses and to adopt more demanding criteria for the admission of candidates. In this respect, the schools for the training of civil and military officers clearly belonged to the more elevated levels of higher education, where they emerged as a main foundation for the subsequent development of university-level technical education in the nineteenth century. However, none of these schools belonged to the university system. In fact, one of their distinctive features was precisely that they were neither created nor controlled by educational agencies, but rather by ministries of war, public works or commerce. Almost invariably, the first technical schools were organized in response to the needs of the army. In addition to the military academies, special schools of military architecture and artillery were opened to prepare officers for the tasks of the technical corps, such as the construction and maintenance of fortifications, and the production, supply, and use of munitions and weapons. It was in France that these schools were best organized. In 1748, the ´ ´ Ministry of War officially opened the Ecole (from 1775, the Ecole Royale) du Génie Militaire at Mézières. Students, many of them from aristocratic or military families, were admitted at the age of fifteen, following an entrance examination. The courses, which lasted two and, subsequently, three years, were based on a syllabus that included mathematics, natural philosophy, machine design, fortification, architecture, and, towards the end of the century, chemistry. The presence among the teachers of distinguished men of science, and the brilliant scientific achievements of some of the students, gave the institution great academic distinction: Charles Bossut (1752–68) and Gaspard Monge (1746–1818) were just two of the eminent names associated with the school in the eighteenth century. 596

Technology The lineage of the French artillery schools was rather less distinguished. Originally they were attached to various battalions, and it was only in ´ 1802 that the sector was reorganized, when the Ecole du Génie Militaire ´ was expanded to include an artillery section and renamed the Ecole de 6 l’Artillerie et du Génie Militaire. At the turn of the century, schools for the preparation of technically trained military officers existed in most European countries. However, in the unsettled political climate of the period, the life of some of these institutions was ephemeral. Their organization improved in the aftermath of the Napoleonic wars, when the growing recognition of the impact of new technologies on military techniques and an awareness of the important contributions made by the French military schools in the field of science and technology combined to induce other governments to pay more attention to the provision for specialized military instruction. In 1816, the Prussian Ministry of War set up the Vereinigte Artillerie- und ¨ ¨ Ingenieurschule in Berlin, and the Hogre Artillerilaroverket och Artilleri¨ och Ing. Hogskolan was founded at Marieberg in Sweden in 1818. In Russia, Spain, Belgium, and the Italian states, too, existing schools of military architecture and artillery were reorganized from 1820, as part of the same movement. Clearly, the amount of technical instruction that these schools offered was limited, since time also had to be found for purely military subjects and drill. Also, the enrolments were low, for the military could only absorb a fixed number of recruits every year. Nevertheless, in the early decades of the nineteenth century, when few other institutions offered instruction of a kind that was relevant to technical matters, the schools played an important role in fashioning a new generation of educated technical experts. In fact, their influence far transcended the military sphere: engineers who had been trained for the army were often employed in the design and construction of public works. In Sweden, for example, the civil engineering sector remained under the supervision of military engineers until the mid-nineteenth century. Also quite separate from the university system were the mining schools, most of them founded in the later eighteenth century. At a time when, in most European countries, natural underground resources were the property of the state, the primary aim of these schools was to train the small number of civil servants who were employed as managers in stateowned mining enterprises. One of the earliest and most famous schools of ˇ this kind was the Bergakademie of Schemnitz (Banska Stiavnica), established in 1763, and situated at the centre of one of the most prosperous 6

R. Taton, ‘L’Ecole Royale du Génie de Mézières’, in R. Taton (ed.), Enseignment et diffusion des sciences en France au dix-huitième siècle (Paris, 1964), 559–615.

597

Anna Guagnini mining districts of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.7 Two years later, Prince Xaver of Saxony (1730–1806) opened a similar institution at Freiberg,8 and in 1770 the Prussian Government set up the Bergakademie in Berlin. The courses at all these schools lasted three years, and in all of them the teaching of geometry, hydraulics, mining techniques and chemistry was complemented by practical laboratory exercises and visits to mines. In the early nineteenth century, Freiberg was the most renowned centre for mining instruction in Europe. It attracted foreign students and supplied mining managers for several neighbouring countries, notably Poland, and the northern European states. However, the number of students who enrolled in the mining schools remained small: Schemnitz, with a total of about 40 students per year, was in the 1770s the best attended of this class of institution. The creation of mining schools in Eastern Europe was a sign of the importance that governments in the region attributed to the exploitation of mineral resources. Their example, in turn, stimulated similar initiatives in France. Here, too, mines were the property of the state, and it was therefore a governmental agency, the Ministry of Public Works, which in ´ 1783 created a special school for mining engineers, the Ecole des Mines. The main purpose of the school was to supply men for the Corps des Ingénieurs des Mines, and it was part and parcel of this objective that the school was located not in the mining districts but in Paris, close to the main ´ seats of administrative power. In 1802, the Convention closed the Ecole des Mines, replacing it with two schools situated in the mining areas. But ´ in 1816 the Ecole des Mines was reopened in the prestigious quarters of 9 ˆ the Hotel Vendome. Among the subjects covered in the three-year course were mineralogy, assaying, and the general principles of mine working and management. However, the main thrust was theoretical, while the practical aspects of instruction were treated largely in the long vacations, when students were expected to work in mines under the supervision of senior engineers. In the first half of the nineteenth century, military and mining instruction remained an important sector of higher technical education throughout Europe, and it continued to stimulate institutional initiatives. Further expansion and the increasing specialization of military training led to the opening of new schools of artillery and naval architecture. Mining 7 8

9

¨ ¨ Gedenkbuch der hundertjahrigen Grundung der Bergakademie Schemnitz (Schemnitz, 1871). Bergakademie Freiberg. Festschrift zu ihrer Zweihundertjahrfeier am 13. Nov. 1965. ¨ 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1965); F. Wachtler and F. Radzei, Tradition und Zukunft. Bergakademie Freiberg 1765–1965 (Freiberg, 1965). ´ ´ evesE. Grateau, L’Ecole des Mines de Paris. Histoire – organisation – enseignement. El` ingénieurs et e´ lèves externes (Paris, 1865).

598

Technology schools were established in Spain, France, Belgium, Sweden and in the Austro-Hungarian Empire; private enterprise also made its contribution, ´ with the opening of the Ecole des Mines at Mons in Belgium (1836) and of the Royal School of Mines in London (1851). But the most notable developments took place in civil engineering. This was largely the result of the expansion of schools for the training of recruits for the corps responsible for public works. The first initiative in this direction had already been launched in France in 1748, when special courses were set up in Paris for the employees of the Corps des Ponts et Chaussées. The courses were ´ later transformed into the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées, and, like the corps to which they were attached, were administered by the Ministry of Commerce.10 ´ It was one of the distinctive features of the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées that, until the end of the eighteenth century, the professorship was not made up of professional teachers. In fact, most of the teaching was done by officers from the corps and by the best students of the school. The first year of the three-year course was spent on general scientific subjects; in the second year, mechanics, hydraulics, geometry, surveying, strength of materials, and stereotomy were taught; and the final year was devoted mainly to instruction in practical projects. As in the case of military and mining schools, the limited number of career opportunities for highly qualified public officers imposed constraints on the enrolments. In fact, pupils were recruited, in small numbers, from among the younger members of the Corps des Ponts et Chaussées. In the first decades, the total number of the students in attendance was no more than twenty, about ten of whom graduated each year. By 1806 the number had risen to about 53, and in ´ 1850 it was 78. The character of the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées was ´ modified when, in 1794, the Ecole polytechnique (founded in that year ´ as the Ecole Centrale des Travaux Publics), was established. According to the original plan, drawn up by Monge and subsequently endorsed by ´ Napoleon, this institution was to replace the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées as a source of candidates for the highest ranks of the military and civil service. In the event, the whole system for the training of state officers was ´ reorganized. As a result, the Ecole polytechnique became the common preparatory school for students who sought admission to what now began ´ to be known collectively as e´ coles d’application: the Ecole de l’Artillerie ´ ´ et du Génie Militaire, the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées, and the Ecole des ´ Mines. In this way, the Ecole polytechnique became the cornerstone of the interlocking system of advanced technical schools that firmly established themselves at the top of France’s educational hierarchy, well ahead 10

´ A. Picon, L’invention de l’ingénieur moderne. L’Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées, 1747–1851 (Paris, 1994).

599

Anna Guagnini of the faculties of the Napoleonic Université de France in both prestige and influence.11 ´ The Ecole polytechnique was administered by the Ministry of War, and from 1804, when the Emperor Napoleon I reorganized the school, students were subject to military discipline. Admission was strictly controlled by a highly competitive system of national examinations, the concours, in which advanced mathematics was the core discipline. Candidates were required to hold the baccalaureate (the qualification awarded to pupils emerging from the lycées), but in the nineteenth century additional special classes, offered by the most important lycées, were indispensable in order to prepare students for the entrance examinations. Once they had ´ entered the Ecole polytechnique, students underwent an intensive twoyear course in higher mathematics, rational mechanics and geometry; virtually no technical instruction was provided. The fact is that, despite the ´ technical bias suggested by the name, the aim of the Ecole polytechnique was to teach the general scientific principles on which engineering was deemed to be based. It was one of the distinctive features of the school that, from the start, the courses were given by some of the most distinguished mathematicians and physicists of the day, including Monge, Lagrange and Fourcroy. The students who passed the final examination had access to the fur´ ther education that was provided by the e´ coles d’application: the Ecole des ´ Ponts et Chaussées and the Ecole des Mines, for pupils aspiring to civilian ´ ´ careers, and the Ecole de l’Artillerie et du Génie Militaire and the Ecole du Génie Maritime for those going on into the army or navy. Here the teaching was more specialized, and applied subjects featured more prominently in the syllabus, but their treatment was academic and abstract rather than ´ practical. There is no doubt that, in the early nineteenth century, the Ecole polytechnique and the e´ coles d’application were leading centres in the development of scientific knowledge as well as engineering science. But the schools, with their strong emphasis on mathematics and intellectual skills, turned out to be more important as centres for the preparation of high-powered administrators than practising engineers. the influence of the french model In the first decades of the nineteenth century, France offered a formidable example of a state-led move towards scientific education as the basis for ´ the training of technical civil servants. The Ecole polytechnique and the e´ coles d’application became objects of admiration among the advocates of 11

´ Ecole polytechnique. Livre du centenaire 1794–1894, 3 vols. (Paris, 1894–7); T. Shinn, ´ Savoir scientifique et pouvoir social. L’Ecole polytechnique, 1794–1914 (Paris, 1980); B. Belhoste et al. (eds.), La Formation polytechnicienne 1794–1994 (Paris, 1994).

600

Technology modernization who campaigned for social reform and economic progress, and they prompted similar initiatives in other countries. However, it was not an example that other countries were able or willing to follow in detail. The fact is that the success of the higher technical schools in France was closely wedded to the particular structure of French bureaucracy, and to the presence in Paris of the most distinguished scientific community of the time. These conditions did not exist elsewhere, and although advanced schools for the training of technical civil servants began to appear in other European countries, none of them achieved the same commanding position at the national level. And none of them approached the academic reputation of their French counterparts, at least until the second half of the nineteenth century. Even where deliberate attempts to emulate the pattern of the French schools were made, the results differed significantly. In Spain, for example, the monarchy created in 1802 an Escuela de Caminos y Canales in Madrid whose plan was prepared by a former pupil of the French ´ Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées, August´ın de Betancourt (1758–1824).12 In other countries too, former pupils of the French e´ coles d’application played a vital role in the organization of broadly comparable schools. This was the case of the Institute of Engineers of Ways of Communication in St Petersburg, founded in 1809.13 On the strength of the experience he had gained in organizing the Spanish school, the man who was called in by the Russian authorities to plan the institution was once again Betancourt, who was also appointed the first director. Former students of the ´ Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées were also attracted to the St Petersburg school: both Gabriel Lamé (1795–1870) and Emile Clapeyron (1799– 1864) taught applied mathematics and physics there in the 1820s. In Spain as in Russia, the influence of the French model was clear in several respects: these included the close bond of the schools with the corps d’état, their quasi-military regime, and the strong emphasis on science as the foundation of engineering. However, in both countries, the absence of a well-organized civil service, and the consequent lack of a sustained demand for technical experts, did not allow the new institutions to thrive. In fact, the Escuela of Madrid had a rather ephemeral 12 13

˜ Ilustrada. La Escuela de Caminos A. Rumeu de Armas, Ciencia y tecnolog´ıa en la Espana y Canales (Madrid, 1980). I. Gouzévitch and D. Gouzévitch, ‘Les contacts franco-russes dans le domaine de l’enseignement supérieur technique et l’art de l’ingénieur’, Cahiers du monde russe et soviétique, 34 (1993), 345–68. I. Gouzévitch, ‘Technical Higher Education in Nineteenthcentury Russia and France: Some Thoughts on a Historical Choice’, in A. Karvar and B. Schroeder-Gudehus, Techniques, Frontiers, Mediation. Transnational Diffusion of Models for the Education of Engineers, special issue of History and Technology 12 (1995), 109–17. For an account of the early history of this institution: A. M. Larionov, Istoriia Instituta Inzhenerov Putej soobshcheniia Imperatora Aleksandra I za pervoe stoletie sushchestvovaniia 1810–1910 (St Petersburg, 1910).

601

Anna Guagnini life until 1835. But it was not only in the academic quality of the results that the emulation departed from the original. While it is beyond question ´ that the Ecole polytechnique and the e´ coles d’application provided a stimulus for emulation in other European countries, their role as a blueprint is not straightforward. While they certainly inspired broadly similar initiatives, the organization and educational approach of the schools had to be adjusted to very different economic and political contexts, to local professional traditions, and to the structures of pre-existing systems of schooling. Not surprisingly, the results departed significantly from the original. Like Spain, the Italian states had a long and deeply rooted association with French culture – an association that was further consolidated in the period of the Napoleonic occupation. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Italian intellectuals who campaigned in the 1830s for the modernization of culture and society looked admiringly to the French system of higher technical instruction. However, political instability and the prevailing conservatism of the ruling classes stifled any attempt to introduce significant reforms in the educational system. Moreover, and more specifically, the creation of higher technical schools was bound to come into conflict with the Italian universities’ firm control of higher education. Their chief aim was to provide the necessary qualification for admission to the liberal professions, mainly medicine and law. But it was also a peculiarity of some of the Italian universities, namely those of Turin, Pavia, Padua and Rome, that, already in the second half of the eighteenth century, their faculties of arts and natural philosophy offered special courses for young men seeking to enter the engineering profession – whether as civil servants or in private practice. In fact, in Piedmont and in Lombardy, a university degree was required in order to be admitted to the corporations that controlled the engineering profession.14 In the 1840s and 1850s, plans were discussed for the opening of special engineering schools, but political insecurity and the long established liaison between the engineering profession and the universities prevented further developments. In the event, after the unification, engineering schools were established as special sections within the university system. The scuole di applicazione per ingegneri, as these sections were called, admitted students after they had completed the second year of the courses leading to degrees in mathematics or physics; moreover, their teachers were members of the science faculties. As a result of this institutional 14

G. Bozza and J. Bassi, ‘La formazione e la posizione dell’ingegnere e dell’architetto nelle varie epoche storiche’, in Il centenario del Politecnico di Milano, 1863–1963 (Milan, 1964); C. Brayda, L. Coli and D. Sesia, Ingegneri e architetti del Sei e Settecento in Piemonte (Turin, 1963).

602

Technology link, coupled with the strong influence of the French engineering schools, the thrust of the courses was essentially theoretical. Until the end of the nineteenth century, in fact, practical instruction was virtually absent from the syllabuses of the Italian engineering schools.15 The approach in Prussia was very different. Here, the Bauakademie was established in Berlin in 1799, as part of a general reorganization of all sectors of the educational system which culminated in the opening of the University of Berlin in 1810. The cultural context of the reform was fashioned by a dominant humanistic ideal and, in the sphere of higher education, by a total commitment to the cultivation and the advancement of knowledge, unsullied by utilitarian concerns. Science as an intellectual pursuit was compatible with such an approach, but its applications were regarded as alien to the realm of education. The reformers were clearly aware both of the importance of scientific and technical instruction as a factor in economic progress, and of the scientific achievements of the French engineering schools. But they dealt with the problem of technical training by developing a separate, less academic level of schools. Thus, in planning the Bauakademie, their aim was to some extent similar to that of the French schools, namely to prepare competent recruits for the civil service, who would be employed in major public works, in particular in road and canal construction and surveying. However, these were conceived as strictly technical careers, not stepping stones to the highest ranks of the civil administration. Hence the Bauakademie’s level and style of education was quite distinct from that of the university. The cultivation of science belonged to the university, whereas the instruction offered by the Bauakademie, as a technical institute, was essentially professional in character. And, crucially, the Bauakademie was not only independent of the university system; it also ranked below it.16 ´ Respect for the academic prestige of the French Ecole polytechnique was also evident among the promoters of higher technical education in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. However, the approach that the government adopted there was novel, differing even from the solution favoured in Prussia. The main features were two-fold. First, in 1815 the Bohemian 15

16

G. C. Lacaita, Istruzione e sviluppo industriale in Italia, 1859–1914 (Florence, 1973); A. Guagnini, ‘Higher Education and the Engineering Profession in Italy: The Scuole of Milan and Turin, 1859–1914’, Minerva, 26 (1988), 512–48. W. Lexis, Die Technischen Hochschulen im Deutschen Reich (Berlin, 1904); K.-H. Mane¨ Technische Hochschule und Industrie. Ein Beitrag zur Emanzipation gold, Universitat, ¨ der Technik im 19. Jahrhundert unter besonderer Berucksichtigung der Bestrebungen Felix Kleins, Schriften zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte 16 (Berlin, 1970). On the ¨ creation and development of the Bauakademie in Berlin: R. Rurup (ed.), Wissenschaft ¨ zur Geschichte der Technischen Universitat ¨ Berlin 1879–1979, und Gesellschaft. Beitrage 2 vols. (Berlin, Heidelberg and New York, 1979).

603

Anna Guagnini Polytechnisches Landesinstitut of Prague and the Polytechnisches Institut of Vienna (opened respectively in 1806 and 1815), were recognized as institutions of higher education, though separate from the university system. Scientific disciplines loomed large in the syllabuses, in so far as they were regarded a necessary component of an engineer’s preparation. But equal prominence was given to the subjects that were more relevant to the professional activities of the students. Thus technical subjects were treated as extensively and systematically as possible, and were given the same dignity as the scientific disciplines.17 Secondly, and very characteristically, attention was paid to the instruction of students in subjects that were relevant to manufacturing practice, especially applied chemistry and mechanical engineering. This reflects the fact that the technical schools of Vienna and Prague also departed from the French model in the range of posts for which their students were trained: their objective was to prepare not only technical officers for the state corps, but also young men going on to careers in the private sector, whether in construction or in manufacturing. A similar solution was adopted two decades later in Belgium, a country that had deeply rooted cultural links with France but whose response shows clearly how models were adjusted to different circumstances. The influence of the French model was as deeply rooted here as it was in Spain and Italy; like the latter, Belgium was occupied by France in the first decade of the nineteenth century, and during that period the French administration set up technical corps that mirrored those already existing in France. But at the same time, Belgium was beginning to emerge as Europe’s second most industrialized region. The concern with the preparation of technically trained administrators, borrowed from the French tradition, was counterbalanced by an equal concern with the instruction of young men going on to industrial careers. A Corps des Ponts et Chaussées, first created in 1804 during the French occupation, was reorganized in 1831, when the country became independent. Four years later, plans were submitted to ´ the government for the creation of two new schools, the Ecole des Ponts ´ et Chaussées at Ghent and the Ecole des Mines at Liège. Originally, the aim of the new schools was to train technical officers for the civil service as well as employees for industry. However, by the time they were opened in 1838, each of them was subdivided into two ´ ´ separate institutions: the Ecole Spéciale du Génie Civil and the Ecole ´ des Arts et Manufactures in Ghent; the Ecole Spéciale des Mines and ´ the Ecole des Arts et Manufactures in Liège. The e´ coles spéciales were 17

H. Gollob, Geschichte der Technischen Hochschule in Wien (Vienna, 1964); H. Sequenz (ed.), 150 Jahre Technische Hochschule in Wien 1815–1965, 2 vols. (Vienna and New ¨ seines York, 1965); C. Hautschek (ed.), Johann Joseph Prechtl. Sichtweisen und Aktualitat Werkes (Vienna and Cologne, 1990).

604

Technology similar to the French e´ coles d’application, both in the privileged access which their students enjoyed with regard to entry to the civil service, and in the theoretical bias of their courses. The syllabuses of the two e´ coles des arts et manufactures, on the other hand, had a more practical bent, characterized by a less sophisticated programme of mathematics and by extensive studies of manufacturing practices. Inevitably, the e´ coles des arts et manufactures had a lower status than the e´ coles spéciales; but the fact remains that in Belgium state-supported institutions for the training of technical officers and for industrial engineers were created simultaneously and as part of the same educational structure. By 1840, therefore, Belgium had a two-tier system of higher technical schools.18 The country in which the continental drive towards the creation of schools for state-employed technical officers was least effective was Britain. Her industrial successes had gone hand in glove with the dramatic development of her means of communication – canals, turnpikes, bridges, docks, and, from the 1820s, the railway network. However, the control of these initiatives remained largely in private hands. In keeping with its generally laissez-faire policy, the government did not regard itself as responsible for assessing the qualifications of the technical men in charge of these works, nor for providing relevant instruction. Regardless of whether any such form of education was available before the midcentury, the training of technical experts was controlled by strict and well-established rules that had their roots within the engineering community. Experience and practical knowledge were by far the most important qualifications for young men who aspired to the highest ranks of the engineering profession, whether in private practice, or as employees in industrial concerns. The lengthy process of apprenticeship (usually seven years), or, for those who could afford it, premium pupilage (shorter but expensive) with some well-established firms or freelance engineers, were the only recognized routes to positions of real technical responsibility.19 These professional values and norms were codified in the statutes of the professional associations that began to represent the elite of the engineering community, from as early as 1771, when the Institution of Civil Engineers was established. The Institution of Mechanical Engineers, founded in 1847, adopted a similar attitude towards professional qualifications.20 In both cases, admission was based on experience and the candidate’s professional success; by comparison, scientific education and academic degrees carried virtually no weight. This does not necessarily mean that the 18 19 20

J. C. Baudet, ‘The Training of Engineers in Belgium, 1830–1940’, in Fox and Guagnini (eds.) Education (note *), 93–114. C. More, Skill and the English Working Class, 1870–1914 (London, 1980). R. A. Buchanan, The Engineers: A History of the Engineering Profession in Britain 1750– 1914 (London, 1989).

605

Anna Guagnini institutions under-estimated the importance of fostering the advancement and diffusion of technical knowledge. In fact, they were actively engaged in supporting research, organizing meetings, and promoting selfeducation and the exchange of information between members. What was conspicuously absent was any attempt to replace experience with higher education. Clearly, this attitude left little scope for the development of engineering schools. It is not surprising, therefore, that the few early attempts to establish special higher courses for engineers in the late 1820s and 1830s did not prove successful. The University of Durham and the newly established London colleges (University College and King’s College) created engineering chairs and set up special programmes for engineers. However, enrolments were low; it was only in the last decade of the century that formal education, as a partial alternative to apprenticeship, began to be recognized as a relevant qualification for admission to the engineering association.21

the emergence of industrial engineering, 1830–1850 All the state-controlled schools mentioned so far offered at least some instruction in subjects, such as chemistry and applied mechanics, that were relevant to manufacturing practices. And occasionally students from those schools found their way into industry. However, most European governments were reluctant to become involved in schemes for the training of technical experts for industry. For its part, industry did not subject the various central authorities to the pressure that might have led them to take more account of industrial developments. In the first decades of the nineteenth century, in fact, hardly any manufacturers put the case for higher technical instruction with an industrial orientation. Such exceptions as there were tended to be found in the chemical industry, where by the 1840s a few manufacturers, most notably though not only in Germany, were already beginning to engage young men educated in the universities.22 The training in analytical methods and laboratory techniques which these men had received made them particularly suitable for the supervision of assaying and testing operations. However, such demand as there was, was largely satisfied by the universities. Here, the University of Giessen, where Justus von Liebig opened his 21 22

H. Hale Bellott, University College London, 1826–1906 (London, 1929); F. J. Hearnshaw, The Centenary History of King’s College 1828–1926 (London, 1929). L. F. Haber, The Chemical Industry During the Nineteenth Century (Oxford, 1958).

606

Technology teaching and research laboratory in 1825, was a particularly successful example.23 Despite these early developments, it cannot be stressed too strongly that, before 1850, a close link between academic science and industrial practice was unusual. In manufacturing sectors other than chemistry, such as metallurgy, textiles and mechanical engineering, theory and practice were even further apart, although from time to time scientists and university professors were consulted by manufacturers on specific problems. These intermittent contacts were sufficient to ensure that, throughout the first half of the century, a considerable amount of research was carried out by scientists (many of them French), who applied rigorous experimental methods to the study of technical problems. The problems included the efficiency and safety of steam engines and other machinery, the strength and elasticity of materials, and the classification of kinematics, subjects that were treated in such pioneering works as Jean Nicole Pierre Hachette’s (1769–1834) Traité e´ lémentaire des machines (1811) and Gérard Joseph Christian’s (1776–1832) Traité de la méchanique industrielle, 3 vols. (Paris, 1822–5). The fact remains, however, that although these books made a significant contribution to the assessment of contemporary practices in the rapidly advancing sphere of manufacturing techniques, in the design of machines, mills and engines, and in metallurgy, the pace was still set by men of experience rather than by men of science.24 It is not surprising that, in the light of the dominant emphasis on experience, apprenticeship was still regarded by manufacturers (in Britain even more than on the Continent) as the best form of training for industrial careers. This was true not only with respect to skilled workers, but also for young men aspiring to more senior positions – as foremen, draughtsmen and, from the mid-century, as technical supervisors in large industrial concerns. At best, a formal education in science and its applications (but also in other subjects such as mechanical drawing and foreign languages) was regarded as complementary to apprenticeship. This was the spirit that guided the Mechanics’ Institutes, large numbers of which provided popular lecture courses and libraries for working people in the main manufacturing centres of Britain in the 1830s and 1840s. Elsewhere, in less industrialized countries, efforts were made to set up networks of trade schools with the aim of preparing skilled workers. Pupils were taught the rudiments of mathematics and mechanics, and drawing, and they received basic manual instruction in a variety of crafts and trades. None of these 23

24

J. J. Beer, The Emergence of the German Dye Industry (Urbana, Ill., 1959); J. B. Morrell, ‘The Chemist-Breeders: The Research Schools of Liebig and Thomas Thomson’, Ambix, 19 (1972), 1–46. Singer, Holmyard, Hall and Williams, Technology (note 1).

607

Anna Guagnini schools was remotely associated with higher education; they were also far inferior in status to the schools that trained technical experts for the public sector. Among the schools that belonged firmly in the elementary sector of education were the e´ coles d’arts et métiers that were privately established in France before the Revolution by the Duc de La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt (1747–1827). The first of these schools was opened in 1780 at Liancourt and transferred to Compiègne in 1799. It was followed five years later by the school at Beaupreau (replaced, in 1815, by the school at Angers), and in 1843 by a third one, at Aix. In 1845, the total number of students enrolled in these schools was 400 and thereafter, in the last quarter of the century, it rose significantly to between 850 and 900. Initially, the e´ coles offered little more than basic craft training. It was only in 1832, when they were transferred to the Ministry of Commerce, that algebra, elementary descriptive geometry, mechanics and drawing were included in the programme and admission standards were raised. However, workshop instruction was retained as a distinctive element in their programme. And even when, from the mid-nineteenth century, their syllabus became gradually more sophisticated, the e´ coles d’arts et métiers remained loyal to their original practical bias and proudly aloof from higher education.25 The middle-level technical schools, the Gewerbeschulen, that were opened by the governments of the German states in the 1820s and 1830s were also of an unequivocally vocational character. Their purpose was explicitly to foster economic development, and the schools were administered by the ministries of commerce of the various states. Prussia took the lead in 1821 with the establishment in Berlin of a Gewerbeinstitut.26 As indicated above, the capital of Prussia already had a school for technical officers but the aim of the new two-year course (extended to three years in 1830) was specifically to train technical staff for industry. Students were recruited at an average age of fourteen from provincial trade schools, and were offered basic instruction in mathematics and science. In a manner reminiscent of the e´ coles d’arts et métiers in France, workshop training was a prominent feature of the syllabus, and a good deal of time was devoted to drawing. In other German states, where schools for civil servants did not exist, the objectives of the Gewerbeschule were initially less specialized.27 They were intended to prepare low-level civil servants and merchants, as well as technical employees for private industry. In fact, the majority of the 25 26 27

C. Rodney Day, Education for the Industrial World: The e´ coles d’arts et métiers and the Rise of French Industrial Engineering (Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1987). ¨ Rurup (ed.), Wissenschaft und Gesellschaft (note 16). Manegold, Technische Hochschule (note 16); K. Gispen, New Profession, Old Order: Engineers and German Society, 1815–1914 (Cambridge, 1989).

608

Technology students who attended the Gewerbeschule in the first half of the century went on to positions in the public services, and it was only from the 1840s that the number of students who found positions in the private sector began to grow. It was very characteristic of these schools that, in order to adapt the preparation to a variety of different occupations, most of them introduced specialized sections of mechanical and chemical engineering, forestry and architecture. Concern with the training of skilled workers was also the primary reason that led the Swedish Government to create a technical institute in Stockholm in 1826. Here scientific teaching was limited in scope, and much time was devoted to practical instruction. Although mathematics and scientific subjects had acquired a more prominent place in the syllabus by 1850, the self-image remained strongly coloured by a commitment to technical training. It was only 50 years after the institute’s foundation that ¨ a new denomination, Kungl. Tekniska Hogskola (KTH), officially sanctioned the school’s move into the sphere of higher education. In sharp contrast with this state-supported school, it was private initiative that led, in 1829, to the opening of Sweden’s other major technical school, Chalmers Institution (in Gothenburg). The programme of this school was deeply marked by the belief that scientifically based education was a prerequisite for the understanding of technology. In this respect, it started on a path very different from that of the KTH.28 ´ The circumstances that led to the opening of the Ecole Centrale des Arts et Manufactures in Paris in 1829 were similar to those that paved the way for the foundation of Chalmers Institution. But in the case of the ´ Ecole Centrale, the consequences of the development of high-level technical schools for industrial engineers were more far-reaching. The school was established by a wealthy businessman, in association with a chemist ´ and a former pupil of the Ecole polytechnique. Right from the start, the school set for itself ambitious objectives: its aim was to form a new generation of industrial leaders who would have a thorough understanding of the scientific foundation of manufacturing practices. Despite its high fees, the school proved highly successful: by 1840, it had more than 125 students, and between 1845 and 1855 the figure exceeded 200. Moreover, the school’s reputation and the novelty of its aims attracted foreign students in large numbers: in the period up to 1864, about a quarter of the total enrolments came from abroad. The courses extended over three years, and, for the students who attended on a full-time basis, the programme was intensive. The first year was devoted to general scientific 28

¨ ¨ (Stockholm, 1970); T. Althin, KTH 1912–62. Kungl. Hogskolan i Stockholm under 50 ar ¨ G. Ahlstrom, ‘Technical Education, Engineering, and Industrial Growth: Sweden in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries’, in Fox and Guagnini (eds.), Education (note *), 115–40.

609

Anna Guagnini subjects, with a strong emphasis on geometry; in the second and third years, the syllabus was focused on applied subjects such as mechanical engineering, building construction, highway engineering, analytical and industrial chemistry, and steam engines, along with detailed descriptive accounts of a variety of manufacturing practices – among them textile, pottery, and paper-making. In sharp contrast with the programme of the e´ coles d’arts et métiers, however, the surveys of technical subjects were not supported by any significant practical instruction.29 The absence of workshop training, and the deliberately unspecialized ´ character of the syllabus, remained distinctive features of the Ecole Centrale for many years. Where significant changes did occur was rather in the school’s academic standards. In 1856 it ceased to be privately owned and was placed under the responsibility of the French Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. It was as a result of this move that stricter admission procedures (including a competitive entrance examination, in the man´ ner of the Ecole polytechnique) were adopted. The examinations were ´ directed at candidates who had prepared for admission to the Ecole polytechnique, but failed the final test. The programme of study also became more demanding, with a view to achieving the standards of the older engineering schools. This strategy was eventually successful. By the end ´ of the century, the Ecole Centrale was recognized, for official purposes, ´ as a school comparable in status with the Ecole polytechnique and the e´ coles d’application. ´ Like these other schools, the Ecole Centrale soon acquired a considerable international reputation, and its example was used to advance the case for advanced industrially orientated technical education in other European countries. Whether they were inspired by the model of the tech´ nical schools of Vienna and Prague, or by the Parisian Ecole Centrale, one of the main arguments of the campaigners – especially in those countries that ranked below the industrial pace-makers – was that the availability of well-trained technical employees was bound to stimulate development. But in reality the mechanism of interaction between education and industry was far more complex. The case of Spain highlights the obstacles that were encountered in the attempt to implement this mechanism. In 1850 a Royal Decree established a three-level system of higher education, comprising elementary, secondary and higher technical schools. Initially only Madrid had a higher technical school, but between 1855 and 1857 five similar institutions, called Escuelas Superiores de Ingenieros Industriales, were opened in 29

H. Weiss, The Making of Technological Man: The Social Origin of French Engineering Education (Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1982).

610

Technology ´ Barcelona, Seville and Vergara. Admission criteria were Valencia, Gijon, high. Students were enrolled on completion of a three-year course in the science faculty of a university; alternatively, they had to prove, in an examination, that they had a comparable level of scientific education. The plan was ambitious, but it failed: by 1867, all the escuelas except that in Barcelona had closed. It was only in the relatively advanced economic environment of the Catalan capital that this kind of institution managed to find a favourable niche. The founding of the next higher technical school in Spain – in Bilbao, the capital of the Basque Country and a wellestablished mining and metallurgical centre – did not occur until the end of the century.30 By contrast, a combination of public support and of thriving economic ¨ circumstances paved the way to the success of the Swiss Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule (ETH). When, in 1855, the Swiss Federal parliament decided to found a Polytechnic School in Zurich, the organizers opted for a solution similar in many ways to the Austrian and German polytechnics, but on a grander scale. In order to adjust the courses to a range of career options, different sections were established as schools of civil, construction and mechanical engineering, applied chemistry (including pharmacy) and forestry, with a sixth section for general education. On entry, the candidates, who were at least seventeen years old, were expected to have a general background in mathematics, algebra, descriptive geometry and physics. The courses were fairly advanced, especially those of three years in the sections of mechanical, construction and civil engineering; they included calculus, geometry, experimental physics, and chemistry, as well as a substantial dose of technical subjects, including practical exercises. Soon, high teaching standards, the variety of the courses, and the low fees made the ETH a magnet for foreign students. In 1862, the total number of regular pupils was 225, plus more than 200 free auditors.31 t h e f e r m e n t o f i n i t i a t i v e s , 1850–1890 In setting a high level for its new school, the Swiss parliament opted for a trend that was beginning to win support in other countries. Since the 30

31

˜ J. M. Alonso Viguera, La ingenier´ıa industrial espanola en el siglo XIX (Madrid, 1944); ´ R. Garrabou, Enginyers industrials, modernitzacio´ economica i burgesia a Catalunya (1850-inicis del segle XX) (Barcelona, 1982); S. Riera i Tuèbols, ‘Industrialization and Technical Education in Spain, 1850–1914’, in Fox and Guagnini (eds.), Education (note *), 141–70. ´ ¨ Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule, 1855–1955. Ecole polytechnique Fédérale ¨ (Zurich, 1955); ‘Zur Entwicklung der ETH 1855–1960’, in Eidgenossische Technische ¨ ¨ Hochschule Zurich 1955–1980, Festschrift zum 125 jahrigen Bestehen (Zurich 1980), 17–83, 577–674.

611

Anna Guagnini mid-century, other technical schools that were originally set up to train skilled workers such as, for example, the French e´ coles d’arts et métiers, had already upgraded their syllabuses. But the process was especially marked in the German states. Here, in the 1860s, the Gewerbeschulen were transformed into polytechnische Schulen; then, in the late 1870s, following a new phase of reorganization, they became Technische Hochschulen, whereupon they were transferred from the Ministry of Commerce to the Ministry of Education and granted the same academic autonomy as the universities.32 In the course of this process, workshoptraining gradually lost its original prominent role in the syllabus, more attention was paid to the teaching of scientific disciplines, and higher standards of proficiency in the sciences were required on entry. At the same time, efforts were made to appoint teachers with good scientific credentials, and to create for them an environment similar to the science faculties of the universities. In particular, teachers were given the possibility of adjusting their courses, to a certain extent, to their own interests; at the same time, students were allowed some flexibility in the choice of their programme. The period from 1850 to 1880 was also characterized by a considerable expansion in the number of students attending German technical schools. The transformation and expansion of technical instruction, coming as they did at a time when the departments of chemistry in the German universities were acquiring an ever-growing reputation as a source of industrial expertise, were observed abroad with a mixture of interest and concern. From the mid-nineteenth century, Germany’s economy entered a period of remarkable growth, characterized by the vigorous expansion of her industries, especially in metallurgy, mechanical engineering and chemistry. The government’s commitment to education in general, and particularly to technical education, was perceived by contemporaries as the mark of a determination to foster further progress, and as one of the decisive factors of Germany’s industrial leap forward. In the countries where this development was perceived as a threat, as well as in those where it provided an example for emulation, the advocates of technical education harped constantly on Germany’s success in their approaches to public authorities and entrepreneurs. With the benefit of hindsight, it may be argued that the impact of education on industry was often overestimated by the advocates of technical education, as were the merits of the German model. But it is beyond question that the arguments and the intense lobbying were effective in turning the attention of a growing number of manufacturers and of local authorities, especially those in the industrial areas, towards the state of 32

Manegold, Technische Hochschule (note 16).

612

Technology the provision for technical instruction in their own countries. As a result, the last quarter of the nineteenth century saw a spurt of new initiatives in other European countries. This was the case in Britain, where very little had been done in the mid-nineteenth century. Royal support prompted the creation of engineering chairs in Scotland, at the University of Glasgow (1840), and at Queen’s University, in Ireland (1851). However, in England the provision for higher technical education made virtually no progress in this period. The only significant exception were two institutions, namely the Royal College of Chemistry and the Royal School of Mines, that were opened in London in 1845 and 1851 respectively. Both of these schools played an important role in the development of a scientific community in England, but their contribution as a source of technical employees for industry was less satisfactory than the promoters had expected.33 It was only in the 1870s, following a series of parliamentary enquiries in which the link between education and industrial progress in Germany was almost obsessively highlighted, that the campaign promoted by the advocates of technical education began to pay dividends. The result of their efforts did not consist in the opening of specialized technical schools, but rather followed the lines adopted in London by King’s College and University College. Thus, new chairs of engineering were established in the university colleges that had been recently established in the main provincial towns. These colleges were created in the second half of the nineteenth century with a view to providing locally institutions of higher education.34 Their status was inferior to the ancient Oxbridge institutions, and most of them were formally chartered as independent universities only in the twentieth century. In fact, originally they were not even entitled to award degrees; instead, they prepared students for the degrees offered by the University of London. But in their attempt to steer a middle course between the ancient universities’ traditional liberal style of education on the one hand, and a more modern approach on the other, they yielded to the growth of new branches of professional education, above all medicine and the sciences, pure and applied. Chemistry departments, often with a marked emphasis on technical applications, began to develop in the 1860s. They were followed soon after by engineering courses. Owen’s College (later 33

34

G. K. Roberts, ‘The Establishment of the Royal College of Chemistry: An Investigation of the Social Context of Early-Victorian Chemistry’, Historical Studies in the Physical Sciences, 7 (1976), 437–75; R. F. Bud and G. K. Roberts, Science Versus Practice: Chemistry in Victorian Britain (Manchester, 1984); J. F. Donnelly, ‘Chemical Engineering in England, 1880–1922’, Annals of Science, 45 (1988), 555–90. D. S. L. Cardwell, The Organisation of Science in England (1957; 2nd edn, London, 1972); M. Argles, South Kensington to Robbins: An Account of English Technical and Scientific Education since 1851 (London, 1964).

613

Anna Guagnini to become the University of Manchester) created a professorship of engineering in 1868.35 In the two decades that followed, a dozen other chairs were established in England and Scotland. Even in Cambridge a professorship of mechanism was transformed in 1891 into a chair of engineering, while Oxford followed the example by creating a new chair of engineering science in 1907.36 Initially, both civil and mechanical engineering were taught by the same professor. But gradually, separate chairs were established, other technical courses were inaugurated, new and more specialized courses were added, and departments were formed. These departments were not self-contained engineering sections, in so far as they depended on the science departments for the teaching of such subjects as mathematics, physics and chemistry. However, engineering certificates were offered to those students who went through a complete programme, lasting for two or three years. The colleges tried hard to encourage students to opt for a systematic course of instruction, but the number of certificates that were awarded indicates how difficult it was to persuade them. The fact is that the certificates were not academically as prestigious as the normal university degrees, and did not carry any professional qualification. Students preferred to attend individual classes, and prepare for the examination held on a variety of individual subjects by such examining boards as the City and Guilds of London Institute and the Science and Arts Department. However, two significant exceptions to the pattern of the engineering departments described above, both planned from the beginning as selfcontained institutions, were launched in London. In 1871, as a result of a growing demand for technical personnel to be employed in the colonial service, and especially in the Indian Public Works Department, the Royal Engineering College was opened. The school admitted a limited number of students to its three year-course (until its closure in 1906, 1,623 pupils were admitted), but had good facilities and a competent teaching staff.37 The other major initiative was the opening in South Kensington of two schools, which in 1907 merged into the Imperial College of Science and Technology. In 1878 eleven Livery Companies and the London City Corporation founded the City and Guilds of London Institute for the Advancement of Technical Education. Three years later their joint efforts resulted in the opening of a lower-level technical school, Finsbury Technical School, followed in 1884 by a more advanced one, the Central 35

36 37

R. H. Kargon, Science in Victorian Manchester: Enterprise and Expertise (Manchester, 1977); A. Guagnini, ‘The Fashioning of Higher Technical Education in Britain: The Case of Manchester, 1851–1914’, in H. F. Gospel (ed.), Industrial Training and Technological Innovation: A Comparative and Historical Study (London, 1991), 69–92. T. J. N. Hilken, Engineering at Cambridge University 1783–1965 (Cambridge, 1967). J. G. P. Cameron, A Short History of the Royal Indian Engineering College, Coopers Hill (London, 1960).

614

Technology Institution (Central Technical College from 1893). Divided into three sections (civil, mechanical and electrical), the latter was destined for the instruction of advanced but eminently ‘practical’ technical experts. Although the school admitted occasional students, the main focus was on the instruction of full-time students. Considerable attention was paid to the teaching facilities and, by contemporary standards, its workshops and laboratories were particularly well equipped.38 Self-contained were also a number of lower vocational schools that were established in the 1880s in the main industrial towns, and that gradually rose in intellectual standing, just as the German Gewerbeschulen had done in the mid-nineteenth century. The Manchester Technical School, for example, from its humble origins as an evening school, became the faculty of technology of the University of Manchester in 1904. France was another country in which the initiatives in the area of higher technical education were less vigorous than those in Germany. This is not to say, however, that attempts to promote the diffusion of technical knowledge were not carried out. In the main centres of industrial and agricultural activity throughout France, in fact, numerous initiatives were launched with a view to faster instruction relevant to the local economy. From the beginning of the century, the larger municipalities sponsored instruction in applied subjects. Academies and other independent societies also played their part. In 1857, for example, the Société des Sciences, ´ de l’Agriculture et des Arts in Lille inaugurated a successful Ecole des Chauffeurs to instruct operatives of steam engines, and in Bordeaux the town’s Société Philomatique steadily expanded its programme of public lectures to embrace not only instruction in basic literacy and arithmetic but also more advanced subjects, such as the chemistry of wine manufacture, foreign languages and economics.39 But no example could match that of the Société Industrielle de Mulhouse, which, from its foundation in 1826, emerged as a main focus both for the intellectual interests of the region’s industrial elite and, in collaboration with the town council, for the education of artisans in specialized schools of design, spinning, weaving and commerce.40 Despite the importance of this pattern of expansion for the regional economies of France, the fact remains that what was done was constrained by indifference. The courses did not lead to formal qualifications, and they certainly did not elicit either formal recognition or offers of material 38 39

40

J. Lang, City and Guilds of London Institute. Centenary 1878–1978 (London, 1978). R. Fox, ‘Learning, Politics, and Polite Culture in Provincial France’, Historical Reflections/ Réflexions historiques, 7 (1980), 543–64; also printed in R. Fox, The Culture of Science in France, 1700–1900 (Aldershot, 1993). R. Fox, ‘Science, Industry, and the Social Order in Mulhouse, 1798–1871’, British Journal for the History of Science, 17 (1984), 127–68.

615

Anna Guagnini support from the national administration, still less any attempt to integrate the private initiatives with the national system of education. The persistently fragmented pattern of the courses on technical subjects throughout the 1850s and 1860s suggests that the economic, social and political conditions that might have favoured decisive state intervention were not yet in place. It was only after 1870 that a new pressure for improved facilities and for an educational system that would better serve France’s interests began to effect real change. A main stimulus was the country’s humiliating defeat in the Franco-Prussian war. In the soul-searching mood that followed the war, the lack of adequate scientific and technical education was commonly cited as one of the main causes of the country’s military weakness. Although the extent of the alleged atrophy may have been exaggerated, the debacle of Sedan had the effect of stimulating a debate in which the more liberal, modernizing forces in French society eventually overcame conservative suspicion of the increasingly sophisticated industrial age that was dawning and of the new social order that was following in its wake. At first, the reforms were modest. But the new Institut Industriel du Nord in ´ ´ Lille (opened in 1872), and the Ecole Municipale (later Ecole Supérieure) de Physique et de Chimie Industrielles, which was created in Paris in 1882, were early signs of the new momentum. In the later 1880s and throughout the 1890s, the pace quickened appreciably; now, at last, the French educational system began to respond with vigour. The initiatives of this later period bore some of their most notable fruit in the national network of faculties that existed (until the fundamental reorganization of 1896) under the administrative umbrella of the Université de France. Here, a policy of controlled decentralization on the part of the Ministry of Public Instruction encouraged a greater reliance on local authorities and private support, and favoured the development of courses and specialized institutes devoted to subjects of local economic interest, such as mechanical and electrical engineering, chemistry and agricultural science. In 1890 an Institut Chimique was attached to the science faculty of Nancy; Bordeaux and Lille followed the example in 1891 and 1894 respectively.41 In electrical engineering, the faculties of Lille, Nancy and Grenoble all fostered important developments by founding Instituts Electrotechniques about the turn of the century – an initiative that was copied very successfully at Toulouse in 1908. These institutes offered systematic courses of instruction, embracing both theoretical and practical subjects, and awarded specialized certificates and diplomas. 41

Weisz, Emergence; R. Fox, ‘Science, University, and the State in Nineteenth-Century France’, in G. L. Geison (ed.), Professions and the French State, 1700–1900 (Philadelphia, 1984), 66–145; Paul, Knowledge.

616

Technology Both in France and in Britain, the importance of the contribution made by local public and private interests in fostering expansion in higher technical education in the late nineteenth century, and especially in the new industry-orientated curricula, can hardly be overestimated. The impact of the local connections was noticeable not only in the most industrialized countries, but also in the second comers. In Italy, for example, a degree in industrial engineering was offered by the Istituto Tecnico Superiore in Milan as early as 1862, and in 1879 a section leading to a similar degree was grafted on to the Scuola di applicazione per ingegneri of Turin. These cities were the main centres of the economically more advanced northern regions, where concern with the state of manufacturing was felt most strongly. What prompted the initiatives was not an immediate need for advanced technical expertise, but rather the belief that a new generation of technical experts was necessary in order to support the development of industry.42 Initially, enrolments in the new sections were sluggish, but in the late 1880s attendance began to grow fast and in the following decade they overtook those in civil engineering. The local communities had a prominent role in Spain, too. Here in 1899, 30 years after the failure of the first attempt to launch industrial engineering schools, a new Escuela de Ingenieros Industriales was opened in the thriving industrial town of Bilbao. At the same time, the Escuela de Ingenieros Industriales of Barcelona, which had existed since 1859, entered a new phase of rapid development with the support of the local industrial community and of the municipality.43 In Germany too, where the state governments continued to support the well-established network of Technische Hochschulen, regional and municipal authorities were generous in supporting the improvement of the schools’ facilities and financing the much needed extension of their premises. the quest for status The last quarter of the century was a period of notable advance in the theoretical and experimental foundations of technology. In a variety of fields, ranging from the design of heat engines to the study of the physical properties of materials, the attempt to find a balance between rigorous methods of analysis, systematic experiments, and the often conflicting requirements of practical engineering, began to bear fruit. Important contributions were offered by a new generation of teachers who mustered a thorough understanding of the discipline and a direct experience 42 43

A. Guagnini, ‘Higher Education and the Engineering Profession in Italy: The Scuole of Milan and Turin, 1859–1914’, Minerva, 26 (1988), 512–48. R. Garrabou, Enginyers (note 30); Tuèbols, ‘Industrialization’ (note 30), 141–70.

617

Anna Guagnini of engineering practice, and combined both sides in the production of new technical textbooks. These texts were theoretically more demanding than those available in the mid-nineteenth century, but at the same time they were conceived with the particular interests and objectives of engineering students in mind. Among the manuals that paved the way to this new style of writing were William John Macquorn Rankine’s (1820–72) Manual of Applied Mechanics (1856) and The Steam Engine (1859), and Franz Reuleaux’ (1829–1905) The Kinematics of Machinery (1876).44 Familiarity with the kind of knowledge that was conveyed by these texts began to be appreciated in the world of practice, not only in the relatively more receptive world of civil engineering, but also in the much more reluctant world of manufacturing. A good illustration of this trend is the fact that strength of materials and kinematics began to be applied more extensively in machine design. Also a better understanding of thermodynamics and of the theory of fluids played a vital role in the further improvement of heat engines and in the development of a new generation of gas and oil engines. A sound theoretical preparation was essential also in the assessment of the performance and efficiency of the increasingly sophisticated machines that were coming into general use across the whole spectrum of manufacturing. Admittedly, ingenious inventors with little educational background continued to play an important role, as in the case of Thomas A. Edison (1847–1931). But the development and improvement of new technologies – the gradual and laborious process by which inventions were transformed into commercially valuable solutions – were largely the result of the work carried out by technical personnel with a good theoretical preparation. The close relations between science and technology were highlighted by the dramatic developments of the electricity supply industry. Following on the heels of the extraordinary success of telegraphy in the mid-nineteenth century, the electrical industry represented in the 1880s and 1890s the most exciting new technological frontier. Here both electrical engineers and experimental physicists worked at the very sharp end of experimental research. Their approaches were different, but both relied heavily on the results of each other’s enquiries for stimulus and information.45 44 45

For a study of the evolution of a particular field of mechanical engineering: S. Timoshenko, History of Strength of Materials (New York, 1953). ¨ W. Konig, Elektrotechnik – Entstehung einer Industriewissenschaft (Berlin, 1993); A. Grelon, ‘Les enseignements de l’électricité’ and ‘La formation des hommes: du tournant du siècle a` la première guerre mondiale’, in F. Caron and F. Cardot (eds.), Histoire générale de l’électricité en France, vol. I: Espoirs et conquêtes, 1881–1918 (Paris, 1991), 254–92 and 802–49; A. Guagnini, ‘The Formation of Italian Electrical Engineers: The Teaching Laboratories of the Politecnici of Turin and Milan, 1887–1914’, in F. Cardot (ed.), Un siècle d’électricité dans le monde. 1880–1980. Actes du Premier Colloque International sur l’Histoire de l’Electricité (Paris, 1987), 283–99.

618

Technology Inevitably, these developments left a profound mark on the teaching in technical schools, accelerating still further the process of sophistication of the syllabuses. More time came to be devoted to the theoretical foundations of technology and to providing the special mathematical skills that were required to master them. Graphical methods were extensively adopted with a view to reducing wherever possible the use of cumbersome and unnecessarily complex calculus. The upgrading of the syllabuses was encouraged by teachers in the schools, who were keen to highlight the changing nature of their disciplines and to bridge the academic gap that separated them from their scientific peers. At the same time, however, they were keen to point out that the academic credentials of technology no longer rested on its dependence on science. Technology’s aims differed from those of science in that they were essentially practical, but its theoretical foundations were equally demanding and intellectually dignified. A sign of the changing character of the technical syllabuses was the prominent role that laboratory teaching began to play from the 1880s. Laboratory facilities were already available in some technical schools, but they were used almost exclusively by the professoriate for demonstrations or for their own personal research: students did not take an active part in these activities. Chemistry was the only sector of higher scientific education in which a more practical, laboratory-based approach to teaching was already well established in the mid-nineteenth century. Here, training in qualitative and quantitative analysis was an essential component of the students’ instruction; this training was equally important for students who pursued pure research and for those who prepared for industrial careers. However, it was only in the 1880s that laboratory teaching began to be adopted in other branches of technical instruction. Teaching laboratories in mechanical engineering were first set up in American schools in the early 1870s. In Europe they were pioneered by Carl von Linde (1842–1934) at the Technische Hochschule of Munich (1876), and Alexander Blackie William Kennedy (1847–1928) at University College, London (1878).46 Then, in the 1880s, they began to be adopted extensively by the German Technische Hochschulen; indeed, the introduction of these facilities was one of the most prominent features of the reorganization of these institutions that occurred in the last two decades of the century. The availability of laboratories of mechanical engineering, materials testing (for civil and mechanical engineering), technical chemistry, and, from the mid-1880s, electrical technology became the mark of a modern, high-quality school. Particularly lavish were the facilities of the Technische Hochschule of Berlin (Charlottenburg), and 46

V. Dwelshauvers-Dery and J. Weiler, Referendum des Ingénieurs. Enquête sur l’Enseignement de la Mécanique (Liège, 1893).

619

Anna Guagnini the laboratories that were set up in 1890, as part of the plans for the ¨ expansion and renewal of the Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule of Zurich.47 Unlike workshop-training, whose aim was to provide students with manual skills and to show them how to operate machines and engines, laboratory-based instruction was meant to complement the theoretical preparation of the students. One of the main objectives was to familiarize students with the methods of accurate quantitative measurement that were more and more an essential component of an engineer’s practice. The procedures and, to some extent, the instruments that were used were similar to those of the physical and chemical laboratories. However, the aim was not the pursuit of new scientific knowledge, but rather to provide the means for controlling and improving technologies that were already available. To this end, students of mechanical engineering were taught how to conduct tests of the elasticity and strength of different materials, to assess the performance of machines and engines, and to record and compare the results of the trials. Electrical engineers, for their part, learned how to measure electric currents and resistances, calibrate instruments and carry out efficiency tests on dynamos and motors. In all these activities the emphasis was not on originality but on precision and thoroughness. Inevitably, the upgrading of the syllabuses and the development of laboratory-based teaching represented a strong case for the reassessment of the academic standing of higher technical schools. The issue at stake was not so much the status of military schools or of institutions such as the ´ French Ecole polytechnique, with its associated e´ coles d’application, and the e´ coles speciales of Ghent and Liège, that prepared technical experts for military or civil service careers. As indicated above, the academic credentials of these schools were already high, albeit they often stood – and remained – apart from the university system. The problem was rather the place of the technical schools that prepared civil, mechanical, chemical, metallurgical or electrical engineers for employment in the private sector. These were the schools which, when they were opened, were regarded as primarily vocational and therefore least qualified for admission to the sphere of higher education. In reality, some of the schools that were originally established for the training of foremen and skilled workers gradually handed over this function to a new range of lower institutions and by 1880 were already devoting themselves primarily to more advanced levels of technological instruction. Among the staunchest campaigners for a parity of esteem between technical education and traditional academic curricula were the schools’ teachers. By highlighting the progress made by technological disciplines, 47

¨ ¨ Rurup (ed.), Wissenschaft (note 16); Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule (note 31).

620

Technology and the social importance of technical progress, they sought to demonstrate that their institutions and the universities should enjoy equal recognition and status. Clearly, in doing so they also aspired to enhance their own academic position. The benefits that they sought were not only financial and social: they also hoped to obtain more time and better facilities for their research and to attract better students. In their attempt to raise the status of higher technical education, the teachers found allies in the associations of former pupils of technical schools and, in some cases, also in the professional engineering associations. From their modest origins, often as societies for the former pupils of individual technical schools, these associations had developed by the end of the nineteenth century into powerful nation-wide agencies. Their aim was primarily to protect the corporate interests of the communities that they represented, and to enact strict controls over the use of professional titles. Another aim was to associate their members’ rising economic power with some sort of social recognition. Hence they were particularly concerned with the status of the academic qualification that gave access to the title. In Germany the cause of the technical schools was greatly supported by the Verein Deutscher Ingenieure (VDI). Established in 1865, the VDI played a vital role in the development of the Technische Hochschulen and of their educational policy.48 The association’s strategy in support of its members and of the profession changed significantly over the three decades that followed: although in the 1870s the VDI took an active part in supporting the ‘scientification’ of the syllabuses, in subsequent decades it turned against this approach and campaigned vigorously in favour of a more practical orientation. But even in this later phase, the VDI strenuously backed the schools in their attempts to be fully admitted to the sphere of higher education. In the event, the Technische Hochschulen achieved their objective: in 1899 they obtained university status. This entailed the right of conferring the doctorate and therefore gave access to academic careers. It entailed also the passage of the schools’ teaching staff to the same ranks as the university professoriate. In Belgium too the engineering associations were among the promoters of the decree that in 1890 granted the technical schools of Brussels, Louvain, Ghent and Liège the right to bestow diplomas of ingénieur civil des mines and ingénieur des constructiones civiles, qualifications comparable to those offered by the traditionally more prestigious e´ coles spéciales of Ghent and Liège. As a result of the same decree, the diplomas awarded 48

¨ K.-H. Ludwig and W. Konig (eds.), Technik, Ingenieure und Gesellschaft. Geschichte des Vereins Deutscher Ingenieure 1856–1981 (Dusseldorf, 1981); Gispen, New Profession (note 27).

621

Anna Guagnini by these higher technical schools were also upgraded to the level of university degrees.49 The academic value of the diplomas caused concern also among those institutions, such as the English engineering departments and the French technical institutes that were grafted on to faculties. For despite being already part of the university system, their diplomas and certificates did not carry the same distinction as the scientific degrees and did not give access to academic careers. Hence, it was not uncommon for British students of engineering, who aspired to teach their subjects at university level, to complete their studies by taking a degree of Bachelor of Science. It was only in the 1890s that Bachelor degrees in engineering science were created. These degrees were undoubtedly regarded with a certain unmistakable contempt by the traditional academic elites, but formally their value was no different from the other qualifications awarded by the university colleges. And yet, until higher education was recognized as a necessary qualification for a professional career, it remained difficult to persuade students to engage in the longer and more advanced programme that led to an engineering degree. The situation was even more complex in France where the value of a degree or a diploma depended essentially on the reputation of the institution that awarded it. In 1897, a ministerial decree allowed the university-based technical institutes to create engineering diplomas. Clearly, these diplomas did not carry any of the privileges ´ offered by the Ecole polytechnique and the e´ coles d’application. However, the institutes endeavoured to win the confidence of local employers, and by the turn of the century their former pupils were eagerly sought after by industry, especially in the technologically more advanced sectors of chemistry and electrical engineering.50 Another complex problem that weighed particularly heavily with the engineering schools which were annexed to university faculties, or which depended on them for the teaching of the scientific disciplines, was the unsatisfactory state of their relations with their parent institutions. For it was clear that the attempt to achieve academic parity with the scientific faculties was the first step towards becoming autonomous, selfcontained technical faculties. Even in Italy, where the engineering schools had enjoyed from their reorganization in the early 1860s a status comparable with that of the science faculties, the quest for independence gained momentum towards the end of the century. The point at issue was that students who sought admission to the scuole di applicazione had to complete the first two years of the programme of the faculties of mathematics 49 50

J. C. Baudet, ‘Pour une histoire de la profession d’ingénieur en Belgique’, Technologia, 7 (1984), 35–62. See texts in note 41.

622

Technology and physics before being admitted to the engineering course. As the scuole expanded, attempts were made to overcome this state of dependence by setting up internal preparatory courses, specifically tailored to suit the needs of engineering students.51 In Milan the objective was achieved as early as 1862, but similar efforts by other Italian engineering schools remained unsuccessful until the end of the century. Clearly, the timing and characteristics of the process that led to the upgrading of higher technical schools varied considerably in different European countries. But one feature was common to virtually all those cases. The transformation of the schools into university-level institutions, from the 1880s onwards, encountered tenacious opposition from the academic elites, not only the professors of the traditional liberal disciplines but also those in the pure sciences. Despite the changes in the syllabuses, the close association with utilitarian pursuits was still regarded as hard to reconcile with the ideals of higher learning. The hostility was as strong in the industrialized countries as it was in the late comers. Even in France, where the top of the educational system was occu´ pied by the Ecole polytechnique, ostensibly an engineering school, higher technical education did not enjoy the respect its spokesmen felt was its due. The abstract, theoretical orientation that characterized the syllabus of that school, with its strong emphasis on mathematics, proved at least as impermeable to the development of industrially orientated curricula as those based on the humanities. As for Germany, although the development of her technical schools won the admiration of contemporary commentators throughout Europe, this should not be taken to indicate a more favourable attitude on the part of that country’s traditional educational elite towards modern curricula. On the contrary, the resistance to the upgrading of the Technische Hochschulen in the 1890s was only surmounted thanks to the personal intervention of the Kaiser himself, as part of his more general engagement in support of scientific and technical education. research and diversif ication Despite the opposition of the traditional academic elites, in most European countries engineering schools had achieved by the turn of the century a standing comparable to the universities. The success was not, however, a definitive or complete one. On the contrary, in the two decades before the First World War, the higher technical schools had to toil hard to sustain their academic reputation. One of the main challenges was posed, 51

Lacaita, Istruzione (note 15); A. Guagnini, ‘Academic Qualification and Professional Functions in the Development of the Italian Engineering Schools, 1859–1914’, in Fox and Guagnini (eds.), Education (note *), 171–95.

623

Anna Guagnini paradoxically, by their very success. For in virtually all European countries, the number of students in technical subjects grew dramatically in the last decade of the century, and continued to do so until 1914. Students tended to flock, in particular to the sections of mechanical engineering and the new courses of electrical technology. As a result, in all but the best-endowed schools the teaching laboratories became seriously overcrowded, and the ratio between teachers and students fell. Where this phenomenon was most acute, as for example in the Italian engineering schools, the efforts made in the 1890s to improve facilities and raise standards were thereby seriously undermined. The academic prestige of higher technical schools and engineering faculties was also challenged by the growing segmentation and specialization of the syllabuses. The fact is that in the attempt to keep pace with the growth of technical knowledge and with the remarkable expansion of industrial applications, the coverage of the courses had been steadily increased, and a variety of new, often very narrowly focused courses had been added. But there was a limit to the number of new fields that could be incorporated into the syllabuses and that students could assimilate in the three or four years that were required for most degrees. Thus, in order to avoid cramming, new sections were added to the programme. At the end of the 1880s, only the largest schools had specialized programmes of electrical and chemical technology, mining and metallurgy in addition to the basic curricula for civil and mechanical engineering; but by the turn of the century many technical schools had expanded their programmes to include at least some of the new specialities. Fields were chosen in such a way as to suit the local economic and industrial context. Specialized programmes in shipbuilding, agricultural technology, forestry, and hydraulic engineering, for example, were set up where these branches of technology were most likely to answer a local demand. And often the launching of courses on new technical subjects was encouraged and thereafter sustained by public or private initiatives emanating from the town or region.52 In this respect, specialization was both a measure for controlling the excessive cramming of the syllabuses, and a way of fostering closer relations with the school’s clientele. However, there is no doubt that this move had to be carefully weighed against the persistent hostility of the traditional academic circles. For the close connection with practical application that characterized many of the new courses underpinned the higher technical schools’ original vocational thrust. In fact, the danger of excessive specialization and fragmentation of 52

This is an issue that looms large in works such as Paul, Knowledge; M. Anderson, The Universities and British Industry, 1859–1970 (London, 1972); C. Divall, ‘A Measure of Success: Employers and Engineering Studies in the Universities of England and Wales, 1897–1939’, Social Studies of Science, 20 (1990), 65–112.

624

Technology the syllabuses was denounced also by some of the teachers of engineering subjects, who argued that the aim of higher technical education was to provide a general background in the foundations of technology. Indeed, the tension between the supporters of specialization and the advocates of a broad scientific approach to engineering remained a topic for intense discussion in the inter-war period. At the same time as the growth in student numbers and the advance of specialization were emerging as potential threats to the academic reputation of technical and engineering schools, another new trend began to emerge before 1914, marking a further stage in the development of this branch of higher education. It was in fact in the first decade of the twentieth century that some of the technical institutions began to create opportunities for research. As indicated above, a considerable number of original enquiries had been carried out by teachers in technical schools in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. However, research needed not only adequate funding, but also some formal recognition in order to flourish. A notable milestone in this process came about in 1900, when the German Technische Hochschulen, as a result of being raised to university level, were granted the right to award doctoral degrees in engineering. The new regulation had the effect of officially recognizing those institutions as a suitable environment for the pursuit of original investigations. ¨ In 1909 the Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule of Zurich introduced advanced degrees, and the same was done by the Higher Technical School of Prague in 1901. However, before the First World War few students took advantage of this possibility, and even after 1918 the programmes leading to research degrees remained marginal to the activity of even the betterendowed schools. In the period between 1904 and 1921, the technical school of Aachen awarded only 37 doctorates in mechanical engineering, and no more than two or three in electrical engineering.53 The situation was similar elsewhere and it is clear that only a minute segment of the graduates decided to engage in advanced studies. In Britain, degrees of Doctor of Science were first established in 1878. These degrees were awarded on the basis of examinations until 1885, when they began to be based on research. However, no special research degree in engineering was created until 1912, when the University of London first introduced examinations for Doctors of Science with the special qualification in engineering. Even then, only a small minority of students took advantage of this opportunity. It was only after the First World War that the training of research students began to play a more significant role in the agenda of the British engineering faculties. It was a very slow 53

H. Albrecht, Technische Bildung zwischen Wissenschaft und Praxis. Die Technische Hochschule Braunschweig 1862–1914 (Hildesheim, 1987), 347.

625

Anna Guagnini process, though: in the period from 1912 to 1926, the University of London awarded only twenty research degrees to internal students, and seventeen such degrees to external students.54 France was even tardier in establishing an institutionally recognized track for research degrees in engineering. In 1923 the title of Ingénieurdocteur was established by the Ministry. Significantly, the title was awarded by the university, not by the engineering schools. Access was restricted to students accredited with the Ministry; it entailed a stay of four terms in a university laboratory and the preparation of a thesis. The ´ courses were open to students from the Ecoles d’Arts et Métiers as well ´ as from the Grandes Ecoles. However, until 1930 the universities did not have the necessary staff and facilities to support the plan. Undoubtedly, the involvement in research eased the recognition of the higher technical schools’ academic respectability. Nevertheless, research degrees – in those countries where they were available – remained a rather limited phenomenon. It could hardly have been otherwise, for the career opportunities for graduate students, in the first decades of the twentieth century, were scarce and often not particularly rewarding, either in intellectual or in financial terms. The career opportunities offered by public agencies were by no means numerous. And only a limited number of research graduates were recruited in the testing laboratories that, since the turn of the century, were beginning to be established in the most innovative branches of industry. In fact, even the most far-sighted manufacturers remained on the whole rather sceptical of the value of research training carried out in an academic context. Not surprisingly, advanced degrees were pursued mainly by those students who aspired to a teaching career in institutions of higher education. For this reason, even engineering students often preferred to obtain advanced degrees in science faculties, although the titles of their theses (allegedly in chemistry, experimental physics or mathematics) clearly indicate that they treated technological themes. The fact is that the degrees awarded by science faculties were still regarded as academically more prestigious. the development of research institutions Even in the most advanced institutions, a great deal of the so-called research that was carried out in the technical schools before 1914 consisted not of original investigations, but of routine testing for public as well as private clients. This activity was one that paid handsome dividends in terms of fees and in fostering good public relations. On the other hand, 54

University of London: The Historical Record 1836–1926 (London, 1926), 261–2.

626

Technology it had obvious counter-effects in so far as it consumed teachers’ time and material resources. At the turn of the twentieth century, the lack of adequate resources for the development of scientific and technological research was repeatedly denounced by academics and, to some extent, by industrialists throughout Europe. It has already been pointed out above that, to a large extent, the funds for the organization of laboratories, both for teaching and for research, came from private sources or local authorities. The launching of new laboratories for electrical technology in the 1890s, for example, was largely the result of private donations. Central authorities, on the other hand, proved rather reluctant to get involved in supporting research based in institutions of higher education, whether in science faculties or technical schools. In some cases, as for example in Britain, substantial grants were already devolved to research initiatives of public interest. What was generally inadequate, in the period before 1914, was the coordination of these initiatives; in Britain and elsewhere, a major problem was the absence of comprehensive plans for the support of research on a national scale. Even the Physikalisch-Technische Reichsanstalt, the German institution that remained for years the model of a modern research establishment, owes its foundation to the initiative and the incentives provided by a private individual, namely Werner von Siemens (1816–92). It was Siemens who led the campaign for the establishment in 1887 of an institution, based in Berlin and entirely devoted to research, and offered a munificent grant to set it up. The German industrialist insisted that a main objective of the institute was to develop original, fundamental research, and arranged for the appointment of the most distinguished of the German physicists, Hermann von Helmholtz (1821–94), to the directorship of the new institution. The government, on the other hand, agreed to share in the responsibility of financing this expensive initiative because of the immediately useful services that it was expected to provide to industry and to the state itself, in areas such as standardization, assaying and testing of instruments that were of vital importance to industry. In fact, this kind of routine activity became the staple activity of the Physikalisch-Technische Reichsanstalt, although the pursuit of new knowledge led to some Nobel prizes for work carried out in the Reichsanstalt on thermal radiation by Wilhelm Wien (1864–1928), and on the quantum theory by Max Planck (1858– 1947).55 The promotion of both pure and applied research was also the main feature of another major government-funded initiative, the 55

D. Cahan, An Institute for an Empire: The Physikalisch-Technische Reichsanstalt 1871– 1918 (Cambridge, 1988).

627

Anna Guagnini Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society. Founded in 1911, and known since 1946 as the ¨ Max Planck Gesellschaft zur Forderung der Wissenschaft,56 this institution was to play a central role in the development of German research in the inter-war period. In Britain it was primarily the pressure of experimental physicists that led to the opening of the National Physical Laboratory in 1902. The early history of the National Physical Laboratory is coloured by persistent recalcitrance on the part of government to sustain its activity. Before 1914, funds for the equipment of the laboratories remained, far below the expectations that were held at the time of its foundation. Once again it was private donations that made it possible to purchase instruments as in the case of the electrical instruments offered by the Drapers’ Company, and the tank for testing of ship models offered by Alfred F. Yarrow (1842–1932).57 The importance of technology for defence as well as for a country’s economic welfare was an argument that was repeatedly used in order to promote the cause of research. In the event, it was the argument that proved most effective, for it was the First World War that brought technology most dramatically to the fore. The loathsome impact of gas on warfare was perhaps the most visible sign of the role played by technology. But in a variety of other sectors, such as aviation, radio-communications and pharmaceuticals, technology won field honours. In all these fields, the stringency of military needs accelerated the advancement of new technologies. The war brought about the recognition of the importance of more comprehensive plans for the organization of technology, and of the public responsibility for the promotion of its development. Already during the conflict, most European countries began to lay plans for the co-ordination of initiatives in industry, education and the military. The war had the effect of giving the appearance of purpose and vision to these efforts, the result of which was the organization of national research councils. However, the initial ferment of initiatives tended to subside when the drudgeries of tackling the problems of such a complex system as research emerged, and especially when the high costs of this enterprise became apparent. Once again, the scale of the intervention and of the results varied remarkably throughout Europe, but the pattern was similar. In Britain, the Committee for Scientific and Industrial Research (later to become the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research) was 56

57

Forschung im Spannungsfeld. From its ‘Prehistory’, written by B. vom Brocke (p. 91), are taken the comments on the fundamental research, leading to Nobel prizes and carried out in the PTR, mentioned before. R. Moseley, ‘The Origins and Early Years of the National Physical Laboratory: A Chapter in the Pre-History of British Science Policy’, Minerva, 16 (1978), 222–50; E. Pyatt, The National Physical Laboratory: A History (Bristol, 1983).

628

Technology established in 1915. Its purpose was to promote and co-ordinate the development of research activity both in industry and in the public sector, and to liaise between industry and university. As a result, the emphasis fell squarely on applied research.58 In France a special cabinet for the development of military technologies was already in place: the Commission d’Examen des Inventions intéressant les Armées de Terre et de Mer was founded as early as 1887, and reorganized in 1894, but it was largely obsolete. In the war years an attempt was made to create a more effective structure. Under the leadership of the mathematician Paul Painlevé (1863–1933) this technical service was transformed into the Commission d’étude in 1914 and the Direction Technique in 1915 (from 1916 to 1917 it was called the ´ ´ Sous-Secrétariat d’Etat des Inventions, des Etudes et des Expériences). At the end of the war, in 1919, it was decided to transform this office into a permanent centre for the development of research, inside and outside university establishments, and for the promotion of the industrial applications of science. The decree that sanctioned the institution of the Office National des Recherches Scientifiques et Industrielles et des Inventions was issued in 1922. This office was linked to the Caisse de Recherche founded in 1902.59 In other countries as well similar structures were set up involving the professoriate of both science faculties and the higher technical schools. In Italy, immediately after the war a Comitato Nazionale Scientifico Tecnico per lo Sviluppo e l’Incremento dell’Industria Italiana was set up as a result of the initiative of industrialists and teachers of the engineering schools. This essentially private initiative gave way to a new governmentcontrolled organization, the Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche, founded in 1923. Here, too, pride of place was given to the encouragement of applied research; the advent of the Fascist regime, if anything, added more strength to the technological bias of this body.60 higher technical education in the i n t e r - wa r p e r i o d The war-time recognition of the importance of technology seemed to do justice to the claims of teachers, and gave them hope that the appreciation 58 59 60

H. Melville, The Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (London, 1962). T. Shinn, ‘The Genesis of French Industrial Research 1880–1940’, Social Science Information/Information sur les sciences sociales, 19 (1980), 607–40; Paul, Knowledge. R. Maiocchi, ‘Il ruolo delle scienze nello sviluppo industriale italiano’, in Storia d’Italia. Annali, vol. III: G. Micheli (ed.), Scienza e tecnica nella cultura e nella societa` dal Rinascimento ad oggi (Turin, 1980), 863–999; A. Russo, ‘Science and Industry in Italy Between the Two World Wars’, Historical Studies in the Physical and Biological Sciences, 16 (1986), 281–320.

629

Anna Guagnini would continue into the post-war years. In reality, both the winners and the losers emerged from the conflict with little money to spare for improving the state of higher technical schools. This said, in the early 1920s efforts were made to improve the facilities that already existed, and to set up new courses in those fields that had gained prominence during the war, such as aviation, radio-communications and technical optics.61 To some extent, the expansion in the provision of higher education took place, as it did before the war, as the result of the upgrading of institutions that had been originally set up as lower industry-orientated technical schools. This was the pattern that prevailed in France: here a variety of schools, often of a rather specialized character, established before 1914 as self-contained schools, sometimes privately funded, became after the war institutes annexed to the universities. For example, the Institut de Chimie et de Technologie Industrielle, set up by the Chamber of Comˆ merce of Puy-de-Dome in 1911, was attached in 1920 to the University of Clermont-Ferrand. By 1938 France had as many as 88 programmes ˆ leading to the diplome, 36 of them offered by universities. In 1930, ten of the seventeen French universities had one or more such institution. As for Britain, government aid to technical education had considerably increased in the aftermath of the war, and the engineering faculties were able to improve significantly their contribution. The programmes were well organized, and the facilities improved as compared to the prewar period. And yet the expansion in the number of students that was expected did not take place. Admittedly, after the war there was at first a sudden increase in the number of entrants, owing to the service personnel who returned to higher education. In 1912–13 there were 1,487 full-time students of engineering in England and Wales; by 1922 their number was 3,882. However, in the second half of the 1920s the number in England alone declined to 2,959, coinciding with the economic depression of the late 1920s. In striking contrast with this trend, the most remarkable phenomenon of the inter-war period was the expansion of lower-level forms of technical training leading to the newly established scheme set up by the Board of Education. This consisted of the Higher National Certificates and Diplomas. These were qualifications of a more vocational kind, awarded by the Board of Education and by the professional bodies. Candidates were prepared by a variety of lower-level technical schools and the majority were part-time students. These certificates gave access to membership of the main professional institutions, such 61

A very detailed survey of the state of engineering education in Europe is W. E. Wickenden, ‘A Comparative Study of Engineering Education in the United States and in Europe’, in Society for the Promotion of Engineering Education (ed.), Report of the Investigation of Engineering Education 1923–1929 (Pittsburgh, 1930), 748–1015.

630

Technology as the Institute of Mechanical Engineers and the Institute of Electrical Engineers. In fact, by the late 1920s there were more Higher National Certificates and Diplomas in mechanical engineering than graduates: their number rose from 663 ordinary awards and 168 higher awards in 1923, to 2,043 and 749 respectively in 1931. The growth of enrolments after the war, followed by a sudden drop at the end of the 1920s was a feature common to all university-level institutions throughout Europe, but it was particularly noticeable in the case of higher technical schools. Here the sudden surge of enrolments was not only the result of the return to school of the young men whose studies had been interrupted by the war. The massive destruction caused by the conflict and the need for urgent reconstruction seemed to provide good career opportunities for graduates with a technical qualification. The expansion was most dramatic in the German Technische Hochschulen, where enrolments grew from 11,168 in 1913–14 to 23,280 in 1927. However, the general economic crisis of the late 1920s and 1930s brought to an end the illusion of a rapid recovery and of a safe way to employment. On the contrary, the 1930s were characterized by the loss of jobs and growing uncertainty as to the future of industrial concerns. One of the effects of these new circumstances was the attempt of the upper technical schools to protect the status and professional value of their degrees against the pressure of the new technical schools with a stronger industry orientated slant. This was a phenomenon that occurred in most industrialized countries, from Belgium to Germany and France, and led to considerable tension within the professional engineering communities.62 It was the looming danger of a new phase of military confrontation, and the need to prepare defence plans in which technology was bound to play a decisive role, that provided a temporary end to the crisis. Dramatically, it was another war that was to confirm the importance of both technical education and research. select bibliography ¨ Ahlstrom, G. Engineers and Industrial Growth: Higher Technical Education and the Engineering Profession During the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries: France, Germany, Sweden and England, London and Canberra, 1982. ˜ Alonso Viguera, J. M. La ingenieria industrial espanola en el siglo XIX, Madrid, 1944. Alter, P. The Reluctant Patron: Science and the State in Britain 1850–1920, Oxford, Hamburg and New York, 1987. 62

A. Grelon (ed.), Les ingénieurs de la crise. Titre et profession entre les deux guerres (Paris, 1986).

631

Anna Guagnini Baudet, J. C. Les ingénieurs belges, Brussels, 1986. ‘Pour une histoire de la profession d’ingénieur en Belgique’, Technologia, 7 (1984), 35–62. ´ Belhoste, B. and Picon, A. (eds.) L’Ecole d’application de l’artillerie et du génie de Metz, 1802–1870: Enseignement et recherches, Paris, 1996. Belhoste, B., Dahan-Dalmedico, A. and Picon, A. (eds.) La formation polytechnicienne 1794–1994, Paris, 1994. ¨ Bergsman, E. B. ‘Fahlu Bergsskola 1819–1868. Sveriges forsta civila tekniska ¨ ¨ hogskola’, Dalarnas fornminnes och hembygdsforbunds skrifter, 29 (1985). ¨ ¨ Berner, B. Kunskapens vagar. Teknik och larande i skola och arbetsliv, Lund, 1989. Teknikens varld, Lund, 1981. ¨ ¨ Bjork, H. ‘Bilder av maskiner och ingenjorskarens bildande: tekniska tidskrifter och introduktion av ny teknik i Sverige’, Polhem, 5 (1987), 267–310. ¨ ¨ Bjork, H. ‘Pa de tillfalliga uppfinningarnas oroliga haf’: tekniska tidskrifter i Sverige, 1800–1870’, Polhem, 4 (1986), 57–126. Buchanan, R. A. The Engineers: A History of the Engineering Profession in Britain 1750–1914, London, 1989. Cardwell, D. S. L. The Organization of Science in England, London, 1957; 2nd edn, 1972. Cohen, Y. and Manfrass, K. (eds.) Frankreich und Deutschland. Forschung, Technologie und industrielle Entwicklung im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Munich, 1990. Cotgrove, S. F. Technical Education and Social Change, London, 1958. ´ Day, C. R. Education for the Industrial World: The Ecoles d’Arts et Métiers and the Rise of French Industrial Engineering, Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1987. ´ cient´ıfica y la estructura institucional de los De Palas a Minerva. La formacion ingenieros militares en el siglo xviii, Ediciones del Serbal, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, Barcelona and Madrid, 1988. DeGeer, H. Rationaliseringsrorelsen i Sverige, Stockholm, 1978. Divall, C. ‘A Measure of Agreement: Employers and Engineering Studies in the Universities of England and Wales, 1897–1939’, Social Studies of Science, 20 (1990), 65–112. ‘Fundamental Science Versus Design: Employers and Engineering Studies in British Universities, 1935–1976’, Minerva, 29 (1991), 167–94. Donnelly, J. F. ‘Chemical Engineering in England, 1880–1922’, Annals of Science, 45 (1988), 555–90. Emmerson, G. S. Engineering Education: A Social History, New York, 1973. ¨ ¨ och tillampnigar ¨ Eriksson, G. ‘Kartlaggarna. Naturvetenskapernas tillvaxt i det industriella genombrottets Sverige 1870–1914’, Acta Universitatis Umensis. Umea studies in the humanities 15, Umea, 1978. Ferraresi, A. ‘Nuove industrie, nuove discipline, nuovi laboratori: la Scuola Superiore di elettrotecnica di Torino (1886–1914)’, in E. Decleva, C. G. Lacaita and A. Ventura (eds.), Innovazione e modernizzazione in Italia fra Otto e Novecento, Milan, 1995, 376–494.

632

Technology Fox, R. and Guagnini A. Laboratories, Workshops and Sites. Concepts and Practices of Applied Research in Industrial Europe, 1800–1914, Berkeley, 1999. Fox, R. and Guagnini, A. (eds.) Education, Technology and Industrial Performance in Europe, 1850–1939, Cambridge, 1993. Fox, R. and Weisz, G. (eds.) The Organization of Science and Technology in France 1808–1914, Cambridge and Paris, 1980. ´ Garrabou, R. Enginyers industrials, modernitzacio´ economica i burgesia a Catalunya (1850-inicis del segle XX), Barcelona, 1982. Gispen, K. New Profession, Old Order: Engineers and German Society, 1815– 1914, Cambridge, 1989. Gooday, G. ‘Teaching Telegraphy and Electrotechnics in the Physics Laboratory: William Ayrton and the Creation of an Academic Space for Electrical Engineering in Britain 1873–1884’, History of Technology, 13 (1991), 73–112. ˆ sa formation, la protection de son titre et Grandmaˆıtre, R. L’ingénieur. Son role, de sa profession, Paris and Liège, 1937. Grelon, A. ‘La formation des ingénieurs e´ lectriciens (1880–1900)’, in F. Caron and F. Cardot (eds.), Histoire générale de l’électricité en France, vol. I: Espoirs et conquêtes, 1881–1918, Paris, 1991, 254–93. ‘La structuration du réseau de formation des ingénieurs e´ lectriciens (1900– 1914)’, in F. Caron and F. Cardot (eds.), Histoire générale de l’électricité en France, vol. I: Espoirs et conquêtes, 1881–1918, Paris, 1991, 802–49. Grelon, A. (ed.) Les ingénieurs de la crise. Titre et profession entre les deux guerres, Paris, 1968. Guagnini, A. ‘Higher Education and the Engineering Profession in Italy: The Scuole of Milan and Turin, 1859–1914’, Minerva, 26 (1988), 512–48. ¨ Konig, W. ‘Auffassungen von den Aufgaben des Faches Technikgeschichte zwischen 1900 und 1945 in der Ingenieurwelt’, Humanismus und technik, 29 (1986), 23–45. ‘Die historische Entwicklung des Beamtentums und der Berufsgruppe der Inge¨ nieure’, in J. Weber (ed.), Ingenieure im offentlichen Dienst: empirische Analyse zur Laufbahnreform, Dusseldorf, 1982, 3–26. ‘Stand und Aufgaben der Forschung zur Geschichte der deutschen Polytechnischen Schulen und Technischen Hochschulen im 19. Jahrhundert’, Technikgeschichte, 48 (1981), 47–67. Kurgan-van Hentenryk, G. and Stengers, J. (eds.) L’innovation technologique. Facteur de changement (XIXe–XXe siècles), Brussels, 1986. Lacaita, G. C. Istruzione e sviluppo industriale in Italia, 1859–1914, Florence, 1973. Locke, R. The End of the Practical Man: Entrepreneurship and Higher Education in Germany, France, and Great Britain 1880–1940, Greenwich, Conn., 1984. ¨ Lundborg, T. ‘En blick pa tekniiska hogskolans historia’, Teknisk Tidskrift, (1927). Lundgreen, P. ‘Engineering Education in Europe and the U.S.A., 1750–1830: The Rise to Dominance of School Culture and the Engineering Professions’, Annals of Science, 47 (1990), 33–75.

633

Anna Guagnini ¨ ¨ Techniker in Preussen wahrend der fruhen Industrialisierung. Ausbildung und Berufsfeld einer entstehenden sozialen Gruppe, Einzel¨ veroffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission zu Berlin 16. Publikationen zur Geschichte der Industrialisierung, Berlin, 1975. Ingenieure in Deutschland, 1770–1990, Frankfurt and New York, 1994. Maiocchi, R. ‘Il ruolo delle scienze nello sviluppo industriale italiano’, in Storia d’Italia. Annali, vol. III: G. Micheli (ed.), Scienza e tecnica nella cultura e nella societa` dal Rinascimento ad oggi, Turin, 1980, 863–999. ¨ Technische Hochschule und Industrie. Ein Beitrag Manegold, K.-H. Universitat, zur Emanzipation der Technik im 19. Jahrhundert unter besonderer ¨ Berucksichtigung der Bestrebungen Felix Kleins, Schriften zur Wirtschaftsund Sozialgeschichte 16, Berlin, 1970. Minesso, M. Tecnici e modernizzazione nel Veneto: La Scuola dell’Universita` di Padova e la professione dell’ingegnere (1806–1915), Trieste, 1992. Morachiello, P. Ingegneri e territorio nell’eta` della Destra (1860–1875). Dal Canale Cavour all’Agro Romano, Rome, 1976. ¨ Peterson, A. ‘Ingenjorsvetenskapsakademiens bildande i idé- och teknikhistorisk belysning’, Polhem, 8 (1990), 108–23. Pfetsch, F. R. Zur Entwicklung der Wissenschaftspolitik in Deutschland 1750– 1914, Berlin, 1974. ´ Picon, A. L’Invention de l’ingénieur moderne. L’Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées 1747–1851, Paris, 1992. ´ Roca i Rosell, A. and Sanchez-Ron, J. M. Esteban Terradas (1883–1950). Ciencia ˜ contemporanea, Madrid and Barcelona, 1990. y técnica en la Espana ˜ Ilustrada. La Escuela de Rumeu de Armas, A. Ciencia y tecnolog´ıa en la Espana Caminos y Canales, Madrid, 1980. Runeby, N. Teknikerna, vetenskapen och kulturen. Ingenjorsundervisning och ingenjorsorganisationer i 1870-talets Sverige, Uppsala, 1976. ¨ ‘Vaganbonden, specialisten och folkerts banerforare’, in J. Nybom (ed.), Universitet och samhalle, Stockholm, 1989; also in J. F. Battail (ed.), La Suède intellectuelle et savante, Uppsala Studies in the History of Science 3; M. Trow and J. Nybom (eds.), University and Society: Essays of the Social Role of Research and Higher Education, Higher Education Policy Series 12 (London, 1991). Sanderson, M. The Universities and British Industry, 1850–1970, London, 1972. ´ Shinn, T. Savoir scientifique et pouvoir social. L’Ecole polytechnique, 1794–1914, Paris, 1980. Sundin, B. I teknikens backspiegel. Antologi i teknikhistoria, Stockholm, 1987. ¨ ¨ Ingenjorsvetenskapens tidevarv. Ingenjors vetenskapsakademin, Pappersmassekontoret, Metallografiska institutet och den teknologiska forskningen ¨ i borjan av 1900-talet, Acta Universitatis Umensis, Umea Studies in the Humanities 42, Umea, 1981. Tonelli, A. L’istruzione tecnica e professionale di stato nelle strutture e nei programmi da Casati ai giorni nostri, Milan, 1964. Torstendahl, R. ‘Engineers in Sweden and Britain 1820–1914: Professionalisation and Bureaucratisation in a Comparative Perspective’, in W. Conze and

634

Technology ¨ J. Kocka (eds.), Bildungsburgertum im 19. Jahrhundert, vol. I: Bildungssystem und Professionalisierung in internationalen Vergleiche, Stuttgart, 1985, 543–60. ¨ Teknologins Nytta. Motiveringar for det svenska, tekniska utbildningsvasendets ¨ framforda ¨ ¨ 1810– framvaxt av riksdagsman och utbildningsadministratore 1870, Uppsala, 1975. Weiss, J. H. The Making of Technological Man: The Social Origin of French Engineering Education, Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1982.

635

EPILOGUE U N I V E R S I T I E S A N D WA R I N T H E T W E N T I E T H C E N T U RY

NOTKER HAMMERSTEIN

introduction When we see the word epilogue, we expect a single pithy conclusion. The subject of this volume does not allow such a tightly drawn summary, however. The situation at individual European universities, the developments in the different disciplines and the expansion of the higher education system described in previous chapters lasted too long and were too disparate to allow a smooth transition to a new period and context, as will be discussed in the fourth volume. Although National Socialism and its twelve-year reign of terror were of immense significance for the international learned world and its development, it would be wrong to suggest that ‘seizure of power’ by the Nazis was the decisive stage in the change of direction taken by universities and the world of learning, the effects of which are still being felt. Of course, it was a not unimportant contributory factor in the events and changes described in this chapter, but in many respects the subsequent outbreak and course of the Second World War was far more significant. However, even this period, this historical date, is too narrow to describe the conditions that brought about a transition in the university and scientific world in the immediate post-war period. It could be argued that it was general political trends dating back much earlier that culminated in this extreme response. This epilogue attempts to sketch out the reasons for the historical transition from the successful, research-friendly nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, with their faith in learning and awareness of their own values, to the post-war world. Very few specific events, intentional actions and precise data can be cited. In the same way, few historical turning points are genuinely new beginnings or end on a specific date. Such transitions remain blurred, retaining a mixture of old and new, and this applies 637

Notker Hammerstein equally to knowledge and its institutions. Innovations generally take a long time to catch on – they reveal themselves slowly and only gradually gain general acceptance. There is also a need for a specific conjunction of events and people, as described by Thomas Kuhn, notwithstanding the possible and actual objections to such systematizing attempts at modelling. The previous chapters have shown how universities, colleges, technical colleges, academies, i.e. institutions of the tertiary education sector, developed at a leisurely pace, with the exception of individual scientific results and chance inventions and discoveries. Finally all these institutions base their conceptions of themselves in tradition. They derive their certainty from standardized, tried and trusted knowledge, and such knowledge is worth passing on. Only then is it possible to turn to the new. Universities and learning do not generally change in a revolutionary manner – they feel their way slowly forward from the proven to the novel, only then allowing it to shock, provoke, drive ahead and change. Nevertheless, to return to the question of the transition or turning point of our epilogue, the editors have agreed that the period around the end of the Second World War marks the conclusion of the developments which started at the beginning of the nineteenth century and are described in this volume. This was more marked, deeply felt and more of a source of change than even the First World War, although in itself a traumatic event, and is certainly more applicable than the period around 1900. Victory over Hitler’s Germany and the subsequent defeat of Japan brought a period spanning and a half centuries in the history of European universities and learning to a close. Previously a few details here and there had been changed. Now a new broom swept through the system. Of course, this does not mean that a deep caesura occurred between 1944 and 1946. It had been clear for some time that certain aspects would have to be redesigned and rearranged to suit the new world, in the attempt to create a new world order and a new system of world government, and that other aspects of proven tradition would have to be retained. In this respect, the data presented in this chapter may appear rather arbitrary. The arguments set out below in favour of the editors’ chosen cut-off point may demonstrate the extent to which this idea holds. The main difficulty in this plan is a problem that has applied to all the previous chapters of the volume: our knowledge of events is still inadequate and requires considerable improvement. There is little broadly based prior work, much lies gathering dust in the archives, and there are still many gaps despite an abundance of important and useful work. This shortfall cannot be made up by specialist investigations, however good they might be, since such studies, particularly those concerning the history of the natural sciences and medicine, do not always allow the general historian to pursue the line of argument. A major problem when writing the 638

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century history of modern learning is that practically no one can have an accurate overview of the plethora of disciplines, let alone understand their subject matter. This is due to the way in which the subjects have developed, as illustrated in this volume. Not even Immanuel Kant who, at the start of the period under consideration, appeared to read and publish about the whole universe of knowledge in his times, was really able to grasp all the disciplines adequately and correctly, as we can see with hindsight. And this problem is even more marked for today’s author. background: the learned world of t h e n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u ry This volume illustrates the origins and development of the modern sciences, their institutions and their representatives. Although by external appearances they were still very much tied to the old European model of the university, the modern concept of research really started to gain ground within both the applied and the theoretical sciences. We can see the beginnings of methods and ideas that are still fundamental and of continuing influence today. The idea of the University of Berlin developed by Schleiermacher and implemented by Humboldt marked a new beginning, indeed a break from the old learning; we can see a clear difference between the modern researcher and the scholar of the Middle Ages and early modern period. This idea was highly influential over the course of the century. Nevertheless, the ideals of the old res publica litteraria survived to become a Europe-wide or even world-wide universitas litterarum that extends beyond national boundaries. Learned debate is and always has been international, and not just at the theoretical level. International exchanges, friendships between academics and discussions are characteristic of the learned world, although resistance, exclusion and lack of respect are not unknown. This ideal increasingly found itself in conflict with the opinions and mindset of the political authorities. Scientific discoveries, scholarly interests and technical achievements were intentionally linked to national characteristics and peculiarities, particularly from the 1860s and 1870s onwards. The sciences and scientists competed against one another. Great scientific achievements were all too easily viewed as a sign of national prestige. A much less benign form of nationalism than the one that emerged as early as the late eighteenth century spread to this field of human endeavour, which had always been regarded as objective and impartial. For example, after the 1870/71 war, many Frenchmen believed that the German victory had demonstrated the superiority of the German university system. The modern world was shaped by knowledge. By the time of the Industrial Revolution, scientific methods and disciplines formed 639

Notker Hammerstein an essential mainstay of modern administrations, diplomacy and economics, and helped to establish a world view. Consequently, the sciences and national education systems played a central role in the life of the state and their standing grew. Naturally, the situation, particularly with respect to state provision and financing, differed greatly from one country to the next. But it became increasingly clear in Europe and the United States that knowledge, the universities, scientific education and training had become extraordinarily important for many occupations, for national prosperity and for a country’s international reputation. When the Nobel prizes were introduced in 1901, it soon became clear, even at the international level, where the modern centres of research were located. It was possible to derive a league table of countries, as it were. As has long been the case with international sporting competitions, the Nobel prizes started to be viewed as less spectacular but equally highly esteemed honours and as indicators of particularly good, forward-looking and, in this case, scientifically successful state systems.1 Nevertheless the old ideal which states that science is supranational, scientists are committed to work that is of relevance, and universities and the sciences are largely free of politics continued to hold sway. Open-mindedness, and thus as far as possible freedom from interference by the Church, a particular world view or national ties, was internationally regarded as the prerequisite for scholarly discovery and the identification of scientific truths. The Second German Empire unquestionably assumed a leading position in this international contest. The universities and scholarly institutions enjoyed extraordinary freedom, even though the German state had few modern ideas and was neither liberal nor open, and its policy for learning was to a certain extent absolutist and bureaucratic (this can be seen with hindsight and was not experienced at the time).2 Its glittering success in the field of research and science was noted abroad. Many foreigners came to Germany to complete their education, which generally enhanced their employment prospects when they returned home. Another consequence was the development of private and personal contacts and the sealing of friendships. Such graduates came to admire the academic freedom they discovered and attempted to reap benefits that would help them to advance back in France, the United States,3 Russia and even England. 1

2

3

M. Norrback and K. Ranki (eds.), University and Nation: The University and the Making of the Nations in Northern Europe in the 19th and 20th Centuries (Helsinki, 1996). C. Charle (ed.), Les universités germaniques, XIXe–XXe siècles (Paris, 1994). F. K. Ringer, The Decline of the German Mandarins: The German Academic Community, 1890–1933 (Cambridge, Mass., 1969); T. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte 1866–1918, ¨ vol. I: Arbeitswelt und Burgergeist (Munich, 1990), 568ff. ¨ KulturB. vom Brocke, ‘Der deutsch-amerikanische Professorenaustausch’, Zeitschrift fur ¨ austausch, 31 (1981), 128–82; L. Jordan and B. Kortlander (eds.), Nationale Grenzen und ¨ internationaler Austausch (Tubingen, 1995).

640

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century Proximity to the scientific communities in Austria, Belgium, the Netherlands and Switzerland, and close ties with the northern European countries enabled old scientific connections to be maintained and even strengthened. German was one of the most important languages of learning and the leading scientific journals were published in this language, without that being viewed as a serious problem or even as an undesirable phenomenon. Well-directed competition is and always has been an important part of scientific debate. The learned world was used to receiving and adapting new ideas from Germany, even if they were written up in the German language. Of course, none of this prevented German scholars from travelling to France, England or even the United States to study under famous scientists, where they could improve their own skills, refine their knowledge and forge stimulating scholarly friendships in those countries. t h e f i rs t wo r l d wa r a n d i t s c o n s e q u e n c e s Into this world which, to all appearances, was peaceful, ordered and civilized came the First World War. Almost instantaneously, the international res publica litteraria collapsed. Nearly every scholar on practically every side became caught up in the overwhelming tide of nationalism. Few people even considered that this went against and distorted their previous ideals – particularly the commitment to scientific objectivity. As early as October 1914, the German side issued a ‘declaration by university teachers of the German Empire’ who railed against the ‘enemies of Germany, with England at their head’ who ‘supposedly to our benefit wanted to differentiate between the spirit of German science and what they called Prussian militarism’. They proudly declaimed that ‘the spirit of the German army is no different from the spirit of the German people since they are one and the same, and we belong to it as well . . .’. Almost at the same time there was an appeal to the civilized world, an Appel au monde civilisé, which set out even more categorically the right, if not the obligation, to prosecute this war: it could not be true, it asserted, that the fight against Germany’s so-called militarism is not a fight against Germany’s culture, as its enemies would hypocritically have Germans believe. Without German militarism, the Appel said, German culture would long ago have been wiped from the face of the earth. The declaration that the German army and the German people are one4 was signed not by unworldly scholars, but by men who not long before 4

B. vom Brocke, ‘Wissenschaft und Militarismus’, in W. M. Calder III (ed.), Wilamowitz nach 50 Jahren (Darmstadt, 1985), 649–719, quotations 651; 657; Idem, ‘La guerra degli intellettuali tedeschi’, in V. Cal`ı, G. Corni and G. Ferrandi (eds.), Gli intellettuali e la Grande guerra (Bologna, 2000), 373, 408 (with recent bibliography).

641

Notker Hammerstein had proudly claimed their impartial and supranational scientific rigour. Naturally, the response from the other side was equally loud and vehement. The tables were turned and similar overblown, nationalistic accusations were directed at colleagues, who until this incident, had been honoured as role models. Looking back upon them now, these attitudes are difficult to understand. In February 1915, the Académie des Inscriptions et des Belles Lettres and, Académie des Sciences in Paris closed their doors to the signatories of the appeal and, in England, the Chemical Society expelled nine German scholars from its ranks. The Royal Society and British Academy did not take such a step, however, and similar restraint was shown on the German side by the Berlin Academy, mainly due to the insistence of Max Planck. In Paris, the expelled scientists included men such as Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Harnack, Baeyer, Emil Fischer and Felix Klein. Unsurprisingly, the invasion of Belgium brought odium for Germany, since it was the aggressor and had broken treaties. In the West, people were generally of the opinion that such uncivilized behaviour should not go unpunished. Suddenly, all the Western nations and enemies of Germany were united in their goal, and German scientists and artists helped to strengthen their zeal through their nationalistic behaviour. Once Belgian neutrality had been breached and it became known that Germany’s conduct of the war had little regard for cultural heritage, the co-operation between English professors and their German colleagues sworn shortly before the outbreak of war was soon forgotten. In the words of a declaration by English writers and scholars, ‘we cannot admit that any nation has the right by brute force to impose its culture upon other nations, nor that the iron military bureaucracy of Prussia represents a higher form of human society than the free constitutions of Western Europe’.5 As one perspicacious analyst remarked, it proved that the internationalism of the scientific world pre-1914 was not really altruistic or tolerant and without boundaries at all. In reality, it was exceptionally closely bound up with nationalistic fervour or, less harshly, patriotic convictions. It is not necessary to portray this for individuals. The decisive factor, and one much more important for further development, was that the outcome and the entire post-war experience of both German and non-German scholars in Europe and the USA represented a far-reaching turning point. The perfect world had suffered immense harm, leaving behind resentment, malicious prejudices and apparently irreconcilable differences. This had consequences inevitable for the scientific community, professors and their universities. 5

Cited by B. vom Brocke, ‘Wissenschaft’ (note 4), 670; see S. Wallace, War and the Image of Germany: British Academics 1914–1918 (Edinburgh, 1988).

642

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century On the other hand, the modern war demonstrated the importance of many of the more recent scientific disciplines. In the fields of medical care, armaments and new technologies, particularly aviation, chemistry, physics and engineering, scientific achievements helped to steer the way war was fought in a new direction and opened up many new possibilities. Just one example is the work of the future Nobel prize-winner, director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for chemistry, Jew and ardent patriot, Fritz Haber. He discovered how to produce ammonia from nitrogen and air, which allowed the Germans to get round the saltpetre shortages and boycott and find new ways of producing explosives. Haber also made an important contribution to the development of chemical warfare and poison gas, which did not exactly bring him honour and recognition, despite his international reputation.6 Deep despondency descended upon the Germans at the end of the war, after their defeat. They could not grasp or even believe that such a highly scientific people – the German nation with its cultural background – could not have claimed success.7 In addition, during the war and in the post-war period, many scholars were disappointed by the attitude of their former foreign pupils and accused them of ingratitude and lack of understanding. On the other hand, the end of a war, the like of which had never before been experienced, was universally welcomed. Many Germans and AngloSaxons appeared willing to hold out their hands in hesitant understanding. This rapprochement was swept away by the Treaty of Versailles, which the Germans regarded as deeply humiliating and unjust. This placed a heavy mental burden on the universities and professors. From the very start, their students were vehemently opposed to the new state system. For many professors, too, the loss of their ever more idealized conditions achieved during the Imperial period, the Golden Age of German science and academic freedom, was a trauma that turned them increasingly towards the Weimar Republic and its parties. They also overcame few of their reservations and resentment against the Western nations, even in their own academic disciplines. The conference of the International Academy of Science held in October 1918 in London resolved to exclude all Germans from international conferences for twenty years. This was viewed in much the same way as Versailles within the academic republic since it gave Germans no way of overcoming their international stigmatization, or at least not in this field.8 The Academy’s resolution, which need not be described in detail 6 7 8

¨ osi-Janze, ¨ M. Szoll Fritz Haber 1868–1934. Eine Biographie (Munich, 1998). E. Kolb, Die Weimarer Republik (Munich, 1993). B. Schroeder-Gudehus, Deutsche Wissenschaft und internationale Zusammenarbeit 1914– 1928. Ein Beitrag zum Studium kultureller Beziehungen in politischen Krisenzeiten (Geneva, 1966).

643

Notker Hammerstein here, did not leave German scholars cut off from all international contacts for too long. Nevertheless, they were deeply offended by this collective condemnation. Although previous relationships were often resumed at the individual level, for a long time it appeared that much of official science policy in Europe was dominated by the idea of leaving Germany on the sidelines and meting out severe punishment to one of the leading scientific nations. In this respect, science policy remained nationalistic and opposed to real international co-operation for much longer than the policies of individual states. There was also the painful realization that the previously respected and often leading position of German universities and learning no longer applied across the board as it did in the period around 1900. It took many years before foreign students and professors started returning to Germany in order to improve their scientific knowledge and develop their skills, as they had so often done in the past. Nevertheless, German journals maintained their leading role in many disciplines, and, up until 1938, even students at the Sorbonne were advised to learn German since, otherwise, they would be unable to read the important scientific literature.9 The war had demonstrated to most European countries, and not least to the United States, the importance of providing well-organized (in many cases better organized) science systems and university environments. Despite the standardizing approach taken during the mid-1920s, the many and diverse problems left over from the war meant that education and training had to remain on the back-burner while other political needs were tackled. Thus, everything carried on as before in almost every country, apart from a few attempts at reorganization and reform. The universities, in particular, were left to return to normal in their own special way, as described in this volume. In Europe, at least, they were still accessible only to a small proportion of the population and largely retained their class status. In contrast to the late nineteenth century, the institutions saw only minimal growth, and the ‘glut of academics’ was still felt as a threat and prevented access from being opened up further. The universities therefore felt justified in returning to their old ways and, indeed, this was expected by many scholars from the mid-1920s onwards. The world-wide economic crisis in the late 1920s was an extraordinarily stressful period for the universities and the professors, not to mention the students. It was understandable that governments had to concentrate most of their efforts on social and international problems, and therefore neglected the universities and education in general. The considerable strain and often great hardship tended to harden the attitudes of those who held extreme positions, and intensified nationalistic and xenophobic 9


644

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century tendencies at the universities. This would have the most evident and terrible consequences in Germany. When the National Socialists came to power in early 1933, this marked the early stages of the final act in a gradual transition from the old scientific world of the nineteenth century to that of the late twentieth which, at the international level, took place over a longer time-scale. We thus find ourselves in the epicentre of this transition which peaked during the Second World War. The international nature of the learned community retreated still further and the scientific scene in different countries developed in its own characteristic way according to proximity to or distance from the Nazi regime and the events of the war. Examination does reveal some comparable changes and similar phenomena, but it is more useful to discuss the further course of these developments on the basis of the research situation in selected countries. great britain from the first to t h e s e c o n d wo r l d wa r In the nineteenth and even in the twentieth century, England continued to hold fast to the ideal that its universities should provide a liberal education.10 Although the new redbrick universities offered practically orientated courses and higher education to new social strata, particularly the middle classes, the leading institutions, Oxford and Cambridge, did not stray from their non-utilitarian course. Of course, England had been extraordinarily successful since the Industrial Revolution, with numerous discoveries and much technical brilliance. Such successes were generally developed within industry itself, however, and were not necessarily the fruit of early academic training. English scholars had, of course, carried out much important research during the nineteenth century, particularly in the natural sciences and medicine. England was also one of the leading European countries in physics, although at the applied rather than theoretical level. Nevertheless, these successes were marginal phenomena that did little to change the structure of the universities. The situation was different in Scotland. There the universities already offered and promoted utilitarian, moral and practical studies. This was a poor country, however, whose resources came mainly from ship-building and medicine, although the scientific and technical disciplines could also claim some notable successes.11 The educational opportunities available 10

11

G. McCulloch, Philosophers and Kings: Education for Leadership in Modern England (Cambridge, 1991); R. N. Soffer, Discipline and Power: The University, History and the Making of an English Elite, 1870–1930 (Stanford, 1994); R. D. Anderson, ‘Universities and Elites in Modern Britain’, History of Universities, 10 (1991), 225–50. N. Phillipson (ed.), Universities, Society and the Future (Edinburgh, 1983).

645

Notker Hammerstein at Scottish universities attracted students from all over the world, and particularly from its neighbour to the south. During the First World War, the British Government identified serious deficits in many important disciplines. These concerned the country’s lack of scientific skills in general, and not simply in the areas of production technology and alternatives for raw materials. Consequently, consideration was given to establishing a permanent organization for the promotion of scientific and industrial research.12 The creation of an appropriate institution was recommended in July 1915 and, in December of 1916, this was set up as the Committee of the Privy Council for Scientific and Industrial Research under the aegis of the Lord President. The same year saw the National Physical Laboratory split away from the Royal Society to form the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR). This supplemented other scientific committees, particularly the Medical Research Committee, established in 1911, and the Agricultural Research Committee. By 1936, these had been joined by some 24 further industrial research associations. Nevertheless, the plethora of bodies did not result in a systematic and efficient industrial and research policy.13 Many of these associations were working in the same field, with no co-ordination whatsoever, with the result that a new effort under state control appeared essential. Its goal was to stimulate important research. And, indeed, significant knowledge and results were obtained in the fields of medicine and technology. In the inter-war period, the country quickly slipped back into the old form of higher education. Other concerns pushed the question of offering university and college education to a broader cross-section of the population into the background. Even outside Oxford and Cambridge the universities remained largely a class-specific phenomenon. Student numbers also differed greatly from those in other countries. In the mid-1920s, there were fewer than 30,000, around 8,000 of whom were women. This means that no more than eight people out of every 10,000 received a university education. In Scotland, the figure reached 21 out of 10,000, demonstrating the Scots’ traditional leanings towards higher education.14 Immediately after the war, the government planned to improve the facilities of and successfully promote the universities, and so established the University Grants Committee in 1919.15 This had no decisive or lasting effect on the conditions at universities, however. It was certainly not a body that could centrally organize, shape and direct university studies 12 13 14

A. Marwick, Britain in the Century of Total War (London, Sydney and Toronto, 1968), 79. P. J. Gummett and G. L. Price, ‘An Approach to Central Planning of British Science: The Formation of the Advisory Council on Scientific Policy’, Minerva, 15, 2 (1977), 119–43. 15 See chapter 2, 64. Marwick, Britain (note 12), 180.

646

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century and training throughout the country. Other traditions and customs, and the classical ideal of a liberal education, continued to determine the theoretical and practical training received. Thus, at the outbreak of war in 1939, the British Government was horrified when it realized the parlous state of technical education in particular. The basic disciplines of science, medicine and many of the humanities also left much to be desired. When the war started – and for some time after that – many companies offered high salaries to engineers because of the considerable shortage of such personnel. It took time to train a new elite that leaned more towards engineering and science, and this required the government to establish a training policy that would gain broad acceptance among the population.16 At the start of the Second World War, two questions occupied both government and parliament: first, would it be possible to make adequate use of the scientific knowledge that did exist and, second, would there be enough people in the country to be able to mobilize and use this scientific and technical knowledge in the longer term? It soon became clear that neither the Natural Research Council (NRC) nor the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR) was capable of coming up with fundamental solutions to these problems and, at best, could only offer quick answers to practical questions, as they arose. A report on the subject added: ‘This type of ad hoc investigation, however, can be based only on information and methods already available, and more complete answers often have to await the acquisition of greater fundamental knowledge’.17 Consequently, the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research was revived and, in 1940, a Scientific Advisory Committee for the War Cabinet (SAC) was also created. This consisted of the President and two Secretaries of the Royal Society, the Secretaries of the DSIR and the NRC and the Chairman of the Agricultural Research Council, and it was given access to the War Cabinet via the Lord President from 1942 onwards. The purpose of this committee was to advise the government in all scientific matters, including questions of organization and best practice. Nevertheless, many science-related tasks remained within the purview of individual ministries. The responsibilities of the SAC for research and university education and the extent of its remit were still not entirely clear. Understandably, some important branches of industry in the country, i.e. those associated with war production and other necessities, benefited greatly from this new mobilization. The most striking cases were the motor and aircraft industries, with their many and diverse programmes and numerous suppliers. There was a whole range of new discoveries and inventions, and not only in England. This was a general by-product of the 16 17

P. H. J. H. Gosden, Education in the Second World War (London, 1976). Marwick, Britain (note 12), 11, 283.

647

Notker Hammerstein war and, as had been the case during the First World War, it was again felt that it would bring ‘much benefit to mankind under conditions of peace, to which many of the results obtained have also a valid application’.18 The benefits were not only felt by industry, parliament and the government. The importance of modern research, a broad education and scientific elites for a country and its continued survival became increasingly clear to large sections of the population. Scientists and engineers were treated with a respect they had never before experienced; reports of success concerning operations and the machinery of war, victories over the enemy or attacks warded off created great respect for the efforts of the scientists. Thus, after the reluctance and refusals of earlier years, it finally became possible to centralize the co-ordination of scientific work under the Lord President in the War Cabinet, who was given responsibility for all the sciences, and this position received general acceptance. For their part, the universities tried hard to support the war effort and other needs, and put all their knowledge and resources into serving the country. They created a central register, particularly for technical disciplines and the natural sciences, but also for other people working in the social sciences and humanities, since these were also felt to be important for successful conduct of the war. Alternative locations were set up for institutions threatened by the Blitz, particularly those in London. Many scientists, particularly those organized in the Scientific Worker group, fondly imagined that England would develop along the same lines as the Soviet Union, which was regarded as an exemplary model in this respect, i.e. that politics and development of the entire country would become more ‘scientific’ and scientists would thus receive the respect due to them. There was also much to do in the field of documentation and the use of foreign scientific literature. The system for scientific documentation – Aslib – built up during the nineteenth century, and which had led to the creation of a similar body in the United States in 1937, had to be adapted to take account of the new situation.19 The German occupation of broad sections of Europe put an end to the book trade; German literature had been sold via the Netherlands and Switzerland, in particular. Consequently, during the war, a new, separate channel of information had to be established. From November 1941 onwards, a War-Time Guide reported on enemy publications. The British press attachés in Sweden and Lisbon, in particular, collected details of covert companies, books and other important scientific information and sent this intelligence back to England. Their ´ work in Portugal was helped because the Portuguese dictator, Antonio 18 19

W. McGucken, ‘The Control and Organisation of Scientific and Technical Advice in the United Kingdom during the Second World War’, Minerva, 17 (1979), 33–69. P. Speace Richards, ‘Great Britain and Allied Scientific Information, 1933–1945’, Minerva, 26 (1988), 177–98.

648

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century de Oliveira Salazar, whose Fascist government had taken power in 1932, received an honorary doctorate from Oxford during the war. The scientists, and many politicians as well, were in no doubt that the outcome of the war would be largely dependent on scientific success. As the journal Nature explained, none of the scientists loved the war, but there was no doubt that ‘Now science is fighting this War’. The same article went on to say: ‘In fact, it is a War of science whether we like it or not’.20 Accordingly, scientists not only received considerable support and encouragement, but they were all regarded with equal respect, regardless of whether they were technicians, engineers, natural scientists or representatives of the humanities. In the same year, Nature also pointed out that the English universities were among the last ‘safeguards of freedom of thought’ and should therefore ‘revitalize’ ‘the ideas which should animate mankind’. Characterbuilding was just as important as scientific training. Austin H. Clark argued under the heading of Science and War that ‘The present struggle is no more a contest in the military field than in the field of science. It is quite possible to win the war in the battle front but to lose it in the laboratory.’21 Naturally, many English scientists were mobilized for war service in combat. As time went on, it became evident that they were all too absent in teaching and research. In addition, many were employed in industry, the civil service or military administration. This was a problem both for the laboratories and for other centres of scientific education. The measures taken to guarantee total secrecy – which was essential in every country involved in the war – also held back scientific debate. A suitable solution had to be found to this problem in order to avoid creating a research deficit. It could not be solved with a few catch-all regulatory arrangements, and the SAC could only help to a limited extent, particularly because the committee had little influence over the government since Churchill preferred to listen to his personal advisers, such as Lindemann – or so it appeared.22 This complex situation was addressed by one of the most important government ministers, Sir Stafford Cripps (1889–1952), in a speech given in January 1943 to the conference of the Association of Scientific Workers, on the subject of ‘Planning of Science: In War and in Peace’. He stated that, In the War Cabinet, the Lord President of the Council is responsible for the Scientific Advisory Committee, which has wide terms of reference upon all scientific matters; and through that Committee, the Cabinet is in touch with the Royal Society and with all the principal learned societies of Great 20 22

21 Nature, 150 (July 1942). Nature, 150 (September 1942), 301. Gummett and Price, ‘Central Planning’ (note 13).

649

Notker Hammerstein Britain. . . . The Lord President is also responsible for the Engineering Advisory Committee, which carries out similar functions in the field of engineering.

Cripps implied that it would be essential to co-ordinate closely and integrate those sciences and their institutions that were of importance for the war and survival. ‘I think that our main difficulty with regard to the proper utilization of the scientists in this war has been our failure to realize, at a sufficiently early stage, that this was going to be a truly scientific war, and that the battle would not be won merely by the physical ascendancy of our race but rather by the ingenuity of those who have been trained in our secondary schools, technical colleges’. Although this was all determined by the situation in which Britain found itself, i.e. subject to the needs of the war, he still felt that ‘There is in reality no difference in the principles that should be applied in time of war and in time of peace’.23 This was a frequently recurring idea and described the conviction, which was increasingly shared without reservation, that science and research – and therefore the universities and research institutions – would be the decisive factor in the future and would determine whether the modern world survived. Thus, the danger of scientific stagnation remained in the foreground and led to consideration of and promising measures to overcome this problem. The inherently limited and none too open structure of the English universities, which was bound up with tradition, had made it impossible to keep in the country many of those scientists who had left Germany to escape the Nazis for political or racial reasons. Their potential could only be used to a limited extent for scientific innovation, or to broaden and enhance research capacity. Many such scientists therefore emigrated to the United States, where they enriched and extended scientific research in every field. This volume is not the place to list the successful research carried out in the various scientific disciplines. The war at sea and in the air, the deployment of troops in regions with different climates, the news and propaganda efforts and much more led to a wealth of significant achievements that were of immense benefit to the post-war period. The importance of promoting science and ensuring that up-and-coming talent was utilized as widely as possible was recognized during a period of absolute selfreliance, and science’s enhanced reputation was not just a temporary phenomenon. The effects continued in the post-war years with the result that, since then, efforts have been made to promote or even guarantee a broader and more open talent base. In 1944, the state education system was reorganized by the Education Act, which remained in force for many years.24 23

Nature, 151 (6 February 1943), 152–3.

24

650

Gosden, Education (note 16).

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century The plan developed in government circles in 1945, which provided for state-controlled expansion of the universities, failed however due to resistance from the Committee of Vice-Chancellors and Principals and the University Grants Committee, who stood in the way of any restriction by government of the universities’ autonomy. Nevertheless, the universities did declare that they were prepared, within the scope of their own autonomy, to double the number of graduates.25 This would gradually establish a broader education system and allow less class-specific training. Without totally giving up the ideal of liberal education, increasing efforts would be devoted to generally improving living standards and education, broadening the knowledge base and promoting better social and medical conditions. For its part, the University Grants Committee felt that ‘A heightened sense of social justice generated by the war has opened the door more widely than ever before’.26 This phenomenon was not peculiar to Great Britain: similar ideas and measures could be seen all across the Continent.27 At the end of the Second World War, the majority of British people had a clearer idea than ever before of what it was they expected of a modern civilized industrial society – decent living standards, income and health security, a taste of the modest luxuries of life: once the idea was defined it became in itself an agent of further change. In addition to this the war hastened the scientific, technological and economic processes which in themselves were transforming society. The ‘wireless’ had become a national property during the war in a way in which it had never been in the 1930s; television for the masses was on the way. After a few years, the National Health Service with new drugs at its disposal would be twice as effective in stamping out the diseases that had been a special affliction of the lower classes. The rapid expansion of light industry provided the economic base for a working class rather different from that which had worked and suffered in the traditional heavy industries.28 the countries occupied by the german army In f r a n c e the Langevin-Wallon committee commissioned by the provisional government to consider reform of the higher education system came up in 1944 with a similar model for the democratization and direction of higher education in France.29 Nevertheless, the system of education 25 26 27 28 29

G. L. Price, ‘The Expansion of British Universities and Their Struggle to Maintain Autonomy: 1943–46’, Minerva, 16, 3 (1978), 357–81. M. Maden, England and Wales, quoted in B. R. Clark (ed.), The School and the University (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1985), 81. See vol. IV, chapter 3. Quoted from Marwick, Britain in the Century of Total War (note 12), 322. G. Neave, ‘France’, in Clark (ed.), School and University (note 26).

651

Notker Hammerstein continued to differ greatly, both from the English system and from most of France’s continental neighbours. After the post-revolutionary reforms of the late Enlightenment period, particularly the Napoleonic Code, the French system of higher education had largely retained its idiosyncratic nature, despite repeated attempts to reform and improve it.30 Although the provincial universities were upgraded several times after 1905, Paris continued to be the main educational centre. The system also retained its centralized structure, standardized administration and dirigiste approach. The elites were educated in the faculties of law and medicine and in the prestigious, state-controlled grandes e´ coles with their rigid selection procedures. All higher education continued to have the function of training experts in particular fields, and it was considered sufficient simply to pass on the latest knowledge. The specialist e´ coles were just as good, or even better, at this task than the faculties. After the shock of losing the 1870/71 war, France endeavoured to make up its deficit in science compared to Germany.31 Student numbers were increased, although the traditional selection process which excluded broad sections of the population remained in place. Training for clearly delineated occupations and the education of the highest social strata were intended to ensure political stabilization and remained inherent in the system. With respect to both financial expenditure and student numbers per head of population, France continued to lag behind Germany.32 Victory in the First World War appeared to confirm the success of the reforms attempted during the 1880s and 1890s. France believed that it had caught up with, if not overtaken, Germany in science and engineering. However, although the French recognized the importance of modern science, they did not consider the innovation or far-reaching reforms that were still needed to be a political priority. Political polarization and the economic crises that started in the 1920s prevented any further efforts in this direction. Even in 1936, France’s investment in research was just one-fifth of the amount provided in Germany. Of course, this was because the value of research was generally underestimated in France. Vocational training and the passing on of knowledge were regarded as important, and the emphasis was placed on training specialists and engineers for the common good. Even in industry, France continued to eschew research, since it was felt to be cheaper and just as effective to adopt foreign patents, inventions and discoveries. Even the fact that many French scholars had experienced a different, more modern research and industrial 30 31

See, here and below, chapter 2. Charle, République des universitaires, 20ff.

652

32

Weisz, Emergence, 21ff.

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century environment while training in the United States did nothing to change this situation. When the National Socialists came to power in Germany, the French suddenly saw the need, particularly in the interests of national defence, to make up for the obvious lack of scientific research in many different fields. At the universities, however, such ideas were greeted with scepticism, even outright opposition. Many science faculties, where technical and applied sciences had managed to find a place, feared that they would become simply another arm of industry, particularly of the armaments industry.33 Freedom to carry out research, which was a very recent phenomenon in France, appeared to be in jeopardy. Thus, despite clear regulation and the predominance of Paris University, the country was surprisingly illprepared to meet the scientific needs of the war. The Centre national de la recherche scientifique appliquée was established in May 1938 as the central government steering body for all applied sciences. This was supplemented in October 1939 by another institution that was intended to collect data of all research of importance for the wellbeing and defence of the country’s future, and to include the various institutions for the promotion of fundamental research. This was known as the Centre national de la recherche scientifique. However, important biomedical, biological and bacteriological research continued to be monopolized by a private institute which, although it made a considerable contribution in these fields, was based outside the universities.34 Of course, this situation was not the cause of defeat by Hitler’s Germany, but it made many people aware of the urgent need for new approaches and reforms. In the past there had been much discussion, but no action. Naturally, the German invasion, the collapse of the French state and the occupation of Paris meant that any such plans failed in the first instance, although they could be tried out in the unoccupied part of France. Without clear direction from Paris, however, it was difficult to develop and even harder to implement such plans.35 Consequently, much remained at the discussion stage. The plans, which had been extensively discussed by the Résistance, could not be put into action until France had been liberated. The result was relatively drastic reforms, not least of which was that the importance of research was recognized by the universities, grandes e´ coles and industry, and attempts were made to establish research facilities. 33 34 35

Paul, Knowledge, 309ff. H. W. Paul and K. W. Schinn, ‘The Structure and State of Science in France’, Contemporary French Civilisation, 6 (1981/82), 153–92. J.-P. Rioux et al. (eds.), La vie culturelle dans Vichy (Brussels, 1990); L. Raphael, ‘Die ¨ unter deutscher Besatzung 1940–1944’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, Pariser Universitat 23 (1997), 507–34.

653

Notker Hammerstein In b e l g i u m a n d t h e n e t h e r l a n d s the situation was totally different.36 A Reichskommissar in the Netherlands and a military commander in Belgium were responsible for most internal matters, including the universities. As in France, the German occupation caused a rapprochement between the old conflicting ideas about education, with religious and secular educationalists on opposing sides. Initially, the Germans attempted to win the people of the Netherlands, the Dutch-speaking part of Belgium and Denmark, and later Norway as well, over to the German side by referring to their supposed common Germanic roots and through the false expectations raised by local collaborators.37 This proved to be an entirely incorrect assessment of the underlying opinion in those countries, and the universities, in particular, generally distanced themselves totally or remained completely hostile to the occupying power. Even the first measures targeted at removing all the Jews and ‘racially imperfect people’ from the civil service, and thus from the universities as well, met with determined opposition. Protest notes, student strikes and debates during lectures provoked the astonished Germans. The new masters attempted to exert their power with arrests, deportations and other oppressive measures. The Dutch universities, where there were very few adherents of National Socialism among the staff and students, remained for the most part negative or even openly anti-German. They did not resort to spectacular resistance in order to prevent closure of the universities, as occurred in Eastern and Central Europe. Occasional actions by the occupiers (in Leiden, Amsterdam and Tilburg) provoked largely covert operations and led to the creation of underground resistance groups.38 When, in 1941, Seyss-Inquart (1892–1946) introduced the leadership principle to replace the old city or provincial Boards of Directors, there was understandably no change in the negative attitude and certainly no attempt to move closer to the way German universities were organized. From 1942 onwards, many students were conscripted to work in Germany, which caused a further upsurge in opposition and resistance. Increasing numbers of Dutch scholars and students decided to join the ‘half-hidden’ resistance against the occupying power, which was naturally also directed against those of their compatriots who appeared friendly towards the Germans. 1943 saw a failed attempt to force the rebellious students on to the Germans’ side with a ‘declaration of loyalty’. With 36

37

38

G. Neave, ‘War and Educational Reconstruction in Belgium, France and the Netherlands’, in R. Lowe (ed.), Education and the Second World War (London and Washington, 1992), 84–127. ¨ sie grussen”. ¨ G. Simon, ‘“Ihr Mann ist tot und lasst Hans Ernst Schneider alias Schwerte im Dritten Reich’, Sprache und Literatur in Wissenschaft und Unterricht, 77 (1996), 82–114. E. G. Groeneveld, The Dutch Universities Between 1940 and 1945: Teachers and Students under German Occupation (Cracow 1979).

654

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century the exception of the Delft Technical College, where 25.6 per cent signed the declaration, the Dutch universities caused a spectacular failure of any policy of Germanization and were closed. The situation in Belgium was very similar. The University of Brussels was closed in 1942 because it refused to be used as a ‘Germanic stronghold against Latin Western Europe’. Louvain was originally allowed to remain an extraterritorial university, as it were, since it was run by the Catholic Church, although in later years its teaching was largely limited to theologians. Ghent, on the other hand, which was regarded by some Germans as the premier centre of Flemish science (as early as March 1941, Flemish was prescribed as the sole language of science!), proved to be as unenthusiastic about the planned Germanization as the Dutch institutions. Those who believed in a state education system and the adherents of an ecclesiastical system, although traditionally sworn enemies, declared a truce in the interests of an anti-German policy that would also ensure the future of the rising generation of academics and which would provide important experience for the post-war period.39 As in France with its Résistance, Belgium also had its resistance groups, some of which were associated with the government in exile, which appeared to promote less antagonistic reconstruction in the post-war period. The forced mobilization of Belgian students from November 1942 on (in the Service du Travail Obligatoire) led to the formation of active underground resistance groups, as in the Netherlands. Again mirroring events in the Netherlands, Belgium also saw the establishment of underground universities which attempted to increase student numbers, which the Nazis had intentionally kept low, in order to impart an independent, liberal education.40 In 1943 and increasingly in 1944, the continuing war and the lack of trained specialists and academics led to attempts to use Dutch scientists in the armaments industry and for research. The results were modest, and it was hard to find suitable people, not least because most Dutch academics were hostile to the Germans.41 This did mean, however, that the country gained some insight into the importance of academic training. 39

40

41

Neave, ‘War’ (note 36). See G. Hirschfeld, ‘Die nationalsozialistische Neuordnung ¨ ¨ ¨ Europas und die “Germanisierung” der westeuropaischen Universitaten’, in H. Konig et al. (eds.), Vertuschte Vergangenheit. Der Fall Schwerte und die NS-Vergangenheit der deutschen Hochschulen (Munich, 1997), 79–102. G. K. Panham, Contribution a` l’Histoire de la Résistance belge 1940–1944 (Brussels, 1971); A. Despy-Meyer, A. Dierkens and F. Scheelings (eds.), 5 novembre 1941. L’Université Libre de Bruxelles ferme ses portes (Brussels, 1991); W. Warmbrunn, The German Occupation of Belgium 1940–1944 (Frankfurt and New York, 1993). ¨ Leiden unter dem Nationalsozialismus’, Geschichte und G. Hirschfeld, ‘Die Universitat Gesellschaft, 23 (1997), 560–91; N. Hammerstein, Die Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft in der Weimarer Republik und im Dritten Reich 1920–1945 (Munich, 1999), 64–81.

655

Notker Hammerstein The pro-German scientists in both the Netherlands and Belgium were not only a tiny minority, they also reinforced the general anti-German attitude. It is likely that they only occasionally denounced anti-German views and persons to the German police authorities. Over time, this caused the centres of higher education to become centres of political resistance, although generally covert, which were not afraid to carry out attacks of their own. As already described for France and England, the discovery that internal conflicts must and could be overcome when fighting an external enemy continued beyond 1945. This is easy to understand given that, under German occupation, the universities were unable to carry out their own, far-reaching research. At the end of the war, there was a lot of catching up to do. In e a s t e r n a n d c e n t r a l e u r o p e the Germans’ action against academics and universities was even more drastic. In October 1938, Hitler issued a secret command ordering that the rest of Czechoslovakia be ‘finished off’. As a result, attempts were made to force education to go over to ‘Germanic’ principles to ensure the country’s permanent absorption into the German Reich.42 Preference was to be given to proGermans and those of German origins, and Czechs were to be permanently excluded from academic training. The German University in Prague was converted into a ‘National Socialist University’ as early as the winter term of 1938/39 (it would subsequently be incorporated into the group ¨ of Reichs-Universitaten) and was open above all to Germans from the Sudetenland and the Reich. In March 1939, a meeting attended by representatives of the German Science Ministry was held in Berlin to discuss the status of the ‘Protectorate’. There it was stated that all Czech institutions of higher education should be run as ‘German establishments’, i.e. subject to the rules of the Third Reich. At the start of the winter term in the same year, there was a series of arbitrary arrests of allegedly rebellious Czech students in Prague and Brno.43 The National Socialists thus started their systematic strategy to exterminate the country’s intelligentsia. All Czech universities and academies were closed (ten in all). The veterinary college in Brno, the agricultural institute and mining academy were allowed to train the necessary professionals to a limited extent. However, Czech applicants either had to support National Socialism or give up any hope of academic training and careers. The rest of Czechoslovakia was to be permanently Germanized, especially in its intellectual life according to the model of the Sudetenland. 42 43

D. Brandes, Die Tschechen unter deutschem Protektorat (Munich and Vienna, 1969), vol. I, 83ff. K. Litsch, ‘Die “Aktion vom 17. November” 1939 in Prag’, in B. Brentjes (ed.), Wissenschaft unter dem NS-Regime (Berlin, Bern, Frankfurt-am-Main and New York, 1992), 64–81.

656

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century The action against the Poles was even more cruel. On 6 November 1939, a wave of arrests taking in leading Polish academics took place at the Jagiellonian University of Cracow, causing consternation throughout the country.44 The aim of this Sonderaktion, which was organized and carried out by the SS and the Gestapo, was to eliminate the so-called Slavic intelligentsia. 183 Polish academics were sent to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp and it was only due to international solidarity that a few were rescued over the years. On the same day, academics and students were taken away and shot at the Catholic University of Lublin. The operation was repeated in September, and similar operations affected nearly every institution of higher education in the country. The German civil authorities also systematically destroyed a large number of laboratories and the lecture theatres in Cracow and other universities. In the meantime, ¨ the ‘alte Kampfer’, Hans Frank (1900–46; Hitler’s legal representative during the Weimar Republic and technical head of Nazi jurisprudence), took over as leader of the general government for the occupied Polish territories. Valuable instruments and materials were frequently stolen. The Polish Academy of Sciences was also required to close down. In April 1940, an ‘Institute for German Ostarbeit’ was established in Cracow, with offices at other locations. This was designed to place scientific training under German control throughout Central and Eastern Europe.45 In Cracow and other university towns in Eastern Europe, an underground university grew up, but not until 1942, since the Germans viewed any gathering of Poles as a potential threat. Contrary to the occupying power’s intention of restricting use of the Jagiellonian library to Germans, it became a lively, underground centre for learning and education which did not stop until the library was closed entirely and all the books were transferred to Germany in the summer of 1944. Characteristically, the areas of Poland occupied by the Soviets did not fare much better. The Soviet Union pursued similar plans to the ´ Nazi government and instituted measures in Lemberg (Lwow) and Vilnius to prevent academic teaching altogether. Although the teaching staff remained in post, the universities were converted to the Soviet model and downgraded to academies of lower rank beneath the Soviet academy. 44

45

¨ J. Hano, ‘Uber die “Sonderaktion Krakau” 1939’, in Brentjes (ed.), Wissenschaft ¨ (note 43), 38–63; M. Rossler, ‘Wissenschaft und Lebensraum’. Geographische Ostforschung im Nationalsozialismus (Berlin and Hamburg, 1990); J. August (ed.), Sonderaktion Krakau (Hamburg, 1997). ´ S. Gaweda, Uniwersytet Jagiello nski w okresie okupacji hitlerowskiej 1939–1945 (Warsaw and Cracow, 1979); C. Klessmann, Die Selbstbehauptung einer Nation. Nationalsozialistische Kulturpolitik und Polnische Widerstandsbewegung im General¨ gouvernement 1939–1945 (Dusseldorf, 1971); Brentjes (ed.), Wissenschaft (note 43), ´ 34; T. Wroblewska, Uniwersytety Rzeszy w Poznaniu, Pradze i Strassburgu jako model hitlerowskiej szkol y wy z˙ szej na terytoriach okupowanych (Torun, 1984).

657

Notker Hammerstein When the Germans conquered this area in 1941, they were initially welcomed as liberators. The Poles soon saw, however, that the Polish intelligentsia had an even worse enemy in Hans Frank. As he wrote in his diary, ‘No Pole should rise any further than a master craftsman and no Pole will have the opportunity of reaching higher education in a general government-run institute’.46 Thus, it was only in the underground that a few academics could attempt to gather students around them and give them a half-way adequate education. This worked to a certain extent, but could not replace a normal education. Nevertheless, it symbolized the unbroken will of the Polish intelligentsia to resist and assert the nation’s intellect, despite severe trials and considerable sacrifice. As the Germans advanced into the b a l k a n s and then into the s o v i e t u n i o n , they pursued a similar and sometimes even more radical occupation policy, and left desolation in their wake. d e n m a r k a n d n o r w a y were occupied as early as 1940 and had only limited freedom to pursue their own research and education policies. Professors and researchers, who had come of age in the German university tradition, and had adapted it with characteristic, but insignificant modifications, attempted to maintain Humboldt’s ideals even while their countries were being marched over by the German victors. As in the Netherlands and Belgium, the occupying forces initially attempted to play their trump card of common German ancestry and interests, but once again very few academics fell in with their views. Most kept their distance or expressed tacit resistance towards the occupiers. In December 1943, the University of Oslo was forcibly closed. 65 professors and 1,500 students were arrested, some only temporarily, and many were deported to Germany. Large numbers were sent to the Buchenwald concentration camp, whereas others, particularly the medical students, went to the SS training camp at Sennheim. The ‘Ahnenerbe’ (‘Ancestral Heritage’), the SS institute for scientific and scholarly studies, attempted to make up for the acute lack of up-and-coming scientists in Germany in this way and soon started to transfer numbers of Norwegian students from Buchenwald. 36 of these were even allowed to study in Freiburg. The training they received at Sennheim was given by lecturers from Strasburg and Freiburg and was, as Heinrich Himmler (1900–45) put it, intended to proceed ‘in a strictly scientific manner and without political tendencies’ in order to ‘illuminate our common German features’.47 46

47

´ Brentjes (ed.), Wissenschaft (note 43), 34; Wroblewska, Uniwersytet (note 45); C. Kleissmann and W. Diugoborski, ‘Nationalsozialistische Bildungspolitik und polnische Hochschulen 1939–1945’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 23 (1997), 535–59. ¨ S. Zimmermann, ‘Beruhrungspunkte zwischen dem KZ-Buchenwald und der Medizinis¨ ¨ der Universit ¨ Jena’, in C. Meinel and O. Voswinckel (eds.), Medizin, chen Fakultat at ¨ Naturwissenschaft, Technik und Nationalsozialismus. Kontinuitaten und Diskonti¨ nuitaten (Stuttgart, 1994), 54–61, here 59.

658

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century The main features of Nazi policy for universities in the occupied territories appeared relatively uniform and logically consistent. In neighbouring countries to the east, it followed the contemptuous doctrine described above of either bringing the intellectual elites to extinction or actively exterminating them. The universities were consequently treated badly. Areas to be assimilated into Germany, on the other hand, were to be Ger¨ ¨ manized in the long term with the aid of Reichs-Universit aten. They were established, first in Prague, and later in Poland and Strasburg, and staffed by professors with pronounced National Socialist views and run according to the local situation by the SS, the Gestapo, party officials, Alfred Rosenberg’s office or the military. In this respect, it would be wrong to speak of a uniform policy for universities during the Nazi dominance over Europe. neutral countries and states aligned with germany s p a i n a n d p o r t u g a l stood on the sidelines, relatively strong in themselves. They were not directly caught up in the war and retained their old policies for training and higher education with the support of authoritarian regimes. i t a l y , which was involved in the war, first as an ally and then as an enemy of the Third Reich, saw no need to change its higher education structures. The Fascist regime attempted to maintain its educational system, which was mainly orientated towards law and rhetoric. Although high-profile research received considerable support, it was not felt that it required institutional reform, particularly since the technical specialists were supported by industry. Other countries had been much more influenced by the German university tradition. These included fi n l a n d , which had first resisted and subsequently allied itself with Germany to fight the Soviet Union, and the neutral countries of s w e d e n and s w i t z e r l a n d . None of these states saw any reason to make changes to their systems of higher education and were pleased to see that Humboldt’s ideal of the university fared much better in the struggle for survival and in retaining independence from the state in their countries than was the case in Germany. germany During the Weimar Republic many German academics and universities emerged from international isolation. The situation appeared to return to normal, and scientific success, international exchanges, reciprocal study programmes and joint projects all pointed in this direction. The universities still generally regarded themselves as being at the forefront of international research and learning, particularly in the leading science of 659

Notker Hammerstein theoretical physics, in archaeology, many medical disciplines and in mathematics. They barely noticed that the United States had in the meantime more than made up for its previous deficits. Although the world economic crisis caused considerable upheavals, German professors imagined that, in their apolitical, specialist work, they could ignore such things since they had nothing to do with science. At most, the problems and insecurity reinforced the opinion of the majority of professors that a stronger state with capable leaders would be needed to overcome the uncertainties, chaos and lack of direction of that period.48 This mostly conservative and nationalistic consensus that reigned among the universities and their professors (the students were generally very radical) meant that when the National Socialists came to power, it was not regarded as a crucial event that would affect the course of academic research and teaching. When a series of dubious laws were passed in 1933 to force all ‘non-Aryans’ and many political opponents of the regime out of their jobs, even this was not viewed as reason for a general protest in the name of Mankind or Truth. Apart from a few honourable exceptions, the vast majority of German professors regarded it as an administrative measure that the state was entitled to take and which did not affect academic freedom or the existence of the universities.49 Then came the institutional changes: dissolution of the Senate, introduction of the ‘leadership principle’ by the government, appointment of rectors and deans with management remits, and political indoctrination by the Associations of National Socialist Lecturers or Students and other party organizations. Most found clever ways of getting around these measures and tried their best to ignore them as minor matters that did not really affect academic work. This was made much easier by the fact that scientific and scholarly learning and teaching were not affected by the authoritarian changes. The Nazi science policy was very limited in scope.50 Hitler and his henchmen had a profound mistrust of what they called ‘liberalistic’ scholars, the bourgeoisie and toffee-nosed academics who thought themselves superior. The Third Reich would not sweep to victory by the efforts of pale 48

49

50

D. Langewiesche and H.-E. Tenorth (eds.), Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. V: 1918–1945. Die Weimarer Republik und die nationalsozialistische Diktatur (Munich, 1989), particularly 209ff.; K. Sontheimer, ‘Die deutschen Hochschullehrer in der Zeit der Weimarer Republik’, in Schwabe, Deutsche Hochschullehrer, 215–24. H. Seier, ‘Die Hochschullehrerschaft im Dritten Reich’, in Schwabe, Deutsche Hochschullehrer, 247–96; H. Mommsen, Beamtentum im Dritten Reich (Stuttgart, 1966). ¨ Frankfurt am Main, vol. I, 171ff.; H. Seier, ‘Universitats¨ und Hammerstein, Universitat Hochschulpolitik im nationalsozialistischen Staat’, in K. Malettke (ed.), Der National¨ ¨ sozialismus an der Macht (Gottingen, 1984); M. Gruttner, ‘Wissenschaft’, in W. Benz ¨ et al. (eds.), Enzyklopadie des Nationalsozialismus (Munich, 1998), 135–53.

660

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century thinkers. It would take health and physical strength. This attitude made it possible to drive out internationally renowned and leading scholars on racial grounds. This loss of scientific expertise (human considerations no longer counted) appeared to be of no consequence. Without naming the innumerable emigrants – they numbered almost one-third of all the teaching staff at German universities – it is obvious that this was a massive misjudgement simply with respect to the practical benefits of theoretical knowledge and Germany’s standing and ability to survive. To replace these people by promoting German Physics or German Mathematics, as was the official party policy until the outbreak of the war, speaks volumes about this lack of understanding and the ideologically blinkered attitude of the new masters. It was not until the war that the party bosses and a few military leaders realized that they could not continue to neglect the sciences and its talented experts. Their eyes were opened far too late to help them, however.51 So-called National Socialist sciences, such as military studies, race studies, prehistory and ancient history, specific ethnology and, of course, a whole range of other disciplines of which the party approved because of the people teaching them (which were generally concerned with questions of public order, history, government and politics), repeatedly sprang up over the course of these twelve years. Where such subjects survived and proved viable, it was not because they were related to the crude National Socialist viewpoint, but because they fulfilled general scientific or scholarly requirements.52 In contrast to Marxism, which still claimed to be based on concrete scientific evidence and theory, Nazi ideology had never made such a claim. The hotchpotch of supposedly scientific, but hackneyed ideas was put together randomly and never resulted in a consistent and well-founded theory or world view. Since research could be carried out as usual (the restriction of student numbers and the slight tendency to promote new disciplines were no real obstacle), and since there were also some remarkable scientific successes, many professors were able to believe that the world of the university had remained largely untouched. When the Four-Year Plan was announced in 1936, it became clear to many leaders in government and the armed forces that it would be essential to support scientific projects and to extend and promote specialist areas that were of importance for conduct of the war and survival of the population during the war. Chemistry, in particular, benefited greatly from public support, since during the First World War it 51 52

Hammerstein, Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (note 41). P. Lundgreen (ed.), Wissenschaft im Dritten Reich (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1985); M. ¨ Stolleis and D. Simon (eds.), Rechtsgeschichte im Nationalsozialismus (Tubingen, 1989); Meinel and Voswinckel (eds.), Medizin (note 47); F. R. Hausmann, ‘Deutsche Geisteswissenschaft’ im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Die ‘Aktion Ritterbusch’ (1940–1945) (Dresden, 1998).

661

Notker Hammerstein had performed the tasks of keeping Germany as independent as possible of foreign supplies and developing alternatives for essential materials. Consequently, chemistry was the only discipline to maintain its leading role (even in comparison to other countries) during the Third Reich.53 In addition to chemistry, various branches of metallurgy, food science and agronomy were actively promoted, as was aeronautical engineering, ¨ under the aegis of Hermann Goring (1893–1946). This did not just involve the universities and Technische Hochschulen. Many of the research institutions that grew up during the late Empire period, including the KaiserWilhelm-Society,54 research projects carried out outside the universities and subsidised by the Notgemeinschaft der deutschen Wissenschaft (‘Emergency Organization for German Science’), which tended to call itself the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (German Research Society) from 1928 onwards, research institutes run by the Helmholtz Society and many industrial laboratories also participated. Scientific development continued along the traditional lines once much imitated abroad. Expert advisers were consulted and brought into new research projects, and a sort of democratic research consensus attempted to ensure quality, despite the strictures of Hitler’s dictatorship. The emphasis in many such projects was not merely placed on the necessities of war. In a traditional sense, scientists applied for funding for pure research to make the most of the political sources of finance in order to further their own research interests, rather than to develop inventions that would benefit and could be used by the military. To prevent German research developing along disparate lines, a ReichsForschungs-Rat was established in 1937 as part of the 1936 Four-Year Plan. It was designed to help the Science Ministry, which had been established in 1934, control centrally pure research on the basis of expert technical assessment and co-ordinate research in the applied sciences.55 That was the intention, at least. However, the many and conflicting interests of various branches of the military and the party concerning research policy prevented any clear picture emerging of the direction that should be taken. For example, all three armed services insisted on retaining their own research centres, even though most high-ranking officers held to the old tradition, according to which the military spirit is more important than material considerations. Officer cadets had to be educated in this spirit and that gave them a higher status than engineers and civilians. 53

54 55

L. Stern (ed.), Die Berliner Akademie der Wissenschaften in der Zeit des Imperialismus, vol. III: Die Jahre der faschistischen Diktatur 1933 bis 1945 (Berlin <East>, 1979); M. Renneberg and M. Walker (eds.), Science, Technology and National-Socialism (Cambridge, 1994). K. Macrakis, Surviving the Swastika: Scientific Research in Nazi Germany (New York and Oxford, 1993); Forschung im Spannungsfeld. Hammerstein, Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (note 41).

662

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century The many and diverse industrial research bodies also made it more difficult to co-ordinate research at the national level. The research carried out by industries associated with the IG-Farben-Industrie, the Vereinigte Stahlwerke (‘United Steel-processing Companies’), construction companies associated with Nazi housing policy, agricultural institutions and similar institutes was just as uncoordinated as that of the major scientific institutions. Since they were all required to maintain absolute secrecy about their work, they were unable to exchange information, a situation which not only affected the actual research: the same problem could be investigated twice or three times over at different research centres.56 One striking example of this confusion is the discovery of nuclear fission made by Otto Hahn and colleagues in December 1938. They reported on their discovery as early as January 1939. However, there was nobody who recognized its military potential and could co-ordinate its implementation and attempt to push ahead with the work. The considerable debate amongst pro-Nazi adherents of ‘German physics’, who rejected this discovery made by ‘Jew-tainted theoreticians’, stood in its way, as did the lack of interest from the leaders of the Reichs-Forschungs-Rat. Since the prominent physicists themselves were only interested in pure research, even they made no attempt to establish any kind of systematic German nuclear policy. With hindsight we find the increasing numbers of new civil servants, new offices and redistributed responsibilities quite astonishing, particularly since it totally fragmented research as a whole and made it ineffective for war purposes.57 This chaos characterized the working of the Reichs-Forschungs-Rat itself. Its inability to co-ordinate research led to the suicide in 1940 of its chairman, the artillery general and military scientist Karl Becker. He was ¨ unceremoniously replaced by Hermann Goring, who did not bother to apply the council’s control to the generously funded Luftwaffe research, for which he also had responsibility. Once again, the external appearance masked a lack of clear lines of responsibility and order. After the first Russian winter, it became all too obvious that the hopes of defeating the enemy with a single blitzkrieg were totally unrealistic and that Germany had a great deal of catching up to do in the fields of engineering and research. As a result, the important research bodies underwent yet another reorganization: priorities were established for the allocation of materials to industry, research institutes and universities and an office for wartime economy was established to co-ordinate this allocation and to guarantee 56

57

¨ K.-H. Ludwig, Technik und Ingenieure im Dritten Reich (Dusseldorf, 1974); Renneberg and Walker (eds.), Science (note 53); P. Speace Richards, ‘The Movement of Scientific Knowledge from and to Germany under NS’, Minerva, 28, 4 (1990), 401–25; M. Walker, Die Uran-Maschine. Mythos und Wirklichkeit der deutschen Atombombe (Berlin, 1990). Walker, Die Uran-Maschine.

663

Notker Hammerstein success. Nevertheless, there was still insufficient consultation, so the high hopes for this office came to nothing. This was greeted with astonishment by one of the British and American investigating officers who reported on the German academic scientists and the war in August 1945: ‘In these last years all researches had to be approved, many of them were helped by special grants and those adjudged highest priority could get special apparatus and material quickly. Many marked highest priority had not the slightest war application.’ The same report characterized the general situation in German research as follows: ‘The average German scientist was indifferent to politics, a phenomenon not unknown in more civilized countries. What is, however, more difficult for us to understand is their almost fanatical zeal for pure research which put them in a world quite apart.’58 Thus the Reichs-Forschungs-Rat, after further reorganization in 1942, did not succeed in achieving its objective. The obvious deficits in the scientific and technical fields gave it no other choice but to continuously pump in money in an attempt to nurture the highly ineffective research system. In 1943, Werner Osenberg (1900–72), a teacher at the Hanover Technical College who was close to the government, established a planning office which collated information in card files in the hope of deploying scientists and engineers more systematically and effectively. In the course of ¨ these efforts, the Fuhrer issued a decree releasing the 15,000 engineers, laboratory technicians and academics involved from military service, not without considerable resistance from the generals and other officers. However, even this measure could not make up for the lack of trained scientists which had developed in the meantime, so in 1944 a recruitment office was established to rapidly train and deploy new scientists and engineers. The measures taken in this context included the use of foreign academics (even taken from the concentration camps) to make up for the deficits in certain disciplines. This was just tinkering at the edges of the problem, however, not least because the party, government and military leaders ultimately assumed that brilliant discoveries and inventions could be thought up by individual brilliant researchers. American research, on the other hand, which was carried out in groups of scientists who worked together in departments and shared their results in a constant exchange of information, continued to be viewed as unscientific, un-German and not least as not particularly promising. Thus the leaders of the Third Reich placed all their hopes on the imaginary brilliant inventors who had started to develop the Wunderwaffen, the wonder-weapons that would determine 58

Major E. W. B. Gill, ‘German Academic Scientists and the War’, Paper, Control Com¨ Zeitmission for Germany, 28 August 1945. Irving Papers. Archive of the Institut fur geschichte Munich.

664

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century the outcome of the war. Soon even the very word seemed to highlight the illusory nature of this hope. However, it was followed up by another decree which stated that, after 1944, only a few important scientific developments would be supported. At the head of the list was the tank industry, although the new models could not even be used owing to lack of fuel, let alone see their development completed. The leading military officers and the Nazi party as a whole who, for many years, had underestimated the importance of systematic support for research and functioning universities, had no time to correct their mistake. This situation can be highlighted by comparing developments in Germany with work carried out at the same time in the United States of America. In 1944, the Reichs-Forschungs-Rat handed out 3.6 million marks in grants, the USA 400 million dollars. In the field of radio frequency engineering, American funding was ten times the German level, and in refrigeration – the freezing of foods – Germany achieved just 4 per cent of American capacity. The situation was similar in many other fields.59 The enemies of Hitler’s Germany were convinced that the seemingly monolithic system of the Nazi state had developed a well-organized research policy. The internal obligation to secrecy described above made it very difficult to gain an overview of German research efforts through espionage. Given Germany’s earlier position in the scientific world, which was confirmed when Hahn split the atom, the Allies expected that preparations for building the atom bomb would be well advanced. The same applied to biological warfare, since no one could know that Hitler (due to his own experiences in the First World War) permitted practically no research into the field of gas warfare and had no intention of using it.60 Characteristically, Himmler went behind Hitler’s back in an attempt to push such research forward. Himmler and his SS, which had its own science department in the ‘Ahnenerbe’, attempted in 1944 to assume responsibility for the sciences and engineering so as to be able better to tackle the difficulties that were increasingly coming to light. Nothing came of the initial attempts and on their own they remained insignificant, not least because the SS would release imprisoned scientists – generally mathematicians and chemists – for war research only with extreme reluctance, and certainly had no intention of improving their living conditions. Equally unsuccessful were the efforts, which also started in 1944, of the all-powerful German War and Economic Minister, Albert Speer, to promote scientific 59 60

¨ Figures taken from Ludwig, Technik (note 56), 258–9; K. Zierold, Forschungsforderung in drei Epochen (Wiesbaden, 1968), 263. G. W. Gellermann, Der Krieg, der nicht stattfand (Koblenz, 1986), 208ff.; B. J. Bernstein, ‘America’s Biological Warfare Program in the Second World War’, The Journal of Strategic Studies, 11 (1988), 292–317.

665

Notker Hammerstein research for war applications. The intensifying bombing raids and the Allies’ advance prevented German scientists from finding the hoped-for miraculous discovery that would decide the outcome of the war. The intellectual position of the universities was even more seriously damaged because the academic elite lost sight of its own objectives – the search for truth, personal integrity and promotion of humanity. After 1945, one-third of all researchers and teachers had to be laid off because of their involvement in the work of the Third Reich. There were very few old, untainted scholars left from the Weimar Republic: one-third had been expelled or killed and a further third was discounted on age grounds. Thus it was left to a comparatively young and untrained team of academics to lead the way during the period of reconstruction after 1946/47. Germany, German science and German as the language of science had all lost their leading position in the scientific community. t h e s ov i e t u n i o n Conditions in the Soviet Union were quite different. The reorganization of the universities and research which took place shortly after the Revolution had appointed the Soviet Academy of Sciences to administer and co-ordinate these functions. Universities were used more to provide a general academic training, rather than carrying out research in competition with one another. Central planning as required by Marxism and, as it was thought, scientifically applied standardizing procedures would guarantee relative uniformity, even at the outbreak of war, which would stretch the country’s resources to the limit. Of course, this also led to situations in which the party sanctioned outlandish theories and thus acted as an obstacle to meaningful experiments and discoveries. The Germans’ invasion of Russia provided the Western Allies with a new partner which, at least at the start, they supported with their scientific and technical achievements. Particularly in Great Britain, people were happy to make recent scientific discoveries accessible to the Soviet Academy of Science. It was not until the later stages of the war that the passing on of new research results was officially forbidden, although it could not be prevented altogether. Given its strictly centralized planning, the Soviet Union also developed its own systematic and precisely tailored research strategy, which allowed extraordinary concentration and targeting in the use of all research and material resources. The emphasis of Soviet research (apart from the social sciences) lay in the fields of biology, physics, mathematics and chemistry. The need to apply the results of research in defending the state against Nazi Germany not only raised the social standing of the scientists, but also guaranteed the Soviet Union a link to developments in the more advanced countries of the capitalist 666

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century West in many fields. Since technical and social progress were placed on an even footing, it was also possible to establish closer links between theory and practice. Indeed, scientific Marxism had the aim of securing better material living standards for people and building (future) humanity on solid foundations through the application of technology and planning. the united states of america At the time war broke out, the higher education system, which had been built to the specification of the Prussian model linking research and teaching, determined the intellectual education and research carried out in the USA.61 In 1940, war in Europe led to the establishment of a National Committee on Education. Its task was, as a precautionary measure, to consider the possible effects of entry into the war on the education system, such as the consequences of drafting students and professors on the teaching and financial resources of the largely private colleges and universities.62 In general, education and research at the universities continued along customary lines, and in many disciplines they were on an equal footing with or even ahead of the European universities. As in Great Britain and Italy, but in contrast to Germany or France, the American universities also taught technical disciplines. The Americans had no problems pursuing and promoting the practical applications of the connections and possibilities identified in pure research, which reaped considerable benefits, particularly in the field of atomic research. Since their faculties were made up of broadly based departments, rather than institutes associated with a particular chair, researchers could easily be brought together to work on common tasks. The co-operation between the universities and the army in the field of war research was again much more efficient than in Germany. In July 1941, the American Government, on the advice of key scholars and science organizers, established the Office of Scientific Research and Development (OSRD), giving it responsibility for all research in the natural sciences and any other disciplines that might be of importance for the war. The individual disciplines were run by sub-committees. The most important sub-committee was the National Defense Research Committee (NDRC) chaired by the President of Harvard University, James B. Conant (1893–1978). This maintained close contacts with the army, industry and with all the university research centres in the country. The Medical 61 62

See chapter 6; E. Shils, ‘The Order of Learning in the United States from 1865 to 1920: The Ascendancy of the Universities’, Minerva, 16, 2 (1978), 159–95. D. D. Henry, Challenges Past, Challenges Present: An Analysis of American Higher Education since 1930 (San Francisco, Washington and London, 1975), 38ff.

667

Notker Hammerstein Research Committee (CMR) and the Joint Committee on New Weapons and Equipment (JNW) supplemented the comparatively quick and efficient organization of research in colleges, industry and the military for the war effort.63 One striking example of this organization was the successful, but soon after 1945 controversial, development of atomic weapons. In early 1942, after further examination by the Heereswaffenamt (Armed forces arms office), Germany abandoned the atomic project (which had never been run officially), deeming it to be of no relevance for the outcome of the war, and left the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society to carry out pure research on the subject.64 In August of the same year, Roosevelt transferred the ‘Manhattan Project’ to the responsibility of the American army. Under the leadership of General Groves, atomic research at the University of Chicago and the University of California at Berkeley was co-ordinated with the development of uranium and plutonium in Oak Ridge and Hanford so efficiently, that atom bombs were produced at Los Alamos and were successfully tested at Alamogordo on 16 July 1945. Even in more esoteric fields, this disciplined and targeted organization resulted in considerable progress. The need to carry out quality control in the natural sciences and engineering and to solve production problems even gave an additional boost to statistics. The same applied to mathematics which, together with cybernetics, gave impetus to the technological and social revolution of the information society. The intensely fought war in far-flung corners of the globe led to increased study of the European and Asian mentality and history and, as a result, the American universities also rose to lead the world in the cultural and social sciences and the humanities. postscript Describing the situation in various countries highlights the immense significance of scientific research at, and in association with, the universities during the Second World War. As no war before it, this war was total and spared no field of human activity, not even research and science. It was ‘the war of science’ and, in this respect, the European university system that had grown up since the High Middle Ages experienced a triumphant victory over all other forms of scientific activity attempted outside the universities during the Second World War. As a result, increasing consideration was given to the significance of education for the good of the 63 64

K. T. Kompton, ‘Organisation of American Scientists for the War’, Nature, 151 (29 May 1943), 601–6. ¨ Zeitgeschichte, M. Walker, ‘Legenden um die deutsche Atombombe’, Vierteljahrshefte fur 38 (1990), 45–74.

668

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century state and, even during the war, the British Government was inspired to reorganize the education system with its Education Act of 1944. It also caused the French Government in exile in Algiers, at university conferences with students and teachers held in other countries, to consider the measures and reforms that would enable the universities to rise to new challenges at the end of the war. Only official Nazi policy went another way under the delusion that it would be able either to force the intelligentsia of the ‘New Europe’ over to the German side or, quite simply, to put an end to higher education for the local people, particularly in Central and Eastern Europe. Total war had caught up every group of the population in many countries, and its effects were much deeper and more far-reaching than those of the First World War. Both soldiers at the front and civilians at home experienced a new sense of community. It was only because they were willing to go to one another’s aid and provide dependable support that the risks associated with Nazi rule were overcome at all. These experiences, which went far beyond those of the First World War, created a mental willingness to cross or bypass the old social barriers or to dismantle them altogether. Anyone who was prepared to lay down his life in defence of a free and better world, would be entitled to claim that world for himself after the war. More precisely, it should be possible to create a new education system, of comparable quality to the one enjoyed by the upper classes. The experience of war positively forced a new debate about the education systems in individual countries and gave convincing arguments to those in favour of a general and broadly based system. In contrast to the discussions that took place during the nineteenth century, it would also require consideration to be given to political responsibility for research. The relevance of research was considered to promote the dignity and self-importance of every human being, and was not to be kept in an ivory tower. The extraordinary success of the applied sciences gradually overcame the old prejudice of the supposed superiority of theoretical science over applied research. Even during the First World War, it was seen that a too sharp division and assessment of scientific disciplines and procedures did not do justice to reality or morality. The crucial new inventions and many alternative materials, improved transportation, and the mighty potential for destruction that culminated in the atom bomb and even space travel, taught people during and after the Second World War just what far-reaching and lasting effects scientific research could have on modern life. Mass production combined with planning would henceforth be the guarantee of a better and more humane world. In some respects, this appears to be the culmination of the triumphant progress of the natural sciences, which had started in the mid-nineteenth 669

Notker Hammerstein century. Although initially viewed with distrust and regarded as peripheral by the other sciences, the natural sciences and many medical disciplines earned increasingly high esteem. Thus mathematics, physics, biology, chemistry and other such fields were recognized as the new leading sciences and gradually drove the sciences of antiquity – history and philosophy – to the sidelines. And some of the humanities, which promised through planning and scientific methods to be able to analyze and shape both the present and the future, such as sociology, psychology and certain forms of economics, were also recognized as sciences to a certain degree. Nationalism, which also started in the nineteenth century and experienced its first, dreadful upsurge during the First World War, culminated in the Nazi reign of terror during the Second. Its horrifying excesses, which went many times beyond the imagination of civilized Europe in the twentieth century, encouraged examination of the need for a new world order which would enable people to live together in a world less marked by national differences. Many different forms of world order were discussed, but the basic conviction harked back to the classical ideal of a res publica litteraria, this time open to as many people as possible – if not all. It also reflected the experience of a new commonality, which was regarded as self-evident by those who had taken part in the war. Just as understandably and characteristically, intellectuals and academics often demonstrated this unity of purpose with reference to the model of the Soviet Union, i.e. a state system that was supposedly founded on scientific leadership and planning. Even during the war, the Western side often discussed whether the USSR, which usually kept its scientific discoveries to itself, would reinforce this behaviour in the conviction that it was excluded, and would thus have to prepare and arm itself for a new and final world war. Experience of the excesses of nationalism did not give rise to demands to iron out national differences concerning education and the universities, or even eliminate them altogether. However, the conviction that increasing numbers of people should be able to participate in academic training and research created a modified type of university teacher and student. The distinguished, bourgeois professor gradually gave way to an older and more experienced partner, who was confident in both laboratory and seminar. In their clothing and habits, both teachers and students started to imitate their American role models. Even during the war, increasing numbers of women were allowed into higher education, largely out of need. And the general experience that intelligence was not the sole province of a specific class or nationality meant that social differences became less important in the universities and research institutions after 1945. Thus

670

Epilogue: Universities and war in the twentieth century the way was opened up for the university of the masses, a path that would be travelled by almost every country. To conclude, experiences during the war showed that the survival of any country could only be guaranteed through co-ordination and reliable planning. This encouraged the conviction that already existed within the natural sciences that scientific planning was the magic ingredient. This appeared irrefutable, and not just for large-scale research. It was felt that planning should be applied across the board in education and research to the benefit of mankind. Good planning could and would create a framework enabling as many people as possible – if not all – to experience for themselves and understand the blessings of modern science. It was many years before people realized that the planning of science and research, which had been essential and successful during the war, in peacetime could prevent the development of free ideas and could stifle freedom and creativity. But this is a subject for the next and final volume. select bibliography Brentjes, B. (ed.) Wissenschaft unter dem NS-Regime, Berlin, Bern, Frankfurt-amMain and New York, 1992. Charle, C. La République des universitaires (1870–1940), Paris, 1994. Charle, C. (ed.) Les Universités germaniques, XIXe–XXe siècles, Paris, 1994. Clark, B. R. (ed.) The School and the University, Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1985. ¨ Gruttner, M. Studenten im Dritten Reich, Paderborn, Munich, Vienna and Zurich, 1995. Hammerstein, N. Die Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft in der Weimarer Republik und im Dritten Reich 1920–1945, Munich, 1999. Heilbron, John L. The Dilemma of an Upright Man: Max Planck as Spokesman for German Science, Berkeley, 1986. Henry, D. D. Challenges Past, Challenges Present: An Analysis of American Higher Education since 1930, San Francisco, Washington and London, 1975. Langewiesche, D. and Tenorth, H.-E. (eds.) Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. V: 1918–1945. Die Weimarer Republik und die nationalsozialistische Diktatur, Munich, 1989. Lowe, R. (ed.) Education and the Second World War, London and Washington, 1992. Lundgreen, P. (ed.) Wissenschaft im Dritten Reich, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1985. Marwick, A. Britain in the Century of Total War, London, Sydney and Toronto, 1968. McCulloch, G. Philosophers and Kings: Education for Leadership in Modern England, Cambridge, 1991. ¨ Nipperdey, T. Deutsche Geschichte, vol. I: Arbeitswelt und Burgergeist, Munich, 1983.

671

Notker Hammerstein Deutsche Geschichte, vol. II: Machtstaat vor der Demokratie, 3rd edn, Munich, 1995. Norrback, M. and Ranki, K. (eds.) University and Nation: The University and the Making of the Nations in Northern Europe in the 19th and 20th Centuries, Helsinki, 1996. Panham, G. K. Contribution a` l’Histoire de la Résistance belge 1940–1944, Brussels, 1971. Renneberg, M. and Walker, M. (eds.) Science, Technology and National-Socialism, Cambridge, 1994. Ringer, F. K. The Decline of the German Mandarins: The German Academic Community, 1890–1933, Cambridge, Mass., 1969. Schwabe, K. (ed.) Deutsche Hochschullehrer als Elite, 1815–1945, Deutsche ¨ Fuhrungsgeschichten in der Neuzeit 17, Boppard am Rhein, 1988. Wallace, S. War and the Image of Germany: British Academics 1914–1918, Edinburgh, 1988. Warmbrunn, W. The German Occupation of Belgium 1940–1944, Frankfurt and New York, 1993. Weisz, G. The Emergence of Modern Universities in France, 1863–1940, Princeton, 1983.

672

EUROPEAN UNIVERSITIES AND SIMILAR INSTITUTIONS IN E X I S T E N C E B E T W E E N 1812 A N D T H E E N D O F 1944: A CHRONOLOGICAL LIST


The following list1 shows in chronological order of their foundation: (1) All universities in existence (even briefly) between 1812 and the end of 1944; universities are regarded as comprising all institutions of higher education founded or recognized as universities by the public authorities of their territory and authorized to confer academic degrees in more than one discipline. For this reason British colleges which prepared students for academic degrees granted by the University of London are not included. For universities founded before 1800, see volume II for their institutional development before the nineteenth century. In as much as information is available, changes after 1800 in the organization of the traditional four faculties are listed. (2) Other important institutions of higher learning, such as technical, commercial, ecclesiastical and other specialized academies, which 1

List prepared by Ulrich Herrmann, Bochum and the editor, on the basis of J´ılek, Historical Compendium, initiated by the Editorial Board as a preparatory handbook for the History of the University in Europe and published by the CRE; Minerva, Jahrbuch der gelehrten Welt, 1 (1891–92)–33 (1938). For the history and constitution of individual universities before 1892 see also vol. II (1892–93), until 1910 Minerva, Handbuch der gelehrten Welt, vol. I. Strasbourg, 1911. Information on some countries or universities was gra¨ ¨ ciously checked and completed by Rudiger vom Bruch (Berlin), M. Kohler (Cologne), Eva¨ Maria Felschow (Giessen), Ulrich Hunger (Gottingen), Anna Guagnini (Bologna), Daniela Novarese (Messina), Gian Paolo Brizzi (Perugia), Giuliana Limiti (Rome), Agostino Sottili (Milan), Carlo Bo (Urbino), Wladimir Wladimirowitsch Zacharaow (Russia), José Luis Peset and Mariano Peset (Spain).

673

¨ Walter Ruegg were in existence during this period and which did not become part of a university. The right to confer academic degrees applies only partially to this category, with some institutions conferring no academic degrees at all, such as the French grandes e´ coles, and others obtaining this right later on in their existence. They are included in this list if they were recognized by the public authorities of their territory as scientific institutions of higher learning open only to secondary graduates (with the exception of priest academies). In some countries they received the title of universities; but they appear in the list of universities only if they include besides their specialities at least one other classical faculty. Soviet institutions of higher learning other than universities are only listed in the context of partial or complete dissolution of universities. The foundation date is taken from the date on which the public authorities recognized the status of a university or of another institution of higher learning. The alphabetical list helps to identify quickly all institutions of higher learning in the chronological list. The following abbreviations will be used for common academic and other items: agr.: agriculture; c.: century; cat.: category; Cath.: Catholic; chem.: chemistry; e´ c.: e´ cole <de>; eco.: economics (and commerce); eng.: engineering; ev.: evangelical; f.: founded; fac.: faculty , facolta` , faculté <de(s)>; Hon.: Honours; inst.: institute ; math.: mathematics; med.: medicine; min.: mining; orth.: orthodox; pharm.: pharmacy; phil.: arts and sciences; philos.: philosophy; pol.: political sciences; prép.: préparatoire; Prot.: Protestant; sc.: sciences; sch.: school ; tech.: technology, engineering; theol.: theology, théologie; Univ.: ¨ Universitat, ¨ University , Universidad, Universidade, Universita, Université, Universiteit; vet.: veterinary medicine universities ` Nazionale 1802. Regia 1805. BOLOGNA (end 12 c.). Univ. <ersita> Pontificia 1815. Closed 1831/32, 1849–53, remaining board of examinations. Univ. prim’ordine 1859/60 (cat. A 19233 ). Fac. philos. and philology (lettere e filosofia 1868), law, math. (scienze fisiche, matematiche et naturali 1868), med. and surgery, 1859, incorporating th

2 3

2

Abbreviations will be used for common academic and other terms. All universita` di prim’ordine/cat. A had four basic faculties: philosophy and philology (lettere e filosofia from 1868 on), law, medicine and surgery, mathematics (scienze fisiche, matematiche e naturali from 1868 on).

674

A chronological list as fac. sch. pharm. (f. 1824), vet. (f. 1851) 1933,4 eng. (f. 1877), agri. (f. 1903), industrial chem. (f. 1921) 1935, inst. eco. and commerce (f. 1929), 1937.5 ´ PARIS (beginning 13th c.). Suppressed (like all French univ.) 1793. Ec. santé 1795. Fac. lettres, sciences, droit, méd., théol. Cath., théol. Prot. 1806 (both theol. fac. suppressed 1885). Loi Liard, re-establishing univ. as corps des fac. (like all French univ.) 1896. OXFORD (beginning 13th c.). Reforms promoted by recommendations of Royal Commissions and Acts of Parliament 1852–54, 1877, 1919. Establishment or re-establishment of six colleges (four for women), 1871–93. Ruskin College for working men f. 1899, granting Univ. diploma in eco. and pol. First mixed college (Nuffield) f. 1937. Hon. Sch. of natural sc., 1850. ´ santé 1795, pharm. 1803, droit MONTPELLIER (beginning 13th c.). Ec. 1804. Fac. méd., lettres 1808 (closed 1815, reopened 1838), sc. 1808. CAMBRIDGE (1209–25). Reforms, promoted by Royal Commissions and Acts of Parliament 1850/52, 1919. Establishment of four colleges (two for women), 1800–1923. Natural sc. Tripos 1848. SALAMANCA (1218/1219). Reformed by Ley Moyano. Fac. filosof´ıa y letras, law, 1857, sc., med. 1903.6 PADUA (1222). Univ. prim’ordine 1866 (cat. A 1923). Fac. pol. sc. 1924, pharm. 1933, eng. (inst. f. 1875) 1935. NAPLES (1224). Reorganized 1806–12. Univ prim’ordine 1861 (cat. A 1923), incorporating as fac. sch. pharm., vet. (f. 1795), eng. (f. 1868), inst. architecture (f. 1923), agr. (f. 1872 in Portici), eco. and commerce 1935. ´ droit 1804, méd. 1808 (éc. prép. méd. et pharm. TOULOUSE (1233). Ec. 1849, fac. 1891). Fac. théol. (suppressed 1885), lettres, sciences 1808. ´ vet. 1826. Ec. ORLEANS (around 1235). Fac. lettres 1808. Suppressed 1815. SIENA (1246). Suppressed 1808. Reopened 1814. Merged with Univ. Pisa as Univ. di Granducato di Toscana 1851–59. Univ. second’ordine 1862 (cat. B 1923). Fac. law, med. and surgery, sch. pharm. (fac. 1933). VALLADOLID (end 13th c.). Fac. law, med., letras y filosof´ıa (prep. studies for law) 1857, sc. (prep. studies for med.) 1857. 4 5 6

R. Decreto 21 August 1933 n. 1592, transforming into fac. all sch. pharm. and vet. R. Decreti 20 June 1935 n. 1071, 28 November 1935 n. 2044, 7 May 1936 n. 882, transforming into fac. the other sch. and inst. ˜ Peset, Universidad Espanola, 461–90. For the distribution of faculties among the ten ˜ ‘L’Université espagnole a` la Spanish universities in existence after 1845 see J.-L. Guerena, ˜ E.-M. fin du XIXe siècle. Approche sociologique du corps professoral’, in J.-L. Guerena, Fell, J.-R. Aymes (eds.), L’Université en Espagne et en Amérique latine du Moyen-Age a` nos jours, vol. I: Structures et acteurs, Actes du colloque de Tours 12–14 janvier 1990 (Tours, 1991), 227–9.

675

¨ Walter Ruegg LISBON (1290). Sch. surgery 1825, med. and surgery, pharm. 1836. Poly´ technic 1837, liberal arts studies 1858. Univ. Classica de Lisboa, fac. med., arts, sciences (including polytechnic), sch. pharm. 1911, fac. law, sch. teacher training 1913 (transformed into dep. education of arts fac. 1930). ROME, studium urbis (1303). Closed 1799. Reopened 1801. Univ. prim’ordine 1872, incorporating as fac. sch. pol. sc. (f. 1924) 1925, pharm. 1933, statistics, demography, inst. architecture (f. 1919), teacher training (f. 1873), eng. (f. 1817). Divided into fac. of civil and industrial eng., mining, aeronautics 1935. COIMBRA (1308). Fac. theol. suppressed, med. reorganized, arts, sciences, sch. pharm. 1911. PERUGIA (1308). Univ. Pontificia 1824. Libera Univ., fac. law, med. and surgery, physical, natural and math. sciences 1863 (suppressed 1885), sch. pharm., vet. 18957 (both fac. 1933), inst. agr. 1896 (fac. 1935). State univ. (cat. B). Fascist fac. pol. sc. 1928.8 ´ droit 1804. Fac. lettres 1808, sc. 1811, méd. GRENOBLE (1339). Ec. 1820. PISA (1343). Accademia within Univ. impériale 1808. Univ. 1814. Merged with univ. Siena as Univ. di Granducato di Toscana 1851. State univ. 1859. Prim’ordine 1862 (cat. A 1923). Incorporating as fac. sch. pharm. vet. med. 1933, inst. agr. (f. 1840), eng. 1935. PRAGUE (1348). Divided 1882 into German Karl-Ferdinand-Univ. (Deutsche Univ. 1920, Reichsuniv. 1939, suppressed 1945), and Ceska´ univ. Karlo-Ferdinandova (Karlova 1920), closed 1939–45. FLORENCE (1349). Transferred to Pisa 1472. Regio Istituto di studi superiori pratici e di perfezionamento, dep. philosophy, physical sc., med. and surgery, sch. pharm. 1859. Univ. (cat. A 1923/24). Integrating as fac. sch. pharm. 1933, eco. and commerce, inst. teacher training (f. 1862), agr. (f. 1913), architecture (f. 1926) 1935, social and pol. sc. 1938. HUESCA (1354). Closed 1808–14. Suppressed definitively 1845. PAVIA (1361). Suppressed 1791–96. Re-established without theol. fac. 1802/03. Inst. surveyors, engineers and architects incorporated 1840. Fac. sc. 1847. Univ. suppressed 1848–51. State univ. prim’ordine 1859. Sch. pharm. (fac. 1933). Fac. pol. sc. 1926. CRACOW (1364/1400). Closed 1795. Reopened 1802/09. Uniwersytet Jagiellonski 1815. Philos. fac undivided until 1939, including dep. education, pharm. 1920, Slavonic studies 1923, physical education and nursing in med. fac. 1923, fac. agr. 1923. Univ. suppressed, deportation 7 8

G. Ermini, Storia della Universita` di Perugia (Bologna, 1947), 610–22. P. Orano, ‘La Facolta` Fascista di Scienze Politiche’, in Regia Universita` degli studi di Perugia (Rome, 1937), XV, 24–5.

676

A chronological list of 183 professors in concentration camps 1939. Five underground fac. attended by c. 800 students 1942–44. VIENNA (1365). Fac. Prot. theol. 1819. Univ. reorganized according to Prussian univ. model 1848–51. Philos. fac. undivided until 1975. ERFURT (1379). Studium generale 1379. Closure of the univ. 1816. HEIDELBERG (1385). Ruperto-Carola 1803. Fac. Cath. theol. transferred to Freiburg 1807, fac. sciences and math. 1890. COLOGNE (1388). Suppressed 1798. Handelshochschule (Trade ¨ academy) 1901. Academy for practical med. 1904. Hochschule fur kommunale und soziale Verwaltung (College for local administration and social work) 1912. Municipal univ. recognized by the state 1919. Fac. eco. and soc. sc., med., law, philos., the latter undivided until 1955. FERRARA (1391). Suppressed 1804. Univ. Pontificia 1812. Libera Univ. 1860. Fac. law, med. and surgery (closed 1923, first two-year courses reopened 1937), mathematical, physical, natural sc., sch. pharm. 1860 (fac. 1933). State univ. 1942. ´ any ´ Péter univ. 1920. Transfer of fac. eco. to BUDAPEST (1395). Pazm Technical Univ. 1934. ¨ ¨ 1802. Fac. law and WURZBURG (1402). Julius-Maximilian-Universitat med. transferred from Bamberg 1803, philos. fac. divided into sections of philol. and hist., sciences and math. 1873 (fac. philos., fac. sciences 1937). TURIN (1404). Suppressed 1792. Re-established 1800. Closed 1821–23 and 1830–48. Univ. prim’ordine 1862 (cat. A 1923). Incorporating as fac. sch. pharm., vet. med. (f. 1860) 1933, inst. eco. and commerce (f. 1906), agr., teacher training 1935. ´ med. in Marseille. Fac. théol. in Aix AIX-EN-PROVENCE (1409). Ec. 1808 (suppressed 1885), lettres, droit in Aix 1846, sc. in Marseille 1854. Univ. d’Aix-Marseille 1896. LEIPZIG (1409). Reorganized 1830. Vet. academy Dresden incorporated as fac. 1923, philos. fac. divided into dep. philology and history, math. and sc. 1925. SAINT ANDREWS (1411). Incorporation of Univ. College Dundee (f. 1881) 1897. PARMA (1414). Suppressed 1831–54. Univ. second’ordine 1860. Prim’ordine, fac. law, med. and surgery, math. and sc. (suppressed 1923), 1887 (cat. B 1923). Incorporating sch. pharm., vet. as fac. 1933. ROSTOCK (1419). Fac. law and eco. 1923. Undivided philos. fac. until 1945. LOUVAIN/LEUVEN (1425). Suppressed 1797. State univ. 1816. Suppressed 1835. Cath. univ. in Malines 1834. Transferred to Louvain 1835. ´ droit 1804, méd 1806. Fac. lettres 1808 (supPOITIERS (1431). Ec. pressed 1815, re-established 1854), sc. 1854. 677

¨ Walter Ruegg CAEN (1432). Ec. droit 1804 (fac. 1808). Fac. méd., sc., lettres 1808. BORDEAUX (1441). Ec. méd. 1807. Fac. théol 1808 (suppressed 1885), sc., lettres 1838, droit 1870, méd. et pharm. 1874. CATANIA (1444). Univ. second’ordine 1862. Prim’ordine 1877 (cat. B 1923). Incorporating as fac. sch. pharm., inst. eco. and commerce (f. 1919) 1935. BARCELONA (1450). Re-established 1837. Fac. letras y filosof´ıa, law, math. and sc., med., pharm. 1857. GLASGOW (1451). Reformed by The Univ. (Scotland) Acts 1858 and 1889, degree of Bachelor of Sc. 1872. Queen Margaret College for the Higher Education of Women 1883. Chair in naval architecture 1885, in German language and literature 1887. Fac. sc. 1889. Chairs in modern history, pathology 1893, political eco. 1896, Scottish hist. and lit. 1913. GREIFSWALD (1456). Under Swedish administration 1637–1815. Prussian univ., philos. fac. undivided until 1945. FREIBURG IM BREISGAU (1457). Cath. theol. fac. transferred from Heidelberg 1807. Alberto-Ludoviciana 1818. Fac. sc. and math. 1910. BASLE (1459). Philos. fac. divided into philos.–historical and philos.– scientific sections 1866 (both fac. 1937). POSZONY/PRESSBURG/BRATISLAVA (1465). Queen Elizabeth Univ. 1912. Fac. law 1914, med. 1917, philos. 1918. Transferred to Budapest and Pécs, in Bratislava Komenski (Comenius) Univ. 1919. Fac. med. 1919, law, philos. 1921. Slovak Univ. 1939 incorporating fac. Prot. theol. (f. as Lyzeum 1606, theol. Acad. 1881, autonomous state fac. 1934), fac. Cath. theol (f. 1936), sc. 1940. GENOA (1471). Closed 1821–23, 1830–35. Univ. second’ordine 1862. Prim’ordine 1885 (cat. A 1923). Incorporating as fac. sch. pharm. 1933, inst. eng. (f. 1871), eco. and commerce (f. 1884) 1935. SARAGOSSA (1474). Fac. med. suppressed 1843. Re-established 1876. Theol. 1854, suppressed 1868, letras y filosof´ıa, law 1857, sc. 1887. COPENHAGEN (1475). Fac. sc. 1850. ¨ TUBINGEN (1476). Incorporation of Cath. Univ. Ellwangen (f. 1812) as Cath. theol. fac. 1817. First establishment in Germany of fac. sc. (1863), and eco. (1882). UPPSALA (1477). Fac. arts divided into sections of liberal arts and sc. 1876. ¨ SIGUENZA (1489). Closed 1807. Definitively suppressed 1824. ABERDEEN (1495). King’s College (f. 1505), Marischal College (f. 1593). United as Univ. of Aberdeen 1860. Fac. arts, divinity, law, med. 1889, sc. 1894. ´ DE HENARES (1499). Transferred to Madrid 1836/37. ALCALA VALENCIA (1500). Closed 1810–12. Fac. letras y filosof´ıa (prep. studies for law), sc., law, med. 1857. 678

A chronological list WITTENBERG (1502). Transferred to Halle 1817. SEVILLA (1505). Fac. theol. 1854 (suppressed 1868), law, med. (in Cadix), letras y filosof´ıa 1857. TOLEDO (1521). Suppressed 1807, last fac. suppressed 1857. SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA (1526). Fac. theol. 1854, suppressed 1868, law, med. and pharm., letras y filosof´ıa (prep. studies for law), sc. (idem for med.) 1857. ¨ 1920. Philos. fac. undivided MARBURG (1527). Philipps-Universitat until 1964. GRANADA (1531). Fac. law, pharm., med., letras y filosof´ıa (including science section 1857), associating sch. Arabic studies 1932. MACERATA (1540), Univ. Pontificia. Second’ ordine 1824 (cat. B 1923). Fac. theol. 1860, sc., vet. 1862, all fac. except law suppressed 1880. ˜ ONATE (1540). Suppressed 1807. Re-established 1815. Definitively suppressed 1842. ¨ ¨ (Albertina) 1860. Fac. sc. KONIGSBERG (1544). Albertus Universitat 1938. Univ. suppressed 1944. MESSINA (1548). Suppressed 1679. Collegio Carolino (for nobles) granted right to confer doctoral degrees in philos. and theol. 1789. Univ. status 1838. Second’ordine 1862. Prima classe 1885 (cat. B). Fac. philos. suppressed 1923. Incorporating as fac. inst. pharm. 1933, vet., teacher training (f. 1920), 1936. OSUNA (1548). Suppressed 1807. Re-established 1814. Ceased to exist 1820. ORIHUELA (1552). Suppressed 1807. Re-established 1815. Ceased to exist 1824. BURGO DE OSMA (1555). Suppressed 1807. Definitively suppressed 1841. ROME Gregoriana (1556). Suppressed 1773. Re-established 1824. Fac. canon law. 1876. Schola Superior Litterarum Latinarum 1924, associating Inst. Biblicum (f. 1909), Inst. Orientale (f. 1917) 1928, fac. missiologia, church history 1932. MILANO (1556). Accademia scientifico-letteraria 1859. Univ. (cat. A 1924), incorporating as fac. sch. vet. (f. 1891), agr. (f. 1880) 1935. ¨ ¨ JENA (1558). Sachsische Gesamtuniv. 1815. Thuringische Landesuniv. 1920. Fac. math. and sc. 1924. Friedrich-Schiller Univ. 1934. DOUAI (1559). Fac. lettres 1808 (suppressed 1815, re-established 1854), droit 1865. Both transferred to Lille 1887. OLOMOUC (1570). Lyzeum 1782. Univ. 1827. Gradual closure. Theol. fac. turned into independent institution 1851/60, ‘fac. Cyril and Methodius’ (Cyrilometodejka´ fakulta) 1921. OVIEDO (1574). Fac. law, letras y filosof´ıa (prep. studies) 1857, sc. and math. sch. pol., soc. sc. 1895, letras y filosof´ıa (autonomous fac.) 1899. 679

¨ Walter Ruegg LEIDEN (1575). Incorporated into the Univ. impériale (fac. math. and sc.) 1811. Rijks Hoogeschool 1815. Rijks Univ. 1876. PALERMO (1578). Univ prim’ordine 1862 (cat. A 1923). Integrating as fac. sch. pharm. 1933, inst. eng. (f. 1860) eco. and commerce 1935. WILNA/VILNIUS (1578). Cesarski uniwersitet imine Aleksandra I 1803. Suppressed 1832 (fac. theol., med. continuing to exist as academies, transferred to Kiev 1840). Polish Stephan Batorego Univ. fac. humanities, theol., law, social sc., med., art 1919. Suppressed 1939. EDINBURGH (1582/83). Fac. divinity, law, med., arts, science, music 1896, amalgamation fac. divinity and New College (f. 1848 by the Free Church of Scotland) 1929, Heriot-Watt College (f. as Edinburgh School of Arts and Mechanics Institute 1821, renamed Watt Institution and Sch. Arts 1854, amalgamated with the George Heriot’s Hospital and renamed Heriot-Watt College 1885, granted rank of ‘central institution’ with classes in art, trade, technical subjects, mining, printing, mycology 1902), affiliated as associated college 1933. FERMO (1585). In decline in the 2nd part of 18th c. Re-established as Univ. Pontificia 1804/1816. Univ. second’ordine 1824. Suppressed 1826. Chairs in civil, criminal and canon law in existence until 1860. FRANEKER (1585). Suppressed 1811. Rijks Athenaeum 1815. Closed 1843. GRAZ (1585/86). Lyzeum 1782. Univ. 1827. Fac. med. 1863, theol. fac. suppressed 1939, philos. fac. undivided until 1975. ESCORIAL (1587). Suppressed 1837. Colegio de Estudios Superiores Maria Cristina 1892. Closed 1931–44. DUBLIN Trinity College (1592). Associating the Church of Ireland Training College 1921/22. CAGLIARI (1606). Univ. second’ordine 1862. Fac. law., med. and surgery, math. and sc., sch. pharm. (fac. 1933). Prim’ordine 1902 (cat. A). Fac. filos. e lettere 1923. GIESSEN (1607). Fac. Cath. theol. 1830–59, philos. fac. divided into two sections (Abteilungen) 1: philos., philology, history, art history, 2: math., sc., eco., each section chaired by a dean, but holding common fac. meetings 1922. GRONINGEN (1612). Incorporated into Univ. impériale (fac. math. and science) 1811. Suppressed 1813. Rijks Hoogeschool 1815. Rijksuniversiteit 1876. PADERBORN (1614/16). Suppressed 1818. SASSARI (1617). Univ. second’ordine. Fac. law, med. and surgery, sch. pharm. (fac. 1933) 1877. Prim’ordine 1901 (cat. B 1923). Fac. vet. 1934. SALZBURG (1619). Fac. med. 1804. Lyzeum 1810. Fac. theol. 1850. Closed 1938. 680

A chronological list ´ santé 1795. Protestant seminary 1801. Ec. ´ STRASBOURG (1621). Ec. pharm. 1803, droit 1804, fac. droit, lettres, sc., théol. protestante 1808. Kaiser-Wilhelms-Univ. 1871/2. Fac. math. and sc., Cath. theol. 1903. Univ. de Strasbourg 1919. Fac. pharm. 1921. Univ. transferred to Clermont-Ferrand. Replaced by German univ. 1940–44. ¨ MUNSTER (1629). Theol. -philos. Academy for teacher training 1818. ¨ Univ. rights 1827. Univ., fac. law and eco. 1902. Westfalische WilhelmsUniv. 1907. Fac. ev.-theol. 1914, med. 1925, philos. fac. remaining undivided until 1948. DORPAT/TARTU (1632). Suppressed 1710. Only German-speaking univ. in Russia 1802. Inst. education 1820–59. Philos. fac divided into Hist. -philol. and Physico-math. Fak. 1850. ‘Russification’ of the univ. 1893. Evacuation to Voronez 1918. Estonian univ., fac. theol., med., law, math. and sc., agr., vet. 1919. ´ secondaire within Univ. impériale 1811. Rijks UTRECHT (1636). Ec. Hoogeschool, fac. math. and sc. 1815. Rijksuniv. 1876, fac. vet. (sch. f. 1820, univ. status 1917) 1925. ˚ HELSINGFORS/HELSINKI (1640). Swedish Academia Aboensis 1640. Imperial univ. 1811. Transferred to the new capital Helsingfors 1828. Philos. fac. divided into sections of humanities and of sc. and math., each section chaired by a dean 1852, section of eco. and agr. 1896 (fac. agr. and forestry 1924), fac. soc. and pol. sc. 1944. KIEL (1665). Prussian Christian-Alberts-Univ. 1867. Staatswissenschaftliches Seminar (seminary of eco.) 1899. Transformed into Inst. ¨ Weltwirtschaft (Inst. world economy) 1914. Inst. maritime studies fur 1937. Both associated with univ. Philos. fac. undivided until 1963. ´ LEMBERG/LWOW (1661). Suppressed 1805. (Austrian) Universitas Francisci 1817. Fac. med. 1894. (Polish) John Casimir Univ. 1919. (Soviet) Univ. J. Franko 1944. INNSBRUCK (1668). Fac. med. 1869, science 1938. LUND (1668). Philos. fac. divided into sections of humanities, math. and sc. 1876. URBINO (1671). Univ. Pontificia second’ordine 1824. Libera Univ. Provinciale 1862. Fac. law, physics and math. (suppressed 1894), sch. pharm. (fac. 1934), midwifery 1892 (dissolved 1923). Univ. libera 1923. Fac. teacher training 1937. ´ méd. 1806. Fac. théol. (suppressed 1885), sc., BESANC ¸ ON (1691). Ec. ´ prép. méd. et pharm. 1843. lettres 1808. Ec. HALLE (1693). Closed 1806–08. Univ. Halle-Wittenberg 1817. Fac. sc. (including agr. and pharm.) 1924. BRESLAU/WROCLAW (1702). Incorporating Univ. Frankfurt an der ¨ 1910. Fac. sc. Oder 1811. Schlesische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universitat 1937. 681

¨ Walter Ruegg DIJON (1722). Ec. droit 1806 (fac. 1808). Fac. lettres, sc. 1808, fac. prép. méd. et pharm. 1843. ST PETERSBURG/PETROGRAD/LENINGRAD Academic Univ. (1724). Imperial Univ. Fac. history and philology, physics and math., law 1819, oriental languages 1854. Main teacher-training college incorporated 1859. Univ. closed 1861–62. Petrograd Univ. 1914. State Univ. 1919/20. Fac. soc. sc. (including dep. archaeology and art history, linguistics and literature, social education, law, eco.) and physico-mathematics (including dep. math. and astronomy, physics and astrophysics, chem., biology), workers fac. (Rabfac.) 1920. Temporary dissolution of univ. into disciplinary institutes 1930–32. Restoration of univ., fac. math. and mechanics, physics, chem., biology, geology and geography, history 1934.9 Univ. evacuated to Saratov 1944. CAMERINO (1727). Suppressed 1808. Univ. Pontifical State 1816. Di second’ordine 1824. Libera Univ. 1861. Fac. law, med. and surgery (suppressed 1923). Incorporating sch. pharm. as fac. chem. and pharm., sch. vet. as fac. 1933. ¨ GOTTINGEN (1737). Incorporating Univ. Helmstedt 1809. GeorgAugust-Univ. 1866. Fac. math. and sc. 1922. ERLANGEN (1743). Friedrich Alexander Univ. 1900. Fac. sc. 1927. MOSCOW (1755). Imperial Univ., fac. history and philology, physics and math., law, med. 1804. Inst. education 1804–59. Moscow First State Univ. fac. med., physics and math., social sc., Rabfac. (the first in Soviet Russia, integrating Schanjawskij People’s Univ., f. 1908) 1919/20. Fac. med. converted into Inst. Med. I. M. Secenova 1930. Univ. re-established. Fac. like St Petersburg 1934. ´ méd. NANCY (1768). Fac. lettres 1802 (closed 1815, reopened 1854). Ec. ´ 1809 (fac. 1872), Ec. nationale des eaux et forêts 1824. Fac. sc. 1854. Inst. colonial 1862. Fac. droit 1864. MODENA (1772/73). Suppressed 1796. Re-established 1814. Univ. second’ordine, fac. law, med. and surgery, physical, math. natural sc. 1862, sch. pharm., 1876 (fac. 1933), vet. 1878–1924 (cat. B 1923).10 ´ méd. 1803, droit 1806. Fac. lettres 1808 (closed RENNES (1803). Ec. 1815–38), sc. 1840. KASAN (1804). Imperial Univ. Fac. like Moscow 1804. Inst. education 1812–59. Kazanskij (later State) Univ. Fac. like Moscow 1918. W. I. Lenin Univ. 1930. Univ. dissolved. into Inst. med., chem. -techn. 1930, eco., law 1931, airplane construction 1932. Univ. re-established, fac. biology, geology, physics and math., chem. 1934. 9 10

In 1919–20 Rabfac. (workers fac. ) were introduced in all univ.; in 1930–31 all univ. were dissolved into separate disciplinary inst., but in 1932–33 restored (without med. fac.). C. G. Mor and P. di Pietro, Storia dell’Universita` di Modena (Florence, 1975), vol. I, 169–75.

682

A chronological list CHARKOV (1804). Imperial Univ. Fac. like Moscow 1805. Inst. education 1811–59. State Univ. 1918. Univ. dissolved into inst. education, med., pharm. 1932/33. Re-established, fac. physics and math., chem., geology, geography, biology, eco. 1934. State Univ. A. M. Gorkogo 1944. ´ méd. 1805. Fac. lettres 1808 (closed CLERMONT-FERRAND (1805). Ec. ´ 1815–53), sc. 1854. Ec. droit 1913. Inst. chimie et technologie indusˆ trielle (f. 1911 at Puy de Dome) 1920 (incorporated into fac. sc. 1930). LYON (1808). Fac. théol. 1808 (suppressed 1885), lettres, sc. 1808 (both ´ méd. 1808 (fac 1874). Fac. droit 1875. closed 1815–33). Ec. ROUEN (1808). Fac. lettres 1808 (closed 1815), théol. 1808 (suppressed ´ méd. 1821, e´ c. prépar. sc. et lettres 1854. 1885). Ec. BERLIN (1810). Friedrich-Wilhelms-Univ. 1810. Sch. agr. (f. 1806, Hochschule 1881) and sch. vet. (f. 1790, Hochschule 1887). Incorporated as fac. agr. and vet. 1934. Divided into two fac., math. and sc. fac. 1936. LJUBLJANA (1810) Univ. de Laibach within Univ. Impériale 1810. Suppressed 1813. Univ. Kingdom Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia 1919. CHRISTIANIA/OSLO (1811). Fac. history and philos., math. and sc. 1860. WARSAW (1816). Main school, renamed Royal Univ. Fac. theol., law and public administration, med., philos., fine arts 1817. Closed 1831. Warsaw Main School 1862. Imperial Univ., fac. like Moscow 1869. Closed 1905–08. (Polish) Univ. 1915. Fac. Cath. theol. 1918, Prot. theol. Dep. Orth. theol. 1922, Fac. humanities, math. and physical sc., pharm., vet. 1926 (dep. 1920). Univ. closed 1939, c. 300 underground lectures for c. 4,000 students. ` LIEGE (1816). F. by the Dutch king. Fac. philos. and lettres, law, med., sc. 1816. (Belgian) Univ. 1835. ´ génie civil et d’arts et manuGHENT (1816/17). Until 1835 like Liège. Ec. factures 1835, teacher training 1847. Univ. suppressed 1914–19. Flemish Van Bissig Univ. 1916–18. Flemish inst. agr. 1920. Univ. teaching bilingual 1923, Flemish 1930. ´ méd. 1817. Fac. sc. 1854, Fac. mixte méd. et pharm. LILLE (1817). Ec. 1875. Fac. droit et lettres transferred from Douai to Lille 1887. BONN (1818). Maxische Akademie 1777. Closed 1798. Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Univ. 1818. Landwirtschaftliche Hochschule Poppelsdorf (teacher-training college 1847, academy of agr. 1861) incorporated as fac. agr. 1934. Fac. math. and sc. 1936. CORFU (1823). Ionian Academy. Fac. theol., med. 1823 (closed 1828– 43). Sch. education of priests 1828. Fac. civil eng. 1837 (closed 1857), pharm. 1841. Academy suppressed following the incorporation of Corfu into Greece 1864. 683

¨ Walter Ruegg MUNICH (1826). Univ. Ingolstadt transferred to Landshut 1800, to Munich 1826. Philos. fac. divided into sections of philos., philology and history, of math. and sc. 1865 (fac. philos. sc. 1937), fac. vet. (academy f. 1790) 1914. DURHAM (1832). Univ. College. Chairs theol., math. Greek opened 1833. College med. and surgery in Newcastle-upon-Tyne (f. 1832) incorporated as Medical Sch. 1852. Durham College physical sc. 1871, known since 1904 as Armstrong College (both affiliated to become King’s College 1937). Fac. commerce 1913. Ph.D. degree 1918. ZURICH (1833). Reformed theol. academy 1525. Chairs in ethics and sc. 1558, in Swiss history and politics 1715. Inst. med. and surgery 1802. Political inst. 1806. Univ. 1833. Philos. fac. divided into sections of philos., philol. and hist., of math. and sc. 1859 (fac. philos. I and II 1902), fac. vet. med. 1902. BERN (1834). Reformed theol. academy 1528. Political inst. 1787, inst. med. 1797. Academy 1805. Univ. 1834. Philos. fac. divided into sections of philol. and hist., math. and sc. (fac. 1921), fac. (old) Cath. theol. (following the declaration of papal infallibility) 1874, fac. vet. 1900. BRUSSELS Free University (1834). Univ. libre de Bruxelles f. by Freethinkers and Freemasons reacting against the re-establishment of the ´ Cath. univ. in Louvain. Fac. philos. et lettres, droit, sc., méd. 1834. Ec. ´ pharm. 1842. Fac. sc. appliquées 1873. Ec. sc. politiques 1889. Inst. physiologie 1894, sociologie 1901. KIEV (1834). Theol. academy 1632. Gymnasium in Kremenec 1805. Lyzeum 1818. Transferred to Kiev 1832. Imperial Univ. St Vladimir. Fac. hist. and philos., law, chairs in Greek and Roman Cath. theol. 1834. Inst. education 1834–59. Univ. closed 1839–40. Academy med. and surgery Vilna incorporated as fac. 1842. Univ. replaced by Inst. med., law, Inst. for People’s Education with fac. for workers providing professional instruction, social education (separate inst. 1930), 1920. Ukrainian state univ. 1934. LONDON (1836). Univ. College 1826. King’s College 1828. Univ. London, f. 1836 by Royal charter as examining institution conferring degrees in art, law and med. 1836, enlarged by many colleges, schools and institutes according to the University of London Act 1898. MADRID (1836). Univ. Alcala´ de Henares. Transferred to Madrid as Univ. ˜ 1836. Fac. theol. 1854 (suppressed 1868), letras y central de Espana filosof´ıa, law, sc., med., pharm. 1857. Monopolizing (until 1970) right to confer doctoral degrees. ATHENS (1837). Sch. pharm., philological seminar 1841/42. Fac. math. and physical sc. (including pharm.) 1904. BELFAST (1845). Belfast Academical Institution 1814. Med. fac. 1835. Queen’s College chartered 1845, opened 1849, associated with colleges 684

A chronological list at Cork and Galway in the Queen’s Univ. of Ireland 1850. Constituent college of Royal Univ. of Ireland (RUI), a purely examining body in 1879. Replacing Queen’s Univ. 1882. RUI replaced by National Univ. of Ireland, Queen’s College constituent member of re-established Queen’s Univ. 1908/09. Fac. sc. 1909, commerce, applied science and technology 1921, agr. 1924, theol. 1926. Sch. dentistry 1920. MANCHESTER (1851). Owens College 1851, incorporating Manchester Sch. of Med. 1872. Constituent college (1880) together with colleges in Liverpool (1884) and Leeds (1887) of Victoria Univ. Chair in education (the first in any English univ.). College 1899 (fac. 1914). Victoria Univ. of Manchester without associated colleges 1903, but incorporating Owens College 1904. Fac. arts, science, law, med., music, theol., commerce. DUBLIN (1854). Royal College of St Patrick in Maynooth (theol. seminary) 1795. Cath. Univ. of Ireland, f. in Dublin, with John Henry Newman as Rector 1854, as Univ. College Dublin constituent college of RUI 1882 (see Belfast). IASI (1860). Academy 1640. Academia Mihaileana 1835. Univ., fac. law, Orth. theol. (suppressed 1864), philos. and lettres, sc. 1860, med. ´ 1879, agr. 1932 (the latter transferred to the Ecole polytechnique 1937). BUCHAREST (1864). Academy in St Sava 1694. Collège national de Saint-Sava 1818. Univ., fac. droit, philos. et lettres 1864, med. 1869, Orth. theol. 1884, vet. 1921, pharm. 1923. ODESSA (1864). Lycée Richelieu, f. by Tsar Alexander I (also Duc de Richelieu) 1817. Imperial Univ. of New Russia, fac. history and philos., math. and sc. 1864, med. 1897 (autonomous inst. 1920). Univ. replaced by Inst. People’s Education, Fac. professional instruction, social education 1920. Dissolved in inst. 1930. State Univ. reopened, Fac. biology, chem., physics and math. 1933, geology and geography, history and philology 1940. AGRAM/ZAGREB (1869). Jesuit Academy 1669. Regia Scientiarum Academia 1776. Franz-Joseph I-Univ. 1869. Fac. law and eco., Cath. theol., philos. 1874. Univ. Kingdom of Serbia, Croatia and Slovenia, fac. med., agr. and forestry, vet., technol., philos., the latter divided into a section of philos. and history and a section of math. and sc. 1919. GENEVA (1872). Académie de Genève 1559, divided into fac. théol., lettres, droit, sc. with graduation rights 1809. Univ. 1872. Fac. med., 1874, eco. and soc. sc. 1914. Institut universitaire des hautes e´ tudes ´ de traduction et d’ interprétation 1942. internationales 1927. Ec. KOLOSVAR/CLUJ (1872). Unitary college 1556. Jesuit college 1581. Interdenominational college 1776. (Hungarian) Franz Joseph-Univ., 685

¨ Walter Ruegg fac. law and eco., philos., math. and sc., med. (sch. 1775) 1872. Transferred to Szeged. (Romanian) Univ. Victor Babes 1919. CZERNOWITZ (1875). Franz-Josefs-Univ., fac. theol., law and eco., philos., math and sc. 1875. Univ. suppressed 1918. (Romanian) Univ. 1919–40. ANGERS (1875). Fac. libres, droit 1875, lettres 1876, sc. 1877, theol. 1879. Univ. cathol. de l’Ouest 1896. LILLE (1875). Fac. libres, lettres, sc., med., law 1875. Univ. cathol., fac. theol., pharm. 1877, fac. catholiques 1880. LYON (1875). Fac. libres, law 1875, théol. cathol., lettres, sc. 1876, théol. 1878, canon law 1933, philos. 1935. PARIS (1875). Fac. libres (Institut cathol. 1880), law, lettres, sc. 1876, theol. 1878, philos. canon law 1895. TOULOUSE (1877). Institut cathol. 1877. Fac. libre, lettres 1878. Fac. ´ sc. 1882. canoniques, théol., philos. et droit 1879. Ec. ´ AMSTERDAM (1877). Athenaeum illustre amstelodamense 1632. Ec. secondaire de l’ Univ. impériale 1811. Municipal Academy with univ. status, without graduation rights. Fac. math. and sc. 1815. Full univ. status 1877. Fac. commercial sc. 1922 (eco. 1935). STOCKHOLM (1877). Public lectures 1863. Private Stockholms hoegskola, chairs math., sc. 1877. Examination rights 1904. Fac. math. and sc., law and eco. 1906, humanities 1919. TOMSK (1878). Opened, fac. med. 1888, law 1898, history and philology, physics and math. 1917. History and philology suppressed, law separated as inst. and transferred to Irkutsk 1921. Divided into inst. med. 1930, education 1931. Univ. re-established, fac. physics and math., biology, chem., geology and geography 1934. AMSTERDAM Free University (1880). Fac. arts, theol., law 1880. Degrees legally recognized 1905. Fac. math. and sc. 1930. LlVERPOOL (1881). Private foundation of Univ. College, integrating as fac. Liverpool Sch. Med. and incorporated by royal charter 1881. Constituent college of Victoria Univ. (Manchester) 1884. dep. law, fisheries laboratory 1892, sch. architecture 1895, dep. secondary education 1899. Univ. awarding degrees in arts, sc., med., law, eng., surgery, architecture incorporated 1903. FRIBOURG (1889). Chair in civil law 1763. Académie de droit 1818. Fac. de droit 1882. Univ. 1889. Fac. law, philos. 1889, Cath. theol. (controlled by Dominicans) 1890. sc. 1896. LAUSANNE (1890). Reformed theol. Academy 1537. Fac. lettres, sc., law, theol. 1837. Sch. eng. (f. 1853) incorporated as technol. fac. 1869. ´ sc. sociales et politiques 1901, Inst. police Univ., fac. med. 1890. Ec. ´ de hautes e´ tudes supérieures commerciales 1911, scientifique, 1909, Ec.

686

A chronological list all sch. and inst. associated to fac. law, the first becoming independent 1930. CARDIFF (1893). Univ. of Wales, an organization located in Cardiff, consisting of Colleges of Wales in Aberystwyth (f. 1872), North Wales in Bangor (f. 1884), South Wales and Monmouthshire in Cardiff (f. 1884). Univ. College Swansea 1920. Welsh National Sch. Med. (Cardiff) 1931. BIRMINGHAM (1900). Birmingham Royal Sch. Med. and Surgery 1828, incorporated as Queens College 1842, integrating Sydenham College 1886, united with Mason Science College (f. by Sir Joseph Mason 1875), incorporated as Mason Univ. College 1898. Univ. Birmingham 1900. Ph.D. degree 1917. ¨ unun-i ¨ ISTANBUL (1900). Madrassa 14xx, Darulf Osmani (House of Sci¨ unun-i ¨ ence), 1863. Suppressed 1871. Imperial Univ. (Darulf Sultani) 1874 lectures in law, given in French. Closed 1881. Imperial Univ. ¨ unun-i ¨ (Darulf Shahane), dep. theol., arts, math., sc., philology 1900. ¨ ununu), ¨ Istanbul Univ. (Istanbul Darulf fac. law, med., arts, sc. 1924, Islamic theol. 1925. Reorganized without the latter 1933. NOTTINGHAM (1903). Cambridge Univ. extension lectures introduced 1873 into the People’s College (f. 1798). Anonymous grant for a building donated 1875. Univ. College Nottingham f. 1881, incorporated 1903. LEEDS (1904). Yorkshire College of Science 1874. Yorkshire College (including chairs in arts) 1878, merged 1884 with Leeds Sch. Med. (f. 1831). Constituent college of Victoria Univ. in Manchester 1887. Univ. dep. fuel and metallurgy 1906. Hon. sch. law 1920. SANTANDER (1904). Seminar (SJ) donated by Marqués de Comillas for training of Latin-American priests 1890. Univ. pontificia Comillas 1904. Reorganized 1935. Fac. philos., theol. and canon law. SOFIA (1904). Higher School, dep. history and philology, math. and physics 1889, law 1892 (fac. 1894). Univ. status 1904. Fac. med. 1918, agr. 1921, theol., vet. 1923. SHEFFIELD (1905). Merger of Sheffield Sch. Med. 1828, Firth College 1879, Sheffield Technical Sch. 1884 into Univ. College 1897. Incorporated as Univ., fac. arts, pure science, med., applied science, architecture, education 1905. BELGRADE (1905). Sch. of teacher training 1808. Lyzeum 1838. College level, chairs in philos., law, technical sc. 1863. Univ. status 1905. Univ. Kingdom of Serbia, Croatia and Slovenia, fac. philos., law, SerboOrthodox theol., agr., med. 1919. ROME Institutum Pontificum Internationale ‘Angelicum’ (1908). Collegio di San Tommaso 1580. Fac. theol. with graduation rights for external students 1727, fac. philos. 1892, canon law 1896. Univ. status 1908.

687

¨ Walter Ruegg BRISTOL (1909). Merger of Bristol Medical Sch. (f. 1833) and Univ. College (f. 1876), 1893. Univ., fac. arts, science, eng., med. 1909, law 1933. ˆ NEUCHATEL (1909). Academy, f. by Frederick William III, King of Prusˆ 1838. Suppressed 1848. Re-established by sia and Prince of Neuchatel the canton, fac. law, lettres, sc. 1866, reformed theol. 1873, medical prep. studies 1896. Univ. 1909. SARATOW (1909). Imperial Nikolai-Univ., med. fac. 1909. Saratow State Univ., fac. med., edu., soc. sc., law (suppressed 1924), eco. (suppressed 1926) 1920. Univ. divided into inst. med., law, education, eco. and finance, soviet development, planning, technol. 1930/31. Univ. reestablished, fac. biology, chem., physics and math., geology 1934. REYKJAVIK (1911). Theol. seminary 1847, med. sch. 1876. Univ. Iceland, fac. theol., law, med., philos. 1911. PORTO (1911). Sch. navigation 1762, Royal sch. eng. and navigation 1779, Royal navy and commercial academy 1805, sch. surgery 1825, pharm., med. 1836. Academia Politecnica 1837. Universidade do Porto 1911. Philos. 1918 (suppressed 1925). DEBRECZEN (1912). Calvinist College 1538. Stefan Tisza Univ., fac. theol., law, philos. 1912. FRANKFURT AM MAIN (1914). Academy of soc. and commercial sc., f. by Wilhelm Merton 1901. Merged with Senckenberg med. and science insts. (f. 18th c.), into autonomous Univ., recognized by the Prussian State, fac. law, med., philos., sc., eco. and soc. sc. 1914. JohannWolfgang-Goethe-Univ. 1932. MURCIA (1915). Ineffective suppression 1929. ROSTOV ON THE DON (1915). Don University for students and teachers evacuated from Warsaw 1915. Don State Univ., fac. edu. (including physics and math.), soc. sc. (including law and eco.), med. 1920. Univ. divided into inst. med., eco. and finance, edu. 1930/31. Re-established, fac. geology, physics and math., chem., biology, evacuated to Osch (Khirgizia) 1942. Returned to Rostov 1944. Å BO (TURKU) (1917). Åbo Academy, f. by Swedish-speaking donors, fac. sc., humanities, pol. sc. 1917, opened 1919, chemical technol. 1920, theol. 1924, associating higher commercial school 1927. PERM (1917). Dep. of Univ. St Petersburg 1916. Autonomous 1917. State Univ., fac. med., agr., edu. 1920. Divided in inst. according to fac. 1930. Reopened, fac. biology, chem., physics and math., geology 1932. TIFLIS (1918). Georgian Univ. (private) 1918. State Univ, fac. education (former fac. philos., sc.), med., soc. sc. 1920. Univ. divided into inst. edu., med., agr., 1930. Univ. re-established, fac. math, biology, geography, geology, 1933, Georgian linguistics, literature and history 1934, physics 1935. 688

A chronological list JEKATERINOSLAW/DNJEPROPETROWSK (1918). Higher med. sch. for women 1916. Univ., fac. history and philology, physics and math., law 1918. Univ. divided into inst. social edu., professional edu., physical, chem. math. sc. 1930. Univ re-established, fac. physics and math., chem., geology, biology, eco. 1933. Univ. suppressed 1941–44. NISNIJ-NOWGOROD/GORKIJ (1918). State univ., fac. med., mechanics, chem. 1920. Univ. divided into inst. med., mechanics, 1930. Reestablished, fac. biology, chem., physics and math. 1932. SMOLENSK (1918). State univ., fac. med., edu. (both autonomous inst. 1930) 1918. Communist univ. 1930. PETROGRAD/LENINGRAD (1918). Communist Zinov’ev University 1921. I. V. Stalin University 1926. MOSCOW II (1918). Higher studies for women 1872 (suspended 1886– 1900). Second State Univ., fac. med., chem. and pharm., edu. 1918. Univ. disbanded, fac. transformed into inst. 1930. IRKUTSK (1918). State univ., fac. med., soc. sc., edu. 1918. Univ. disbanded, fac. transformed into inst. soviet development 1930/31. Reopened as East Siberian State Univ., fac. biology, geology and geography, physics and math. 1931. TASCHKENT (1918). Turkestan People’s Univ. 1918 (first Middle-Asiatic univ.). Fac. med., agr., irrigation eng., physics and math., soc. sc. 1923. Univ. disbanded into inst. med., industry, edu., agr., eco. and finance, irrigation eng., 1930/31. Univ. reopened, fac. biology, physics and math., chem. 1932. WORONESH (1918). Univ. transferred from Tartu (Dorpat) to Woronesh. Fac. med., history and philology, physics and math., law (soc. sc. 1919) 1918. Univ. divided into inst. med., edu., eco. 1930/31. Univ. reopened, fac. biology, chem., physics and math., geology and geography 1932. WARSAW Free Polish Univ. (1919). Private College 1906. Fac. math. and sc., humanities, political and soc. sc., pedagogy 1919, administration 1921, social and educational work 1925, municipal administration ´ 1927. 4 facs. in Lodz 1928. Free Univ. of Poland 1933. Univ. closed 1939–45, underground lectures. BAKU (1919). State University (teaching in Russian and Turkish), fac. med., history and philology (both autonomous inst. 1930), physics and math. 1919. S. M. Kirow Univ., fac. soc. sc., chem., biology, physics and math. 1934. BRNO (1919). Masaryk-Univ., fac. law, med. 1919, sc. 1920, philos. 1921. Suppressed 1939–45. HAMBURG (1919). Colonial Inst. 1895. Univ. (Hansische Univ. 1933– 45), fac. law and eco., med., philos., sc. 1919. Inst. environmental research 1926. 689

¨ Walter Ruegg POZNAN (1919). Fac. eco. and law, philos. 1919, med. 1920, agr. and forestry 1922, Fac. philos. divided into humanist fac. and fac. math. and sc. 1924. Univ. closed, underground lectures 1939–44. Reichsuniv. Posen, open to Germans only, 1941–44. RIGA (1919). Polytechnic 1862. Univ. of Latvia, fac. agr. and forestry, chem., civil and mechanical eng., architecture, philology and philos., theol., med. and dentistry, vet., math. and sc., law, eco. 1919. MOSCOW (1919). Communist M. Sverdlov-Univ. LUBLIN Cath. Univ. (1920). F. by Warsaw episcopate 1918, confirmed by papal brief, fac. theol., canon law, law and eco. and soc. sc., humanities 1920. Authorized by government to award degrees 1938. Closed, underground lectures 1939–44. TURKU (1920). Private Finnish Univ. 1920. Fac. sc., humanities 1922, med. (financed by the state) 1943. MILAN Univ. Cattolica del Sacro Cuore (1920). Libera Universita` 1924, associating inst. teacher training 1925. Fac. law, lettere e filosofia 1926, pol., eco. and commercial sc. (sch. 1926) 1932, statistics (sch. 1932) 1944. SAMARA/KUJBYSHEW (1920). Municipal univ., fac. med. 1920. Transformed into inst. 1930. JEKATERINOSLAW/SWERDLOWSK (1920). Min. inst. 1916. State Univ., fac. med. (inst. 1925), chem. and metallurgy, mining and geology 1920. Transformed into Ural Polytechnic 1925. Univ. reopened, fac. physics and math., chem., geology 1931. Renamed A. M. Gorkij Univ. 1936. EREWAN (1920). Fac. med., agr., eng., soc. sc. (all transformed into inst. 1930) 1920. Univ. reopened, fac. history and philology, eco., chem., physics and math., biology, geology and geography, law 1933. MINSK (1921). Belarus State Univ., fac. med., edu., soc. sc. 1921. Divided into inst. med. 1930, law, eco., edu., polytechnics 1931. Univ. reopened, fac. biology, chem., physics and math. 1934. MOSCOW (1921). Communist Univ. for Western national minorities. MOSCOW (1921). Communist Univ. for Eastern populations. VALLETTA (1921). Jesuit College 1592. Sch. of anatomy 1674. Univ. status 1769. Univ. of Malta 1921. Fac. literature, sc., eng. and architecture, law, theol., med. PECS (1921). Studium generale 1367. Ceased to exist c. 1400. Academy ¨ (Raab) 1777. Transferred to Pécs 1785/1802. of phil. and law in Gyor Univ. of Poszony/Bratislava transferred to Pécs 1921, fac. Prot. theol., law and pol. sc., med., philos. (suppressed 1940) 1923. SZEGED (1921). Univ. Kolosvar/Cluj transferred to Szeged, fac. law and pol. sc., med., philos. 1921. 690

A chronological list KAUNAS/KOWNO (1922). Private inst. with higher studies 1920. Lithuanian State Univ., fac. theol. and philos., humanities, law, sc., med., technol. 1922. Suppressed 1939. (Soviet) State university 1940. WLADIWOSTOK (1923). Univ. of the Far East, fac. oriental languages (inst. f. 1899), edu., eng., agr. 1923. Univ. disbanded, fac. eng., agr. transformed into inst. 1930. Univ. reopened, fac. oriental languages, physics, chem. 1932. Univ. closed 1939, students transferred to Tomsk, Swerdlowsk, Woronesh. NIJMEGEN (1923). Cath. Univ., fac. philos., theol., law 1923. BARI (1923). Jesuit college 1580 (dissolved 1767). Royal college 1770. Lyceum granting lower degrees 1816. Univ. (Cat. B 1923), fac. med. and surgery 1923, law 1925, pharm. (sch. f. 1923) 1933, eco. and commerce (inst. f. 1886) 1935. MILAN (1924). Accademia scientifico-letteraria 1859. Univ., fac. law, lettere e filosofia, med., sc. 1924, vet. (sch. f. 1891) 1933, agr. (inst. f. 1870) 1935. TRIESTE (1924). Higher commercial sch., f. by Baron Pasquale Revoltella 1877. Inst. eco. and business admin. 1920. Univ. degli studi economici e commerciali (cat. B 1924). Univ. degli Studi, fac. law and pol. sc. 1938, naval. eng. 1942, lettere e filosofia 1943. THESSALONIKI (1925). Law sch. 1907–12. Greek univ. 1925. Fac. philos. 1926, law and eco. 1927/29, math. and sc. 1928, agr. and forestry 1937, theol., med. 1941/42. READING (1926). Univ. Extension College, set up to provide Oxford extension lectures in science and arts 1892. Reading College 1898. Univ. College 1902. Univ., fac. letters, science, agr. and horticulture 1926. SAMARKAND (1933). State Univ. of Uzbekistan, fac. med., eco., physics and math., chem., sc. and biology, humanities 1933. AARHUS (1934). Private Univ., subsidized by city and state 1928. Univ. status, fac. humanities, med., law and eco. 1934. ALMA-ATA (1934). Cossack State S. M. Kirow Univ., fac. chem., physics, biology 1934. SALAMANCA Univ. Pontificia (1940). Fac. theol., canon law. other important institutions of higher learning BRAUNSCHWEIG, Tech. (1745), Collegium Carolinum for the study of technics and science 1745 (military academy during the French wars), restored 1814; dep. eng., trade and humanities, Herzogliche Polytechnische Hochschule 1862, Technische Hochschule Carolo-Wilhelmina 1877, graduation rights 1900, dep. aeronautics 1936. 691

¨ Walter Ruegg ´ ´ STIAVNICA, ˇ SCHEMNIZ/SELMECBANYA BANSKA Min. (1763), ´ Sch. of min. at Schemnitz/Selmecbanya 1735, Academy of min. 1770, Academy of min. and forestry 1836, Royal Hungarian college of min. and forestry, dep. min., non-ferrous metallurgy, iron and steel eng., mechanical eng., architecture, forestry; disbandment of the College, min., metallurgy and forestry transferred to Sopron and then to Miskolc, while non-Hungarian elements remained as a professional school 1919/20. FREIBERG, Min. (1765), Saxonian Academy of Min. 1765, Technische Hochschule 1899, doctoral degrees 1905. ST PETERSBURG, Min. (1773), Mining sch. 1773, Mining Inst. 1834, reorganized 1866. VIENNA, Vet. (1777), Pferdekuren- und Operationsschule (sch. of equine med. and surgery) 1765, (teaching) vet. hospital 1777, univ. dep. of ¨ vet. 1812; autonomous 1852, K. K. Militar-Tierarznei-Institut und ¨ Tierarztliche Hochschule (military vet. inst. and vet. Hochschule) 1897, ¨ graduation rights 1908, Tierarztliche Hochschule 1919. COPENHAGEN, Vet./agr. (1777), Private vet. college 1773, royal charter in 1777, Kongelige Veterinaer- og Landbohøjskole 1858, fac. basic science, dairy and food science 1921. KASSA/KASCHAU/KOSICE, Law (1777); Studium generale 1657, Universitas Cassoviensis 1660, Academie regia, chairs in law and philosophy 1777, Royal Law Academy 1850, closed 1919. ¨ HANOVER, Vet. (1778), Tier-Arzneischule 1778, Tierarztliche Hochschule 1887, doctoral degree 1910. ´ PARIS, Tech. (1794), Ecole Centrale des Travaux Publics 1794. ´ PARIS, Tech. (1795), Bureau des dessinateurs 1747, Ecole des ponts et ´ chaussées 1775, Ecole nationale des ponts et chaussées 1794/95. ´ PARIS, Tech. (1795), Ecole polytechnique. ´ PARIS, Phil. (1794), Ecole normale (School for higher teacher training) 1794, closed after four months of tumultuous activities 1794, replaced by a Pensionnat normal (housing candidates for professorships study´ ing at the Collège de France, the Ecole polytechnique, the Muséum d’histoire naturelle) 1808, closed and replaced by regional ecoles nor´ ´ ´ males 1822, Ecole préparatoire 1826, Ecole Normale 1830 (Ecole Normale Supérieure 1845), associated with the university for academic examinations 1903; Ecole normale supérieure de jeunes filles in Sévres 1881. ST PETERSBURG, Tech. (1797), Orthodox Seminary. KASAN, Theol. (1798). Orthodox Seminary. MOSCOW, Med. (1798); schools in military hospitals 1708, 1733, Academy med. and surgery 1798, dep. med., pharm., vet. 1808. 692

A chronological list BERLIN, Tech. (1799). Bauakademie 1799. Technische Schule 1821, Gewerbeinstitut 1827, – akademie 1866, Technische Hochschule 1879; Habilitation rights conferred 1884, doctoral degrees 1899; incorporating min. academy (f. 1770) 1913/16; organized along fac. lines 1922, fac. general sc. (including math., physics, eco.), civil, mechanical (including electrotech., naval aerotech.) eng. KALINKIN, Med. (1802), med. -surgery sch. 1783, Imp. medico-surgical Inst. 1802. ST PETERSBURG, Agr. (1803), Imperial Inst. of Forestry 1803. BAMBERG, Theol. (1803), theol. Academy with univ. rights 1648, Hochs¨ Philosophie. u. Theologie 1803, with sch. med. -surgery 1809; chule fur Philos. -Theol. Hochschule f. trainee priests 1923, closed 1939–45. ST PETERSBURG, Med. (1808), two med. sch. in military hospitals 1733, Academy med. and surgery 1798, opened 1800, Imperial Academy 1808, dep. med., pharm., vet. ST PETERSBURG, Tech. (1809), Inst. road and water eng. Emperor Alexander I 1809, reorganized 1842, special Inst. 1866. PISA, Phil. (1810), Scuola Normale (Superiore) adopting the Paris model 1810, suppressed 1813, re-established 1846, reorganized 1928/33. MOSCOW, Eco. (1810), Academy of commercial sc., f. by Society of Moscow wholesale traders and merchants. GRAZ, Tech. (1811), Joanneum f. by Archduke Johann for edu. in natural and technical sc. 1811, Technische Hochschule 1864, sch. civil, mechanical eng., chem., agr. 1871/2, K. u. K. Technische Hochschule 1874, graduation rights 1901. ˇ EPERJES/PRESOV, Theol. (1811), Studium generale 1665, Law academy of the reformed church 1811, Academy of ref. theol., associating fac. law and public administration, teacher-training college 1873, Academy suppressed 1919. MOSCOW, Theol. (1814), Hellenic-Slavonic theol. sch. 1685, SlavonicGreek-Latin Academy 1701, Orthodox Seminary 1814. PRAGUE, Tech. (1815), Professorships in military and civil eng., associated with a chair of eng. at the univ. 1717, Polytechnic at the univ. along ´ polytechnique 1806, independent 1815, reorganized the lines of the Ec. 1829–32, divided into sections 1836; German and Czech Polytechnics 1868; Deutsche Technische Hochschule 1879 (suppressed 1945) and Ceska´ vysoka´ sˇ kola technicka´ 1879; Czech Polytechnic 1920, closed 1939–45. MOSCOW, Phil. (1815), Lazarow Inst. Oriental languages 1815. VIENNA, Tech. (1815), Polytechnisches. Inst. 1815, Technische Hochschule 1872, dep. civil, mechanical eng., architecture, chem., math. and physics (fac. 1928), graduation rights 1901.

693

¨ Walter Ruegg WARSAW, Agr. (1816), Inst. at Marimont near Warsaw 1816, transferred to Nowaja Alexandrija 1861. STOCKHOLM, Med. (1816), Collegium medicorum, right to examine medical practitioners (later also to teach) 1663, Kongliga Karolinska Medico-Chirurgiska Institutet 1810, Karolinska Institutet 1816. ´ des mines, 1783, closed 1790, re-established PARIS, Min. (1816), Ec. 1794, sch. for iron and coal in Geiserlautern (Saarland), for copper ´ des mines in Paris 1816. and salt in Pesey (Savoy) 1802–1814/5; Ec. HOHENHEIM, Agr. (1818), Royal College of agr. edu. and research 1818, Academy 1847, Landwirtschaftliche Hochschule 1904. KIEV, Theol. (1819), Sch. of Slavonic, Latin and Polish Writ f. 16th c., Orthodox seminary 1819. KARLSRUHE, Tech. (1825), Weinbrenner’s Bauschule (Sch. of architecture 1800), Tulla’s Ingenieurschule (Sch. of eng. 1808), Polytechnic along the lines of the Ecole polytechnique 1825, Polytechnische Hochschule 1865, Technische Hochschule, dep. architecture, civil, mechanical, electrical eng., chemistry (incl. pharm.), general edu. 1885, graduation rights 1889. BREDA, Mil. (1826), Military school 1826, closed 1830–36, transferred temporarily to Bandoeng (Dutch East Indies) 1940. STOCKHOLM, Tech. (1827), Modeellkammaren and Mekaniska skolan (vocational schools) 1798, Academy 1813, Kungliga Teknologiska ¨ Institutet 1827, Kungliga Tekniska Hogskolan 1876, graduation rights 1927. DRESDEN, Tech. (1828), Eng. academy 1742, Artillery sch. 1766, Military academy 1816, Technical college 1828, Polytechnische Schule 1851, Polytechnikum 1871, Technische Hochschule, dep. architecture, civil, mechanical, chemical eng., general sc. 1890, graduation rights 1900, incorporating teacher-training college 1924, college forestry (f. 1786) incorporated as faculty 1941. DEN HELDER, Mil. (1829), Royal Naval Inst. at Medemblik 1829, attached to Military Academy at Breda 1850–54, transferred to Willemsoord near Den Helder 1854, closed 1940–45. STUTTGART, Tech. (1829), Military academy 1773, Hohe Karls-Schule 1775, univ. status 1781; suppressed 1794, United grammar, modern and vocational school 1829, Polytechnic 1840, Technische Hochschule, dep. architecture, civil, mechanical, chemical eng., math. and sc., general edu. 1876, inst. electrical eng., physics and chemistry 1895, X-rays 1922. COPENHAGEN, Tech. (1829), Danmarks Tekniske Højskole 1829. HANOVER, Tech. (1831), Gewerbeschule (secondary level vocational ¨ school) 1828, Hohere Gewerbeschule 1831, Polytechnische Schule

694

A chronological list 1847, Technische Hochschule 1879, doctoral degrees 1899, fac. general sc., civil, mechanical eng. 1922. NAMUR, Phil. (1831), Collège (1831) and Fac. univ. Notre Dame de la Paix (SJ), fac. philos. et lettres, sc. 1833, candidature degree 1929. MOSCOW, Tech. (1832), Polytechnic, dep. mechanics, technology 1832, Moskovskoje Techniceskoje ucilisce 1912, Moskovskoje vysscheje techni ceskoje ucilisce 1920. MADRID, Tech. (1835), Escuela de ingenieros de caminos, canales y puertos. MADRID, Min. (1835), Escuela de ingenieros de minas. CHEMNITZ, Tech. (1836), Sch. technical drawing 1796, Kgl. Gewerbeschule (Royal crafts school) 1836, Gewerbeakademie 1900, Staatliche ¨ Technik 1929. Akademie fur LEOBEN, Min. (1840), Mining academy at Vordernberg 1840, at Leoben 1849, Bergakademie 1861, Montanistische Hochschule, graduation rights 1904, affiliated to Technische Hochschule Graz 1935–37. WARSAW, Vet. (1840), Vet. Inst. 1840, transferred to Nowtscherkassk 1915. DELFT, Tech. (1842), Royal academy for civil eng. 1842, Royal polytechnic, dep. technology, civil, structural, naval, mechanical and min. eng. 1864, Technische Hogeschool 1905. ST PETERSBURG, Theol. (1842), Roman Catholic Seminary transferred from Wilna to St Petersburg. ST PETERSBURG, Tech. (1842), sch. architecture 1842, Inst. civil eng., dep. architecture, civil eng. 1882. MADRID, Tech. (1844), Escuela de Arquitectura. ´ LEMBERG/LWOW, Tech. (1844), Realschule (Modern sch.), the first in Galicia 1817, divided into technical and commercial disciplines 1835, Academy 1844, Technische Hochschule 1872, suppressed 1939. MOSCOW, Agr. (1845), Academy of agr. at Petrovskoje Razumowskoje 1845, agr. inst., dep. agr., hydrotechnics 1891, fisheries 1913. ´ VILLAVICIOSA DE ODON, Min. (1846), Escuela de ingenieros de montes 1846, transferred to El Escorial 1870. DORPAT/TARTU, Vet. (1848), Inst. vet. 1848. BRNO, Tech. (1849), (German) Polytechnic 1849, Technisches lnstitut 1867/70, K. u. K. Deutsche Technische Hochschule, sch. civil, mechanical, chemical eng., general studies 1873, suppressed 1945, Czech Polytechnic 1899, suppressed 1939–45. CHARKOW, Vet. (1850), Inst. vet 1850. MADRID, Tech. (1850), Escuela de ingenieros industriales. SALZBURG, Tech. (1850), Univ. 1620/5, Lyzeum 1810, sections of philos. (suppressed 1850), Tech., turned into fac. 1850, closed 1938–45.

695

¨ Walter Ruegg VIENNA, Theol. (1850), Protestant theol. college 1819/20, fac. 1850, graduation rights 1861. BUDAPEST, Vet. (1851), chair in vet. at med. univ. fac. 1786; autonomous status 1851, Hungarian vet. academy 1890, integrated into Polytechnic Univ. 1934. ANTWERP, Eco. (1852), Institut supérieur de commerce de l’Etat. KAMPEN, Theol. (1854), Reformiert-theol. Hochschule (Reformed theological college) 1854. ¨ ZURICH, Tech. (1855), Eidgenossische Polytechnische Schule (Eidgen¨ ossiche Technische Hochschule 1911), dep. (Abteilungen) architecture, civil, mechanical, chem. eng., forestry general education 1855, dep. physics and mathematics 1866, agr. 1871, military sc. 1899, pharmacy 1908, electrical eng. 1935 (all dep. excepting ‘general education’ since doctoral degrees 1908/9). ARANJUEZ, Agr. (1855), Escuela general de agricultura 1855, transferred to Madrid 1869. BUDAPEST, Tech. (1856), Institutum geometrico-hydrotechnicum, 1782, vocational sch. 1846, Joseph Polytechnicum 1856, Polytechnic Joseph ´ Univ. 1871, Polytechnic and economic Univ. Jozsef Palatin 1934, suppressed 1945. MILAN, Tech. (1862), Reale Istituto tecnico superiore, incorporating Scuola di applicazione per ingegneri cvili 1862, section of architecture 1865 (fac. 1933), sch. electrical eng. 1897, research laboratory on paper 1897, on textiles, on fuel 1908, R. Politecnico di Milano 1923. RIGA, Tech. (1862), Polytechnic Inst. Emperor Alexander II along the lines of German Technische Hochschule, dep. agr., chem., civil mechanical eng., architecture, trade 1862, teaching in German, from 1870 in Russian until 1917, incorporated into Latvian univ. 1919, suppressed 1939, Riga Polytechnic 1944/45. ST PETERSBURG, Tech. (1862), technical sch. 1828, Technological Inst. Emperor Nicholas I, dep. mechanics, chem. 1862. CLAUSTHAL, Min. (1864), Sch. for higher officials supervising the Oberharz mines 1775, reorganized as min. school 1810, divided into Bergschule and Bergakademie 1864, the latter granted graduation rights 1897, university status 1912, suppressed 1939–45. ST PETERSBURG, Agr. (1864), agr. inst. ‘Gory Gorezklije’ at Gorki 1843, transferred to St Petersburg 1864. ST PETERSBURG, Phil. (1867), Imperial Inst. History and Philosophy (college for teacher training) 1867. VENICE, Eco. (1868), Studium generale 1470 remaining ineffective because of Padua, Istituto universitario di economia e comercio e di lingue e letterature straniere 1868, Istituto superiore di architectura 1926.

696

A chronological list ´ PARIS, Phil. (1868), Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes, sections in history and philology, math., physics and chem., natural sc. (the latter three only nominal) 1868, religion 1886. MUNICH, Tech. (1868), Central polytechnic 1827, Polytechnische Schule 1868, dep. general science, architecture, civil, mechanical eng., chem., agr. 1872, Bayerische Technische Hochschule 1877, graduation rights 1901, incorporating Handelshochschule (Trade academy, f. 1910), as dep. ec. 1922, Brewing and agr. school (f. 1803 in Weihenstephan) as dep. brewing 1928. AACHEN, Tech. (1870), Polytechnic, f. thanks to David Hansemann 1865, opened 1870, Technische Hochschule, dep. (Abteilungen) architecture, civil, mechanical eng., chem., min. and metallurgy, math., natural and general sc. 1879/80, graduation rights 1899, lectures suspended 1939/40. ´ libre des sc. politiques. PARIS, Pol. (1872), Private f. Ec. VIENNA, Agr. (1872), Sch. forestry in Mariabrunn 1813, Hochschule ¨ Bodenkultur (culture of the soil) in Vienna 1872, incorporating fur agr. section of Mariabrunn sch. as department 1878, graduation rights 1906. VIENNA, Phil. (1873), Oriental Academy 1867, Inst. of oriental languages (Arabic, Persian, Turkish, Serbian, Russian, Bulgarian) 1873, Public Inst. of oriental languages (including Modern Greek, Albanian, Romanian, Spanish) 1920. KASAN, Vet. (1873), Vet. inst. 1873. NESHIN (Ukraine), Phil. (1875), Gymnasium, f. by Prince Bezborodko 1805, Lyzeum 1832, Historical-philosophical Inst. (status of univ. fac.) 1875. DARMSTADT, Tech. (1877), Building sch. 1812, merged with Modern sch. 1821, Higher vocational sch. 1836, Polytechnic 1868, Hessische Technische Hochschule 1877, graduation rights 1899. WAGENINGEN, Agr. (1877), Rijkslandbouwschool (State agr. sch.) 1877, dep. agr., colonial agr. 1880, forestry 1885, colonial forestry 1890, State college agr. and forestry 1896. State college of agr., horticulture and forestry 1904, Rijkslandbouwhogeschool (agr. Univ.) 1918. CHARKOW, Tech. (1885), Inst. technology Emperor Alexander III, dep. mechanics, chem., 1885. ATHENS, Tech. (1887), Sunday-school for technical education of foremen in building construction 1836, section of Fine Arts college 1843, Sch. industrial arts, fac. civil eng., mechanics, geometry 1887, reorganized, fac. architecture, chem., topography, mechanical, electrical, civil eng. 1915, Techn. Univ. 1929.

697

¨ Walter Ruegg NAPLES, Phil. (1888), Collegio dei Cinesi, f. by Matteo Ripa, former missionary in China, 1708–23, recognized by papal bull 1732. Istituto universitario orientale 1888. ST PETERSBURG, Tech. (1891), technical sch. of Post and Telegramme Office 1868, Electrotech. Inst., dep. electrotechnics, electromechanics, telegraph and telephone technology 1891. LONDON, Tech. (1893), City and Guilds of London Institute for the Advancement of Technical Education 1878, Finsbury Technical School 1884, Central Technical College 1893. PRIBRAM, Min. (1894), Min. sch. 1849, univ. status as Bergakademie ´ 1894, Montanistische Hochsch. 1904, Vysoka´ skola banska v Pr´ıbrami 1919, suppressed 1939–45. MOSCOW, Tech. (1896), Imp. Sch. of Eng. (civil eng.) 1896. SALFORD, Tech. (1896), Working Men’s College 1858, Royal Salford Technical Institute 1896. TOMSK, Tech. (1896), Inst. Technology Emp. Nicholas II, opened 1900, dep. mechanics, chem. 1900, min. 1901, road construction 1902. ST GALLEN, Eco. (1896), Academy of commerce, transports and administration 1896, Handelshochschule 1911, graduation rights 1938. ST PETERSBURG, Med. (1897), med. training for women 1872, closed because of political unrest 1887, Semi-state Med. Inst. for Women 1897, State Inst., med. fac. rights 1904. KIEV, Tech. (1898), Polytechnical Inst. Emperor. Alexander II, dep. eng., mechanics, chem., agr. 1898. BRUSSELS, Phil. (1898), the Catholic institute for philosophy (1858) becomes Fac. univ. Saint-Louis 1898. LEIPZIG, Eco. (1898), Handels-Hochschule, f. by Chamber of commerce 1898, incorporated 1920. VIENNA, Eco. (1898), Handelshochschule 1872, suppressed 1877, K. u. ¨ Welthandel (World Trade K. Exportakademie 1898, Hochschule fur College) 1919, graduation rights 1930. ¨ VIENNA, Pol. (1898), Akademie der morgenlandischen Sprachen (Academy of Near Eastern languages) for Foreign Office staff 1754, ¨ Politik und Konsularakademie 1898, Internationale Lehranstalt fur Volkswirtschaft (International Inst. of pol. sc. and eco.) 1920. WARSAW, Tech. (1898), Polytechnical prep. Sch. 1826, suppressed by Russian authorities like all other sch. in Warsaw 1832, Polytechnic 1898, Politechnika Warszwska, dep. agr., chem., civil, mechanical eng. 1915, electrotechnical eng. 1920, geodesy 1921, construction eng. 1933, Polytechnic closed 1939, gradually opened as State College of Technology, dep. construction-, machine-, electrical- eng., chemistry 1941/42, closed, then destroyed 1944/45.

698

A chronological list JEKATERINOSLAW/ SWERDLOWSK, Min. (1899), Wysscheje gornoje Ucilisce (College of mining and foundry) 1899. MONS, Eco. (1899), Institut supérieur de commerce et de sc. consulaires 1896; becomes Fac. univ. 1899; univ. statute 1921. ST PETERSBURG, Tech. (1902), Polytechnic Inst. Emperor Peter the Great, dep. metallurgy, naval eng., electromechanics, eco. 1902, civil eng., mechanics 1907. MANCHESTER, Tech. (1902), Manchester Mechanics’ Institution 1824, Technical sch. 1883, Manchester Municipal Sch. (College 1918) of Technology 1902. MILAN, Eco. (1902), Universita` Commerciale Luigi Bocconi, private university, f. by Ferdinando Bocconi 1902, graduation rights 1906. POZNAN, Phil. (1903), Royal Academy for further scientific education. DANZIG, Tech. (1904), Technische Hochschule 1904, closed 1944–45. BERLIN, Eco. (1906), Handelshochschule, f. by Berlin corporation of merchants 1906, incorporated as Wirtschaftshochschule 1926. MOSCOW, Eco. (1906), Commercial Academy of the Society for the Promotion of Commercial Knowledge, dep. trade, technology, eco. 1906. TURIN, Tech. (1906), Scuola di applicazione per gli ingegneri 1859, Museo industriale for the promotion of technical education 1862, Istituto di cultura tecnica superiore 1906, sch. eng. 1923 (fac. 1935), R. Politecnico 1935, incorporating inst. architecture as 2nd faculty 1935. MONTAUBAN, Theol. (1907), Reformed theol. Academy 1598, closed 1685, theol. fac. of Univ. Toulouse 1808, Fac. libre de théol. protestante 1907. ¨ MANNHEIM, Eco. (1907), Hohere Handelsakademie 1757, closed 1817, ¨ Stadtische Handelshochschule 1907, approved 1908 by the Grand Duke, graduation rights 1929, incorporated into Heidelberg Univ. 1933–34. NOWOTCHERKASAK, Tech. (1907), Don Polytechnical Inst. Alexej, dep. mechanics, chem., min., agr. HELSINKI, Tech. (1908), Technical sch. 1847, polytechnical sch. 1872, ¨ Polytekniska Institutet 1879, Tekniska Hogskolan 1908. ¨ STOCKHOLM, Eco. (1909), Private Handelshogskolan i Stockholm 1909. ISTANBUL, Tech. (1909), Imperial naval college eng. 1773, Civilian Technical Sch. 1883, Higher Sch. eng., dep. construction, highway and railway eng., hydraulics, architecture 1909, electrical eng. 1934, mechan¨ ical eng. 1940, Istanbul Teknik Universitesi, fac. architecture, civil, mechanical, electrical eng. 1944. MOSCOW, Med. (1909), Moscow Medical Sch. for Women, private, but recognized by the state.

699

¨ Walter Ruegg CHARCOW, Med. (1909), Charkow Medical Sch. for Women (state institution). BRESLAU, Tech. (1910), dep. mechanical and electrotechnical eng., chem. and min., general sc. ¨ TRONDHEIM, Tech. (1910), Norges tekniske hogskole. WOLOGDA, Agr. (1911), Inst. of dairy industry for women. HELSINKI, Eco. (1911), Private commercial sch. 1898, teaching in Finnish, Helsinki sch. eco., in part financed by the state 1911. ISTANBUL, Tech. (1912), Private Robert College, chartered by State of New York for liberal arts studies 1863, Sch. eng., dep. civil, mechanical and electrical eng. 1912. KESZTHELY, Agr. (1912), Agr. sch. 1797, suppressed 1848, National sch. forestry 1865, Academy 1906, univ. status 1912. ROTTERDAM, Eco. (1913), Nederlandsche Handelshoogeschool, f. by Rotterdam Association of Higher Business Studies 1913, recognized by law as Nederlandsche Economische Hoogeschool, fac. eco. 1937, univ. status 1939. WORONESH, Agr. (1914). MURCIA, Law (1915), Univ. conferring baccalaureate 1783, ceased to exist c. 1804; univ. with fac. law and prep. classes 1915. ISTANBUL, Eco. (1915), Higher trade school in Babiali 1883, then in Beyazit, reorganized 1915 on the lines of an Ecole de hautes e´ tudes commerciales. ST PETERSBURG, Tech. (1915), Higher technological studies for women 1906, Polytechnic, dep. architecture, construction, electromechanics, chem. 1915. CHARCOW, Eco. (1916), Commercial Academy, f. by the Society of Charcow Merchants for higher commercial training 1912, Public inst., dep. trade, ec. 1916. JEKATERINOSLAW/DNJEPROPETROWSK, Tech. (1916), Private Polytechnic, f. by A. A. Press and. G. Rabinovitsch for the Jewish population, dep. mechanics, electrotechnics 1916. MOSCOW, Tech. (1916), Moscow polytechnic for women (private, but state controlled) civil eng. ROSTOW, Med. (1916), med. training for women 1906, Med. Sch. 1916. KIEW, Med. (1916), med. training for women 1906, Med. Sch. 1916. UTRECHT, Vet. (1917), State Vet. Sch. (Rijksveeartsenijschool) 1820, Univ. status 1917. PRAGUE, Theol. (1919), Autonomous Hus Fac. Prot. theol. 1919, closed 1939–45. BUCHAREST, Tech. (1920), Sch. eng. 1851, private sch. civil eng. 1861, State sch. 1881, Polytechnic 1920, incorporating Sch. architecture (f. 1897) as fac. 1938. 700

A chronological list JAROSLAWL, Law (1920), Private Jaroslawl Sch. Higher Learning 1803, Demidov Lyzeum 1833, Demidov Lyzeum with fac. rights 1874, Univ. 1920. ¨ Leibesubungen ¨ COLOGNE, Sport (1920), Deutsche Hochschule fur (gymnastics) 1920, suppressed 1934. MONS, Min. (1920), Min. sch. of the Hainaut 1837, Fac. polytechnique 1920. NAPLES, Eco. (1920), Istituto superiore navale, f. by Chamber of Trade, Industry and Agr. 1920, Istituto universitario navale 1931. ´ libre SOFIA, Eco. (1920), Private Svoboden Univ. along the lines of the Ec. des sc. po. in Paris, linked to Inst. balkanique du Proche Orient, fac. diplomatic and consular affairs, financial administration, commerce 1920; higher state sch. for financial and administrative science 1940. ´ de commerce Saint-Ignace (Jesuits) 1852; ANTWERP, Eco. (1921), Ec. right to grant degrees 1901; extended to licence en sc. commerciales, consulaires et maritimes, university statute 1921. BUCHAREST, Agr. (1921), Sch. agr. 1854, univ. status 1921. BAMBERG, Theol. (1923), Theol. academy with univ. status 1648, College, dep. philos., theol. 1803, sch. med. and surgery 1809, Philos. -Theol. Hochschule for trainee priests 1923, closed 1939–45. DILLINGEN, Theol. (1923), Diocesan Collegium literarum 1549, studium generale 1553, first Jesuit univ. in Germany 1564, Lyzeum 1803, Philos. Theol. Hochschule 1923. ¨ DUSSELDORF, Med. (1923), Med. sch. 1708, Collegium anatomicum chirurgicum 1747, fac. med. within Academy of Sc., created by the French 1807, suppressed 1815, Academy of practical med. 1907, univ. status 1923, graduation rights 1935. ¨ EICHSTATT, Theol. (1924), Episcopal seminary Collegium Willibaldinum 1563, suppressed 1602, Jesuit seminary 1619, suppressed 1807, ¨ episcopal seminary 1837, Lyzeum 1843, Bischofliche Philos. -Theol. Hochschule 1924. PERUGIA, Phil. (1926), Univ. italiana per gli stranieri. BIRMINGHAM, Tech. (1927), The Birmingham and Midland Inst. 1854, Municipal Technical Inst. 1895, Central Technical College 1927. ATHENS, Agr. (1929), Higher school of agr. 1910, university status 1929. LISBON, Tech. (1930), Sch. vet. 1830, Higher inst. agr. 1852, Higher inst. eco. and finance 1913, Higher inst. eng., Inst. agr. 1911, Universidade Técnica de Lisboa 1930. ROME, Theol. (1931), Theol. and philos. fac. of the Gregoriana devoted to the training of Roman priests 1773, fac. civil and canon law 1853; transferred to the Lateran 1913, Ateneo del Pontificio Seminario Romano Maggiore 1931. 701

¨ Walter Ruegg POSZONY/PRESSBURG/BRATISLAVA, Theol. (1934), Lutheran Lyceum 1606, Ev. and theol. academy 1881, State fac. Prot. theol. 1934, incorporated into the Slovak univ. at Bratislava 1940. MAASTRICHT, Theol. (1934), Jesuit sch. theol. at Culemborg 1850, transferred to Maastricht 1852, pontifical graduation rights 1932, Jesuit fac. theol. Collegium Canisium 1934, co-operating with the philos. fac. in Nijmegen. NIJMEGEN, Phil. (1934), Lectures in philos. (S. J) 1845, philos. fac. at Velp 1866, at Nijmegen 1929, pontifical graduation rights 1932, Collegium Berchmanianum 1934. ´ libre des sc. pol., e´ co. et soc. 1930, ATHENS, Pol. (1936), Private Ec. State sch. pol. sc., univ. status, sections of pol. and historical sc., eco. and soc. sc. 1936/37. SVISTOV, Eco. (1936), Higher sch. commerce Dimiter Apostolov Cenov, based on the model of the Berlin Handelshochschule, dep. financial administration and banking, co-operatives and insurance. TRNAVA, Theol. (1936), Cath. theol. fac. 1936, incorporated into Slovak (=Comenius) univ. at Bratislava 1940. IASI Tech. (1937), dep. chem. and electricity 1912, Institutul Politechnic ‘Gheorghe Asachi’ 1937. BRATISLAVA, Tech. (1939), Slovak technical univ. in Kosice 1937, not opened, transferred to Bratislava 1939. TILBURG, Eco. (1939), Private Cath. teacher-training college in Amsterdam 1912, transferred to s’Hertogenbosch 1913, associated with local Higher commercial sch. 1916, both transferred to Tilburg 1918, Cath. College eco. 1938, univ. status 1939. FULDA, Theol. (1939), Pontifical seminary succeeding the monastic sch., f. in the 8th c., 1548, academic Lyzeum 1803, episcopal seminary with fac. philos. 1814, closed 1874–86, Philos.–Theol. Hochschule 1939. SAROM, Theol. (1940), Theol. Inst. in Turin 1904, Pontificio Ateneo Salesiano 1940. ´ d’administration at the Collège de France 1848, PARIS, Pol. (1944/45), Ec ´ nationale d’administration 1944/45. Ec. a l p h a b e t i c a l l i s t o f tow n s w i t h i m p o rta n t institutions of higher learning Aachen, Tech. (1870) Aix-En-Provence (1409) Aarhus (1934) Alcala´ De Henares (1499) Alma-Ata (1934) Aberdeen (1495) Amsterdam (1877); Free Univ. Åbo/Turku (1917) Agram/Zagreb (1869) (1880) 702

Alphabetical list Angers (1875) Antwerp, Eco. (1921) Aranjuez, Agr. (1855) Athens (1837); Tech. (1887); Agr. (1929); Pol. (1936) Baku (1919) Bamberg, Theol. (1803); Theol. (1923) ˇ Banska´ Stiavnica, see Schemnitz Barcelona (1450) Bari (1923) Basle (1459) Belfast (1845) Belgrade (1905) Berlin, Tech. (1799); (1810); Eco. (1906) Berne (1834) Besançon (1691) Birmingham (1900); Tech. (1927) Bologna (end 12th c.) Bonn (1818) Bordeaux (1441) Bratislava/Poszony/Pressburg (1465); Theol. (1934); Tech. (1939) Braunschweig, Tech. (1745) Breda, Military (1826) Breslau/Wroclaw (1702); Tech. (1910) Bristol (1909) Brno (1919); Tech. (1849) Brussels (1834); Phil. (1898). Bucharest (1864); Tech. (1920); Agr. (1921) Budapest (1395); Vet. (1851); Tech. (1856) Burgo de Osma (1555) Caen (1432) Cagliari (1606) Cambridge (1209–25) Camerino (1727) Cardiff (1893) Catania (1444)

Charkow (1804); Vet. (1850); Tech. (1885); Med. (1909); Eco. (1916) Chemnitz, Tech. (1836) Christiania/Oslo (1811) Clausthal, Min. (1864) Clermont-Ferrand (1805) Cluj see Kolosvar Coimbra (1308) Cologne (1388); Cologne, Sport (1920) Copenhagen (1475); Vet./Agr. (1777); Tech. (1829) Corfu (1823) Cracow (1364/1400) Czernowitz (1875) Danzig, Tech. (1904) Darmstadt, Tech. (1877) Debreczen (1912) Delft, Tech. (1842) Den Helder, Mil. (1829) Dijon (1722) Dillingen, Theol. (1923) Dorpat/Tartu (1632); Vet. (1848) Douai (1559) Dresden, Tech. (1828) Dublin, Trinity College (1592); Univ. of Ireland (1854) Durham (1832) ¨ Dusseldorf, Med. (1923) Edinburgh (1582/83) ¨ Theol. (1924) Eichstatt, Eperjes/Preˇsov, Theol. (1811) Erewan (1920) Erfurt (1379) Erlangen (1743) Escorial, El (1587) Fermo (1585) Ferrara (1391) Florence (1349) Franeker (1585) Frankfurt am Main (1914) Freiberg, Min. (1765) 703

¨ Walter Ruegg Freiburg im Breisgau (1457) Fribourg (1889) Fulda, Theol. (1939) Geneva (1872) Genoa (1471) Ghent (1816/17) Giessen (1607) Glasgow (1451) ¨ Gottingen (1737) Granada (1531) Graz (1585/86); Tech. (1811) Greifswald (1456) Grenoble (1339) Groningen (1612) Halle (1693) Hamburg (1919) Hanover, Vet. (1778); Tech. (1831) Heidelberg (1385) Helsingfors/Helsinki (1640); Tech. (1908); Eco. (1911) Hohenheim, Agr. (1818) Huesca (1354) Iasi (1860); Tech. (1937) Innsbruck (1668) Irkutsk (1918) Istanbul (1900); Eco. (1915); Tech. (1909); Tech. (1912) Jaroslawl, Law (1920) Jekaterinoslaw/Swerdlowsk (1920); Min. (1899) Jekaterinoslaw/Dnjepropetrowsk (1918); Tech. (1916) Jena (1558) Kalinkin, Med. (1802) Kampen, Theol. (1854) Karlsruhe, Tech. (1825) Kasan (1804); Theol. (1798); Vet. (1873) Kassa/Kaschau/Kosice, Law (1777) Kaunas/Kowno (1922) Keszthely, Agr. (1912)

Kiel (1665) Kiev (1834); Tech. (1898); Theol. (1819); Med. (1916) Kolosvar/Klansenburg/Cluj (1892) ¨ Konigsberg (1544) Lausanne (1890) Leeds (1904) Leiden (1575) Leipzig (1409); Eco. (1898) ´ (1661); Tech. Lemberg/Lwow (1844) Leningrad, see St Petersburg Leoben, Min. (1840) Liège (1816) Lille (1817); Lyon (1875) Lisbon (1290); Tech. (1930) Liverpool (1881) Ljubljana (1810) London (1836); Tech. (1893) Louvain (1425) Lublin. Cath. Univ. (1920) Lund (1668) Lyon (1808); (1875) Maastricht, Theol. (1934) Macerata (1540) Madrid (1836); Min. (1835); Tech. (1835); Tech. (1844); Tech. (1850) Manchester (1851); Tech. (1902) Mannheim, Eco. (1907) Marburg (1527) Messina (1548) Milan (1556); (1920); Tech. (1862); Eco. (1902) Minsk (1921) Modena (1772/73) Mons, Eco. (1899); Min. (1920) Montauban, Theol. (1907) Montpellier (early 13th c.) Moscow (1755); (1918); (1919); (1921); (1921); Med. (1798); 704

Alphabetical list Eco. (1810); Theol. (1814); Phil. (1815); Tech. (1832); Agr. (1845); Tech. (1896); Econ. (1906); Med. (1909); Tech. (1916) Munich (1826); Tech. (1868) ¨ Munster (1629) Murcia (1915); Law (1915) Namur, Phil. (1831) Nancy (1768) Naples (1224); Phil. (1888); Eco. (1920) Neshin (Ukraine), Phil. (1875) ˆ (1909) Neuchatel Nijmegen (1923), Phil. (1934) Nisnij-Nowgorod/Gorkij (1918) Nottingham (1903) Nowotcherkasak, Tech. (1907) Odessa (1864) Olomouc (1570) ˜ Onate (1540) Orihuela (1552) Orléans (c. 1235) Oslo, see Christiania Osuna (1548) Oviedo (1574) Oxford (early 13th c.) Paderborn (1614/16) Padua (1222) Palermo (1578) Paris (beginning 13th c.); (1875); Phil. (1794); Tech. (1794); Tech. (1795); Min. (1816); Phil. (1868); Pol. (1872); Pol. (1944/45) Parma (1414) Pavia (1361) Pécs (1921) Perm (1917) Perugia (1308); Phil. (1926) Petrograd, see St Petersburg Pisa (1343); Phil. (1810)

Poitiers (1431) Porto (1911) Poszony/Pressburg/Bratislava (1465); Theol. (1934); Tech. (1939) Poznan (1919), Phil. (1903) Prague (1348); Tech. (1815); Theol. (1919) Preˇsov, see Eperjes Pribram, Min. (1894) Reading (1926) Rennes (1803) Reykjavik (1911) Riga (1919); Tech. (1862) Rome (1303); Gregoriana (1556); Angelicum (1908); Theol. (1931) Rostock (1419) Rostov On The Don (1915); Med. (1916) Rotterdam, Eco. (1913) Rouen (1808) Saint Andrews (1411) Salamanca (1218/19); (1940) Salford, Tech. (1896) Salzburg (1619); Theol. (1850) Samara/Kujbyshew (1920) Samarkand (1933) Santander (1904) Santiago de Compostela (1526) Saragossa (1474) Saratow (1909) Sarom, Theol. (1940) Sassari (1617) ´ Schemnitz/Selmecbanya/Bansk a´ ˇ Stiavnica, Min. (1763) Sevilla (1505) Sheffield (1905) Siena (1246) ¨ Siguenza (1489) Smolensk (1918) Sofia (1904); Eco. (1920) St Gallen, Eco. (1896) 705

¨ Walter Ruegg St Petersburg/Petrograd/Leningrad (1724); (1918); (1773); Theol. (1797); Agr. (1803); Med. (1808); Tech. (1809); Tech. (1842); Tech. (1862); Agr. (1864); Phil. (1867); Tech. (1891); Med. (1897); Tech. (1902); Tech. (1915) Stockholm (1878); Med. (1816); Tech. (1827); Eco. (1909) Strasbourg (1621) Stuttgart, Tech. (1829) Svistov, Eco. (1936) Szeged (1921) Taschkent (1918) Thessaloniki (1925) Tiflis (1918) Tilburg, Eco. (1939) Toledo (1521) Tomsk (1878); Tech. (1896) Toulouse (1233); (1877) Trieste (1924) Trnava, Theol. (1936) Trondheim, Tech. (1910) ¨ Tubingen (1476) Turin (1404); Tech. (1906)

Turku (1920) Uppsala (1477) Urbino (1671) Utrecht (1636); Vet. (1917) Valencia (1500) Valladolid (end 13th c.) Valletta (1921) Venice, Eco. (1868) Vienna (1365); Vet. (1777); Tech. (1815); Theol. (1850); Agr. (1872); Phil. (1873); Pol. (1898); Eco. (1898) ´ Min. Villaviciosa De Odon, (1846) Vilnius (1578) Wageningen, Agr. (1877) Warsaw (1816); Agr. (1816); Vet. (1840); Tech. (1898); Free Polish Univ. (1919); Free Univ. of Poland (1933) Wittenberg (1502) Wladiwostok (1923) Wologda, Agr. (1911) Woronesh (1918); Agr. (1914) ¨ Wurzburg (1402) Zurich (1833); Tech. (1855)

706

NAME INDEX

Abbe, Ernst (1840–1905), German physicist and entrepreneur 577 Abel-Rémusat, Jean-Pierre (1788–1832), French Sinologist 446 Acton, John Emerich Edward Dalberg (Baron Acton, 1834–1902), Italian-German-British historian 404, 459–62, 463, 465, 472 Adams, Herbert Baxter (1850–1901), American historian 171 Addison, Thomas (1793–1860), British physician 589 Adelung, Johann Christoph (1732–1806), German philologist 449 Adorno, Theodor Wiesengrund (1903–69), German philosopher 487 Agassiz, Louis (1807–73), Swiss-born American naturalist and geologist 533 Alcenius, Otto (1838–1913), Finnish scientist 534 Alexander I (1777–1825), Russian Tsar 35, 123, 508, 558 Alexander Nikolayevich (1818–81), Russian grand duke 285 Alexander II (1818–81), Russian Tsar 67, 303, 305, 315, 335 Alexander III (1845–94), Russian Tsar 324 Alexander of Oranje-Nassau (1851–1884), prince of the Netherlands 302 Ali, Mohammed (1769–1849), viceroy of Egypt 191 Altenstein, Karl Freiherr vom Stein zum (1770–1840), Prussian Minister of Education 523 Althoff, Friedrich (1839–1908), Prussian civil servant 135–7, 581

Ampère, André Marie (1775–1836), French physicist 496 Andersen, Hans Christian (1805–75), Danish poet 146 Andler, Charles (1866–1933), French Germanist 328 Andrae, Tor (1885–1947), Swedish ev. theologian 445 Angelesco, Constantin I (1869–1948), Romanian Minister of Education 95 Arago, Dominique François (1786–1853), French astronomer and politician 153 Ardèche, Paul Matthieu Laurent de l’ (1799–1877), French historian 280 Aristotle (384–322 BC), Greek philosopher 19, 394, 400, 449 Arndt, Ernst Moritz (1769–1860), German prose writer and poet 24, 273 Arrhenius, Svante (1859–1927), Swedish physical chemist 514 Artin Pasha, Yacoub (1842–1919), Egyptian politician and writer 191 As´ın y Palacios, Miguel (1871–1944), Spanish scholar of Islam 444 Auenbrugger, Leopold von (1722–1809), Austrian physician 549 Aulard, François Alphonse (1849–1928), French historian 476 ˆ Auzoux, Louis Thomas Jérome (1797–1880), French anatomist 572 Averroës (Ibn Ruschd, 1126–98), Muslim philosopher and scientist 400 Baader, Franz Xaver von (1765–1841), Catholic philosopher 399 Back, Rasmus (1787–1832), Danish philologist 450

707

Name index Bacon, Francis (1561–1626), British philosopher, scientist and statesman 19, 489 Baer, Karl Ernst von (1792–1876), Prussian-Estonian embryologist 527 Baeumer, Klemens (1853–1924), German philosopher 399 Baeyer, Adolf von (1835–1917), German chemist 642 Bails, Benito (1730–97), Catalonian mathematician and architect 494 Balicki, Zygmunt (1858–1916), Polish politician and writer 314 Balzac, Honoré de (1799–1850), French poet 147 Barbusse, Henri (1873–1935), French writer 338 Bartels, Johann (1769–1836), German mathematician 509 Barth, Karl (1886–1968), Swiss ref. theologian 406, 413 Bartsch, Karl (1832–88), German philologist 433–4 Bastian, Adolf (1826–1905), German ethnologist 488–9 Bastiat, Frédéric (1801–50), French economist 485 Bateson, William (1861–1926), British biologist 537 Baudoin de Courtenay, Jan (1846–1929), Polish Slavist 452 Baur, Ferdinand Christian (1792–1860), German ev. theologian 411–12 Becker, Carl Heinrich (1876–1933), German Orientalist and minister 141–2, 348, 434–5, 445 Becker, Karl (1879–1940), German general 663 Bellini, Vincenzo (1801–35), Italian composer 30 Bello, Andrés (1791–1865), Venezuelan scholar 180 Benecke, Georg Friedrich (1762–1844), German Germanist 429 Bentham, Jeremy (1748–1832), British philosopher, economist and jurist 479, 547 Bergson, Henri (1859–1941), French philosopher 455, 477, 528 Bernard, Claude (1813–78), French physiologist 13, 18, 151, 521, 524, 528–9, 534, 566–7, 569, 571, 589 Bernoulli family, Swiss merchant family with several mathematicians and physicians (17th–18th c.) 505

Bert, Paul (1833–86), French physiologist and politician 528 Berthelot, Marcellin (1827–1907), French chemist 151 Berthollet, Claude Louis (1748–1822), French chemist 496, 514, 595 ¨ Jacob (1779–1848), French Berzelius, Jons chemist 504, 558, 566 Bessel, Friedrich Wilhelm (1784–1846), German astronomer 499–500 Betancourt y Molina, August´ın de (1758–1824), Spanish engineer 601–602 Bezout, Etienne (1730–83), French mathematician 150, 494 Bianchi, Tommaso (1804–34), Italian priest 30 Bichat, Xavier (1771–1802), French physician 520, 521, 522, 549 Billroth, Theodor (1829–94), German surgeon 570, 574, 581 Biot, Jean-Baptiste (1774–1862), French physicist and astronomer 150, 497, 509, 528 Bismarck, Otto von (1815–98), German statesman 298, 300, 306, 444 Blachère, Régis (1900–73), French Arabist 445 Blackwell, Elisabeth (1821–1910), Anglo-American physician 585 Blainville, Henri Ducrotay de (1778–1850), French zoologist 522 Blake, William (1757–1827), British poet, artist, engraver and publisher 272 Blanqui, Louis Auguste (1805–81), French revolutionary socialist 30, 283 Bloch, Marc (1866–1944), French historian 478 Blucher von Wahlstatt, Gebhard Leberecht ¨ Furst (1742–1819), Prussian field marshal 468 Blum, Léon (1872–1950), French statesman 338 Boas, Franz (1858–1942), German-born American anthropologist 171 Bobrikoff, Nikolai Ivanovich (1839–1904), Russian general 335–6 Bobrowski, Stefan (1841–63), Polish student leader 305 ¨ Bockh, Philipp August (1785–1867), German Classicist 15, 19, 174, 418–19, 420, 422–5, 429, 436, 451, 466 Boerhaave, Herman (1668–1738), Dutch physician 549, 551 Bohr, Niels (1885–1962), Danish physicist 515 Boissier, Gaston (1823–1908), French Latinist 428

708

Name index Boltzmann, Ludwig (1844–1906), Austrian physicist 505 Bonald, Louis Gabriel Ambroise, Vicomte de (1754–1810), French political philosopher and statesman 400 Bonpland, Aimé (1773–1858), French botanist 520 Booth, Charles (1840–1916), British sociologist and businessman 486 Bopp, Franz (1791–1867), German philologist 426, 430, 436, 450–2 Bordeu, Théophile de (1722–76), French physician and philosopher 551 Born, Max (1882–1970), German physicist 174, 513 Bossut, Charles (1752–68), French mathematician 596 Bothe, Walther (1891–1957), German physicist 627 Boulanger, Georges (1837–91), French general and politician 97 Bourdieu, Pierre (1930–2002), French sociologist 142, 252 Bousset, Wilhelm (1865–1920), German ev. theologian 412 Boveri, Theodor (1862–1915), German zoologist 537 Brandes, Georg (1842–1929), Danish philosopher 160, 336 Brashman, Nikolai Dmitrievich (1796–1866), Russian mathematician 511 Breasted, James Henry (1865–1935), American Egyptologist 171 Brentano, Lujo (1844–1931), German economist 136 Breul, Karl (1860–1932), German Germanist 441 Brockliss, Laurence (b. 1950), British historian 12 Brongniart, Adolphe (1801–76), French botanist 522 Brongniart, Alexandre (1770–1847), French mineralogist and geologist 522 Bronn, Heinrich (1800–62), German palaeontologist 531–2 Bronner, Franz Xaver (1758–1850), German-Swiss writer and professor 509 Broussais, François Joseph Victor (1772–1838), French physician 550, 552, 556 Brouwer, Luitzen Egbertus Jan (1881–1966), Dutch mathematician 513 Brown, John (1735–88), British physician 551, 552 Brown, John (1800–59), American abolitionist 150

Brown, Robert (1773–1858), British botanist 525 ¨ Brucke, Ernst von (1819–92), Austrian physiologist 524 Brugsch, Heinrich (1827–94), German Egyptologist 446 ¨ Bucheler, Franz (1837–1908), German Classicist 425 ¨ Buchner, Ludwig (1824–99), German physician and philosopher 455, 563–4, 573 Buckle, Henry Thomas (1821–62), British historian 150, 460–1 Buff, Heinrich (1805–78), German physicist 501 Buffon, Georges-Louis Leclerc, comte de (1707–88), French mathematician and naturalist 149, 522 Buhl, Frants (1850–1932), Danish theologian and Semitist 445 Bultmann, Rudolf (1884–1976), German ev. theologian 413 Buniakovskii, Viktor (1804–89), Russian mathematician 498, 510 Bunsen, Robert Wilhelm (1811–99), German chemist 503, 516 Buonaiuti, Ernesto (1881–1946), Italian church historian 402 Buonarotti, Filippo (1761–1837), Italian-born French revolutionary 278 Burckhardt, Jacob Christoph (1818–97), Swiss historian of art and culture 464, 468 Burdach, Karl Friedrich (1776–1847), German physiologist 559 Burdach, Konrad (1859–1936), German Germanist 431 Burkitt, Francis Crawford (1864–1935), British Orientalist 413, 443 Bury, John Bagnell (1861–1927), Irish historian 472 Butlerov, Aleksandr Mikhailovich (1828–86), Russian chemist 511 Butterfield, Herbert (1900–79), British historian 472 Buzzetti, Vincenzo (1777–1824), Italian theologian 402 Byron, George Gordon Noel, Lord (Lord Byron, 1788–1824), British poet 282 Cabanis, Pierre Jean Georges (1757–1808), French physician 545, 548, 561, 567 Caetani, Leone (1869–1935), Italian scholar of Islam 445 Cairnes, John Elliot (1823–75), Irish economist 481

709

Name index Calmette, Albert (1863–1933), French bacteriologist 529 Canestrini, Giovanni (1835–1900), Italian zoologist 535 Cannon, Walter A. (1871–1945), American neurologist and physiologist 537 Cantor, Georg (1845–1918), German mathematician 512 Carlos III (1716–88), king of Spain 178 Carlyle, Thomas (1795–1881), British historian and philosopher 469 Carnegie, Andrew (1835–1919), American industrialist and philanthropist 62 Carr-Saunders, Alexander Morris (1886–1966), British sociologist and demographer 486 Casanova Ciurana, Peregr´ın (1849–1919), Spanish anatomist 536 Casati, Gabrio (1798–1893), Italian Minister of Education 96, 118, 562 Cassell, Gustav (1866–1945), Swedish economist 483 Cassirer, Ernst (1874–1945), German philosopher 453, 455 Castelar y Ripoll, Emilio (1832–99), Spanish writer and politician 302 Castro y Pajares, Fernando de (1814–74), Spanish philosopher 302 Cattani, Giuseppina (1859–1914), Italian professor of medicine 133 Cavaignac, Godefroy (1801–45), French revolutionary 288 Cavendish, Spencer Compton, 8th Duke of Devonshire (1833–1908), British politician 62 Cavendish, William, 7th Duke of Devonshire (1808–91), British university Maecenas 507 Cavour, Camillo Benso, conte di (1810–61), Italian statesman 29 Chadwick, Edwin (1800–90), British physician and social reformer 547 Challemel-Lacour, Paul Armand (1827–96), French politician and writer 69 Champollion, Jean-François (1790–1832), French Egyptologist 444 Chang Po-lin (Zhang Boling, 1876–1951), Chinese university founder 219 Chaptal, Jean Antoine (1756–1832), French chemist 496 Charles X (1757–1836), French King 280 Charlier, Carl (1862–1934), Swedish astronomer 517 Chateaubriand, François René Viscount de (1789–1848), French poet 400

Chebyshev, Pafnuty Lvovich (1821–94), Russian mathematician 510, 513 Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich (1860–1904), Russian poet 132, 157 Chetverikov, Sergei S. (1880–1959), Russian geneticist 539 Chevalier, Michel (1806–79), French economist 485 Chevalier, Hippolyte Guillaume-Sulpice see Gavarni, Paul Chevreuil, Michel-Eugène (1786–1889), French chemist 514 Christian, Gérard Joseph (1776–1832), French engineer 607 Christoffel, Erwin Bruno (1829–1900), German mathematician 505 Chulalongkorn, Rama V. (1853–1910), king of Siam 210 Churchill, Winston (1874–1965), British statesman 484, 649 Cicero, Marcus Tullius (106–43 BC), Roman writer and politician 428 Clapeyron, Emile (1799–1864), French engineer 601–602 Clark, Austin H. (1880–1954), American zoologist 649 Clark, Jonas Gilman (1815–1900), American university founder 170–1 Clausius, Rudolf (1822–88), German physicist 505 Clebsch, Rudolf Friedrich Alfred (1833–72), German mathematician 500 Clements, Frederic Edward (1874–1945), American botanist 539 Cobet, Carolus Gabriel (1819–89), Dutch Hellenist 427–8, 445 Codreanu, Corneliu (1899–1938), Romanian politician 353–4 Coit Gilman, Daniel (1813–1908), American educator and university president 168 Colbert, Jean-Baptiste (1619–83), French statesman 442 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772–1834), British writer 272 Collingwood, Robin George (1889–1943), British philosopher 473 Comte, Auguste (1798–1857), French philosopher 455, 461, 484–5, 521, 566 Conant, James B. (1893–1978), American educator and scientist, university president 667 Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de (1715–80), French philosopher 545 Constant, Benjamin (1767–1830), Swiss writer 30

710

Name index Correns, Carl (1864–1933), German botanist 537 Corvisart, Jean-Nicolas (1755–1821), French physician 549 Cousin, Victor (1792–1867), French philosopher and politician 8, 98, 99, 149, 279, 455 Cowell, Edward (1826–1903), British Sanskritist 452 Creighton, Mandell (1843–1901), British angl. theologian 463, 471 Crelle, August Leopold (1780–1855), German mathematician and engineer 500 Cremer, Jacob Jan (1827–80), Dutch writer 301–2 Creuzer, Georg Friedrich (1771–1858), German Classicist 414 Cripps, Stafford (1889–1952), British politician 649–50 Croce, Benedetto (1866–1952), Italian philosopher 71–2, 440, 453, 455, 473 Cumont, Franz (1868–1947), Belgian archaeologist and philologist 414 Cunningham, William (1849–1919), British economist 471 Curie, Marie (1867–1934), Polish-born French physicist 133 Curtius, Ernst Robert (1886–1956), German Romanist 435 Cuvier, Georges Baron (1769–1832), French zoologist and statesman 17, 450, 520, 522–4 Czermak, Johann Nepomuk (1828–73), Austrian physician 573 Czihak, Jacob, German scientist 560 d’Hulst, Maurice (1841–96), French Cath. theologian, bishop, university founder and president 404 Da¸browski, Jan Henryk (1755–1818), Polish general 272 Dante Alighieri (1265–1321), Italian poet 434 Darmesteter, Arsène (1846–88), French philologist 463 Darwin, Charles (1809–82), British naturalist 455, 459, 460–1, 530–2, 533–5, 536, 537, 539 Daumier, Honoré (1808–79), French caricaturist, painter and sculptor 147 Debye, Peter (1884–1966), Dutch-American physical chemist 505, 513 Dekker, Eduard Douwes, see Multatuli Delambre, Jean Baptiste (1749–1822), French astronomer 509

Delescluze, Charles or Louis Charles (1809–71), French journalist and radical republican 283 Denifle, Heinrich (1844–1905), Austrian-German church historian 399 De Ram, Xavier (1804–65), rector of Louvain University 121, 401 Descartes, René (1596–1650), French philosopher and scientist 416, 419, 528 Dieffenbach, Johann Friedrich (1795–1847), German surgeon 18 Dietl, Joseph (1804–78), German-Austrian physician 550, 560 Diez, Friedrich (1794–1875), German Romanist 433–4, 436, 452 Dilthey, Wilhelm (1833–1911), German philosopher 417, 451, 455, 465 Dirichlet, Gustav Lejeune (1805–59), French-German mathematician 498, 500 ¨ Dobereiner, Johann Wolfgang (1780–1849), German chemist 503 Dobzhansky, Theodosius (1900–75), Russian-American biologist 539 Dodd, Charles Harold (1884–1973), British theologian 413 Dodds, Eric Robertson (1884–1973), British Classicist 422 Dohrn, Anton (1840–1909), German zoologist 535 ¨ Dollinger, Ignaz von (1799–1890), German church historian 395–6, 399, 403–4, 461 Dreyfus, Alfred (1859–1935), French army officer 97, 151 Driesch, Hans (1867–1941), German biologist 538 Droysen, Johann Gustav (1808–84), German historian 467–98 Dubois, Paul-François (1793–1874), French philosopher 149 Du Bois-Reymond, Emil (1818–96), German physiologist 524 Dumas, Jean-Baptiste (1800–84), French chemist 498, 514 Duncan, Andrew (1744–1828), British medical reformer 547 Dupuytren, Guillaume (1777–1835), French surgeon and pathologist 549 Durkheim, Emile (1858–1917), French sociologist 414, 453, 485–6 Duruy, Victor (1811–94), French historian and politician 12, 55, 103, 375, 415, 442 ´ Cenek (1848–1922), Czech Dvoˇrak, physicist 505 Eckstein, Ferdinand von (1790–1861), Danish writer 400

711

Name index Edén, Nils (1871–1945), Swedish historian and politician 156 Edison, Thomas A. (1847–1931), American inventor 575, 577, 618 Egorov, Dmitrii Fedorovich (1869–1931), Russian mathematician 511, 513 Ehrle, Franz (1845–1934), German Jesuit, cardinal, prefect of Vatican library and medievalist 399 Eichhorn, Karl Friedrich von (1781–1854), German jurist 460 Einstein, Albert (1879–1955), Swiss-German-American physicist 505, 513, 520 Eliot, Charles William (1834–1926), American educator 169, 170 Ellis, Havelock (1859–1939), British psychologist 576 Elton, Charles (1900–91), British biologist 539 Ely, Richard Theodore (1854–1943), American political scientist 171 Engels, Friedrich (1820–95), German philosopher 460 Ernout, Alfred (1879–1973), French Latinist 421 Ernst Georg August (1771–1851), king of Hanover 286 Eucken, Rudolf (1846–1926), German philosopher 154 Euclid (c. 365–c. 300 BC), Greek mathematician 506 Euler, Leonhard (1707–83), Swiss mathematician 505 Fabrizi, Nicola (1804–85), Italian jurist and leader of the Risorgimento 28 Falconer, Robert Alexander (1867–1943), Canadian theologian and Classicist 176 Falloux, Frédéric, comte de (1811–86), French Minister of Education 95 Fanti, Manfredo (1806–65), Italian general and patriot 28 Faure, Edgar (1908–88), French jurist and politician 85, 120 Febvre, Lucien (1878–1956), French historian 477–9, 484 Fechner, Gustav (1801–87), German physicist and philosopher 498 Federley, Harry (1879–1951), Finnish zoologist 537 ´ (1880–1959), Hungarian Fejér, Lipot mathematician 512 Ferdinand VII (1784–1833), Spanish king 284 Fermi, Enrico (1901–54), Italian-born US physicist 175, 513

Ferstel, Heinrich Freiherr von (1828–82), Austrian architect 104 Feuerbach, Ludwig (1804–72), German philosopher 412, 563–4 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb (1762–1814), German philosopher 8, 22, 24, 25, 48, 49, 273, 307, 410, 455 Filippi, Filippo De (1814–67), Italian zoologist 535 Firth, Charles Harding (1857–1936), British historian 474 Fischer, Emil (1852–1919), German chemist 642 Fisher, Herbert Albert Laurens (1845–1940), British historian 476 Fisher, Ronald Aylmer (1890–1962), British statistician and geneticist 539 Fleischer, Heinrich Leberecht (1801–88), German Orientalist 445 Flexner, Abraham (1866–1959), American university reformer 580–1, 582–3, 590 Flourens, Pierre (1794–1867), French physiologist 528, 534 Follen, Karl (1795–1840), German revolutionary 275, 278 Fontana, Felice (1720–1805), Italian scientist 562 Fontanes, Louis de (1757–1821), French writer and politician 88 Forel, August (1848–1931), Swiss neuroanatomist, psychiatrist and entomologist 576 Fortoul, Hippolyte (1811–56), French Minister 90 Foster, Michael (1836–1907), British physiologist and educator 582 Fourcroy, Antoine-François de (1755–1809), French chemist and politician 495–8, 548, 600 Fraenkel, Eduard (1881–1970), German Classicist 422, 427 Franco, Francisco (1892–1975), Spanish general and statesman 72–3, 98, 355 Francoeur, Louis Benjamin (1773–1849), French mathematician 497 Frank, Hans (1900–46), German jurist 657–8 Frank, Johann Peter (1745–1821), German physician 546–7, 559, 562 Frank, Joseph (1771–1842), German physician 559 Franz Ferdinand (1863–1914), archduke of Austria 337 Franz-Joseph I (1830–1916), emperor of Austria and king of Hungary 298 Fraunhofer, Joseph (1787–1826), German physicist 516

712

Name index Frazer, James George (1854–1941), British anthropologist, folklorist and Classicist 414, 488 Fredéricq, Paul (1850–1920), Belgian historian and politician 467 Frederick VII (1808–63), king of Denmark 290 Frederick William III (1770–1840), king of Prussia 18 Frederik Wilhelm IV (1795–1861), king of Prussia 292 Freeman, Edward Augustus (1823–92), British historian 469, 472 Freud, Sigmund (1856–1939), Austrian psychiatrist 479, 487, 524, 576 Fries, Jakob Friedrich (1773–1843), German philosopher 273 Frisch, Ragnar (1895–1973), Norwegian economist 484 Fritz, Kurt von (1900–80), German Classicist 100 Froude, James Anthony (1818–94), British historian 469 Fukuzawa, Yukichi (1835–1901), Japanese writer, educator and publisher 224 Fuss, Nicolaus (1755–1826), German mathematician 509 Gabrieli, Francesco (1904–96), Italian Orientalist 445 Galvani, Luigi (1737–98), Italian physician and physicist 520 Gandhi, Mahatma (1869–1948), Hindu statesman 205 Garc´ıa, Juan Justo (1752–1830), Spanish mathematician 494 Garibaldi, Giuseppe (1807–82), Italian patriot and politician 29, 150 Gatterer, Johann Christoph (1727–99), German historian 466 Gause, Georgyi Frantsevitch (1910–86), Russian mathematician 539 Gavarni, Paul, pseudonym of Hippolyte Guillaume-Sulpice Chevalier (1804–66), French lithographer and painter 147 Gay-Lussac, Joseph-Louis (1778–1850), French physicist and chemist 150, 497, 514 Gegenbaur, Carl (1826–1903), German anatomist 532 Geijer, Erik Gustaf (1783–1847), Swedish historian 145, 148 Gentile, Giovanni (1875–1944), Italian philosopher and politician 71, 118, 455 Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, Etienne (1772–1844), French naturalist 17, 521, 522

Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, Isidore (1805–61), French zoologist 522 Gervinus, Georg Gottfried (1805–71), German literary historian 431, 464, 468 Gessner, Conrad (1516–65), Swiss physician and naturalist 449 Geyl, Pieter (1887–1966), Dutch historian 477 Gibb, Hamilton (1895–1971), British Orientalist 445 Gilbert, Ludwig Wilhelm (1769–1824), German physicist and chemist 502 Gilbert, William Schwenck (1836–1911), British playwright 147 Giles, Herbert Allen (1845–1935), British Sinologist 447 Gioberti, Vincenzo (1801–52), Italian philosopher and politician 153 Gmelin, Leopold (1788–1853), German chemist 498, 503 Goeje, Michaël Jan de (1836–1909), Dutch Orientalist 445 Goercke, Johannes (1750–1822), German military physician 556 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von (1749– 1832), German poet 23, 466, 503, 521 Goldziher, Ignaz (1850–1921), Hungarian Orientalist 445 Golgi, Camillo (1843–1926), Italian physician and cytologist 527 Gordon, Charles George (1833–85), British general 192–3 ¨ Goring, Hermann (1893–1946), German politician 662, 663 ¨ Gorres, Joseph von (1776–1848), German historian 399–400, 404, 430 Grabmann, Martin (1875–1949), German Cath. theologian 399 Green, John Richard (1837–83), British historian 472, 476 Gregory XVI (1765–1846), pope 398 Grimm, Jacob (1785–1863), German Germanist 426, 430, 433, 436, 449, 450, 452 Grimm, Wilhelm (1786–1859), German Germanist 430, 433, 436, 449, 452 Gronbech, Vilhelm Peter (1873–1918), Danish historian 414 Groot, Jan Jacob Maria de (1854–1921), German Sinologist 447 Groves, Leslie (1896–1970), American general 668 Guesde, Jules (1845–1922), French politician 317 Guizot, François Pierre Guillaume (1787–1874), French historian and politician 97, 149

713

Name index Gunkel, Hermann (1862–1932), German ev. theologian 412 Gustavus II Adolphus (1594–1632), king of Sweden 84 Haar, Alfred (1885–1933), Hungarian mathematician 512 Haber, Fritz (1868–1934), German chemist 643 Hachette, Jean Nicole Pierre (1769–1834), French engineer 607 Haeckel, Ernst (1834–1919), German zoologist and philosopher 143, 159, 455, 532–6, 538 Hagen, Friedrich von der (1780–1856), German Germanist 430 Hahn, Otto (1879–1968), German chemist 663, 665 Hahnemann, Samuel (1755–1893), German physician 552 Haldane, John Burdon Sanderson (1892–1964), British-American geneticist and physiologist 539, 582 Halévy, Elie (1870–1937), French philosopher and historian 476 Hall, Granville Stanley (1844–1924), American university president 168–9, 170–1 Haller, Albrecht von (1708–77), Swiss biologist 524 Halphen, Louis (1880–1950), French historian 477 ¨ Hardenberg, Karl August, Furst von (1750–1822), Prussian statesman and administrator 22 Hardy, Godfrey Harold (1877–1947), British mathematician 539 Hare, David (1775–1842), British-born Hindu watch-maker and silversmith, founder of colleges in India 198, 199 Harnack, Adolf von (1851–1930), German ev. theologian 61, 408, 412, 413, 642 Harper, William Rainey (1856–1906), American university president 169, 171, 228 Hase, Karl Benedikt (1780–1864), German Classicist 426 Haupt, Moritz (1808–74), German Classicist and Germanist 431 Haushofer, Karl (1869–1946), German army officer and political geographer 483 ¨ René Just (1743–1822), French Hauy, mineralogist 496 Hayek, Friedrich August von (1899–1992), Austrian-born British economist 484

Hefele, Karl Joseph von (1809–83), German Cath. theologian 399 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich (1770–1831), German philosopher 30, 130, 398, 412, 419, 426, 451, 455, 462, 468, 473 Heidegger, Martin (1889–1976), German philosopher 455 Heiler, Friedrich (1892–1967), German scholar of religious studies 414 Heine, Heinrich (1797–1856), German writer 282 Heinroth, Johann Christian August (1773–1843), German physician 551 Heisenberg, Werner (1903–76), German physicist 174 Helmholtz, Hermann von (1821–94), German physicist and physiologist 19, 503, 508, 524, 627 Hengstenberg, Ernst Wilhelm (1802–69), German ev. theologian 411 Henle, Jakob (1809–85), German pathologist 526 Henslow, John (1796–1861), British botanist 530 Herder, Johann Gottfried von (1744–1893), German theologian and philosopher 411 Hergé, pseudonym of Georges Rémi (1908–75), Belgian comic-strip artist 148 Herlez, Charles de (1832–99), Belgian Sanskritist 447 Hermann, Gottfried (1772–1848), German Classicist 424, 431 Hermes, Georg (1775–1831), German Cath. theologian and philosopher 398 Herriot, Edouard (1872–1957), French statesman 89 Hess, Rudolf (1894–1987), German politician 348 Hesse, Ludwig Otto (1811–74), German mathematician 500 Hettner, Hermann (1821–82), German historian of literature and art 432, 451 Hewins, William Albert Samuel (1865–1931), British mathematician and politician, director of the London School of Economics 481 Hilbert, David (1862–1943), German mathematician 500 Hildebrandt, Georg Friedrich (1764–1816), German physician 503 Himmler, Heinrich (1900–45), German politician 658, 665 Hindenburg, Paul von (1847–1934), German field marshal and president of the Weimar Republic 348

714

Name index Hintze, Otto (1861–1940), German historian 465 Hippocrates (c. 460–c. 370 BC), Greek physician 550, 567 Hirschfeld, Magnus (1867–1935), German sexologist 576 Hitler, Adolf (1889–1945), German politician 89–91, 94, 98, 100, 175, 348, 349, 357, 358, 359, 477, 487, 513, 656, 657, 660, 662, 665 Hobhouse, Leonard Trelawney (1864–1929), British sociologist and philosopher 486 Hodgkin, Thomas (1798–1866), British physician 589 Hodˇza, Milan (1878–1944), Czech politician 323 Hoff, Jacobus van ’t (1852–1911), Dutch physical chemist 514 Høffding, Harald (1843–1931), Danish philosopher 336 Hofmann, August Wilhelm von (1818–92), German chemist 503–4, 508 Holmes, Arthur (1890–1965), British geologist 541 Holmgren, Frithiof (1831–97), Swedish physiologist 524 Holmquist, Per Johan (1886–1946), Swedish mineralogist 540 Homer (fl. 850 BC), Greek poet 430 Hooker, Joseph Dalton (1817–1911), British botanist 531 Hooker, William Jackson (1785–1865), British botanist 531 Horkheimer, Max (1895–1973), German philosopher and sociologist 487 Hort, Fenton John Anthony (1828–92), British angl. theologian 413 Huet, François (1814–69), French-born Belgian jurist 292 Hufeland, Christoph Wilhelm (1762–1836), German physician 16, 552 Huggins, William (1824–1910), British astronomer 516 Hugo, Gustav (1764–1844), German jurist 460 Hugo, Victor (1802–85), French writer 150–1, 282 Humboldt, Alexander von (1769–1859), German scientist and explorer 5, 17, 18, 149, 426, 503, 520–1 Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1767–1835), German philologist, philosopher, politician and educational reformer 45, 67, 72, 75, 88, 152, 163, 250, 287, 410, 424, 426, 430, 455, 456, 495, 527, 558, 589, 639, 658, 659

Husserl, Edmund (1859–1939), German philosopher 453, 455 Hutton, James (1726–97), British geologist 520, 530 Huxley, Julian (1887–1975), British biologist 536 Huxley, Thomas Henry (1825–95), British zoologist 218, 531, 534 Hyrtl, Joseph (1811–94), Austrian anatomist 561 Isabel II (1830–1904), queen of Spain 302 Jackson, Thomas Graham (1835–1924), British architect 104 Jacob, Edgar Pierre (1904–87), Belgian comic-strip artist 147 Jacobi, Karl Gustav Jacob (1804–51), German mathematician 499–500 Jacoby, Felix (1876–1959), German Classicist 427 Jagić, Vratoslav (1838–1923), Croat Slavist 436 Jahn, Friedrich Ludwig (1778–1852), German pedagogue 273, 275 Janiszewski, Zygmunt (1888–1920), Polish mathematician 513 Jaurès, Jean (1859–1914), French philosopher and politician 317 Jenner, Edward (1749–1823), British physician 547 Jennings, Ivor (1903–65), British jurist 208 Jevons, William Stanley (1835–82), British economist 483–4 Jèze, Gaston (1869–1953), French jurist 100 Joan of Arc (c.1412–31), French national heroine 328 Johannsen, Wilhelm (1857–1927), Danish botanist 537 John Paul II (b. 1920), pope 403 Jolly, Julius E. (1849–1932), German Indologist 205 Jones, William (1746–94), British Orientalist and jurist 443, 445, 450 Jorga, Nicolae (1870–1940), Romanian politician 94 Joseph II (1741–90), emperor of Austria 556 Jussieu, Antoine (1686–1758), French botanist 522 Jussieu, Antoine Laurent de (1748–1836), French botanist 522 Justi, Johann Heinrich Gottlob (1717–71), German cameralist 546

715

Name index Kaelble, Hartmut (b. 1940), German historian 257 Kahn-Freund, Otto (1900–79), German jurist 486 Kamerling Onnes, Heike (1853–1926), Dutch physicist 514 Kant, Immanuel (1724–1804), German philosopher 8, 22, 48, 148, 394, 453, 639 Kapteyn, Jacobus Cornelius (1851–1922), Dutch astronomer 516 Karamzin, Nikolai Mikhailovich (1766–1826), Russian historian 146 Carl August (1757–1828), duke of Weimar 503 Karsten, Gustav (1820–1900), German physicist 502 ¨ Kastner, Abraham Gotthelf (1719–1800), German mathematician and writer 494 Keats, John (1795–1821), British poet 272 Kekkonen, Urho (1900–86), Finnish politician 344 Keller, Adalbert von (1812–83), German philologist 433, 434 Kennedy, Alexander Blackie William (1847–1928), British engineer 619 Kerner, Anton, Ritter von Marilaun (1831–1908), Austrian botanist 537 Keynes, John Maynard (1883–1946), British economist 481 Khinchin, Aleksandr Jakowlewitsch (1894–1959), Russian mathematician 513 Kingsley, Charles (1819–75), British writer and historian 469 Kirchhoff, Gustav Robert (1824–87), German physicist 499, 502–3, 508, 516 Kjellén, Rudolph (1864–1922), Swedish political scientist and politician 483 Klaproth, Martin Heinrich (1743–1817), German chemist 504 Klein, Felix (Christian Felix, 1849–1925), German mathematician 174, 500, 642 Klugmann, James (Norman John, 1912–77), British Communist politician and writer 358 Knies, Karl (1821–98), German economist 480 ´ Kogalniceanu, Mikael (1817–91), Romanian politician and historian 560 ¨ Kolliker, Albert (1817–1905), Swiss-German embryologist 526, 572 Kolmogorov, Andrey Nikolayevich (1903–87), Russian mathematician 285, 513 Koltsov, Nikolai Konstantinovich (1872–1940), Russian biologist and geneticist 585, 587

Kos’ciuszko, Tadeusz (1746–1817), Polish army officer and statesman 24, 272 Kossuth, Lajos (1802–94), Hungarian politician 293 Kotzebue, August von (1761–1819), German writer 275, 409 Kowalewsky, Sonia (1850–91), Russian mathematician 133 Krafft-Ebing, Richard Freiherr von (1840–1902), German neuropsychiatrist 576 Kraus, Karl Christian Friedrich (1781–1832), German philosopher 302 Kronecker, Leopold (1823–91), German mathematician 500 Krzyzanowski, Adrian (1788–1852), Russian astronomer 498 Kuhn, Thomas S. (1922–96), American historian of science 638 Kume, Kunitake (1839–1931), Japanese historian 226 Kummer, Ernst Eduard (1810–93), German mathematician 500 La Caille, Nicolas Louis de (1713–62), French mathematician 494 Lachmann, Karl (1793–1851), German Classicist 394, 421, 430 Lacroix, Sylvestre François (1765–1843), French mathematician 497–8, 506–7, 509 Laennec, René Théophile (1781–1826), French physician 549 Lafitte, Jacques (1767–1844), French revolutionary 288 Lagrange, Albert (1855–1938), French Cath. theologian 401 Lagrange, Joseph Louis (1736–1813), French mathematician 17, 496–8, 506, 600 ˆ Lalande, Joseph Jérome de (1732–1807), French astronomer 496 Lallemand, Nicolas (d. 1820), French revolutionary 279 Lamarck, Jean-Baptiste (1744–1829), French biologist 519, 522, 534–5 Lamé, Gabriel (1795–1870), French mathematician and physicist 601–602 Lamennais, Félicité Robert de (1782–1861), French Cath. theologian and writer 400, 401 La Mettrie, Julien Offray de (Lamettrie, 1709–51), French physician and philosopher 150 Lamprecht, Karl (1856–1915), German historian 143, 464

716

Name index Lanson, Gustave (1857–1934), French historian of literature 416, 442 Laplace, Pierre Simon Marquis de (1749–1827), French mathematician and astronomer 17, 498, 506–7, 509 La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, François Alexandre Frédéric Duc de (1747–1827), French educator and social reformer 608 Laski, Harold (1893–1950), British political scientist, educator and politician 482 Laue, Max von (1879–1960), German physicist 174, 505 Laval de Montmorency, François Xavier de (1623–1708), Canadian bishop 177 Lazarus, Moritz (1824–1903), German philosopher and psychologist 453 Leclerc, Georges-Louis see Buffon, comte de Lefebvre, Georges (1874–1959), French historian 476 Legendre, Adrien Marie (1752–1833), French mathematician 509 Legge, James (1815–97), British missionary and Sinologist 447 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm (1646–1716), German philosopher and mathematician 522 Lejeune-Dirichlet, see Dirichlet Lelewel, Joachim (1786–1861), Polish historian 150, 287 Lenz, Heinrich Friedrich Emil (1804–65), Baltic physicist 510 Leo XIII (1810–1903), pope 189, 396, 402–4 Lepsius, Richard (1810–84), German Egyptologist 446 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim (1729–81), German poet and critic 430 Lessing, Theodor (1872–1933), German writer and philosopher 348 Lessona, Michele (1823–94), Italian biologist 535 Leubuscher, Rudolf (1821–61), German psychologist 565 Lexis, Wilhelm (1837–1914), German economist and social scientist 378 Leydig, Franz von (1821–1908), German physiologist 526 Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph (1742–99), German physicist and writer 501 Liebig, Justus von (1802–73), German chemist 50, 498, 502–4, 508, 511, 514, 525, 566, 568, 606 Lightfoot, James Barber (1829–89), British Angl. theologian 413

Linde, Carl von (1842–1934), German engineer 619 ¨ Lorenz (1827–1908), Finnish Lindelof, mathematician 155 Lindemann, Cherwell Frederick Alexander Lindemann, 1st Viscount (1886–1957), German-British physicist 649 Linnaeus, Carolus (Carl von Linné, 1707–78), Swedish botanist and explorer 450, 538, 568 Lippmann, Gabriel (1845–1921), French physicist 514 Li Shu-hua (Li Shuhua, 1889–1979), Chinese politician 218 Lister, Joseph (1827–1912), British surgeon 570, 589 Li Teng-hui (Li Denghui, 1873–1947), Chinese university president 220 Littré, Emile (1801–81), French lexicographer and philosopher 412 Littrow, Joseph (1781–1840), Russian astronomer 509 Lobachevskii, Nikolai (1792–1856), Russian mathematician 509 Lodge, Richard (1855–1936), British historian 475–6 Loescher, Hermann (1831–92), German-Italian publisher 428 ¨ Lofstedt jr., Einar (1880–1955), Swedish Latinist 421 ¨ Lofstedt sr., Einar (1831–84), Swedish historian 420 Loisy, Alfred (1857–1940), French Cath. theologian 401 ¨ Lonnrot, Elias (1802–84), Finnish writer, folklorist and philologist 148 ´ Lopez, José Severo (1754–1807), Spanish surgeon 561 Lorentz, Hendrik Antoon (1853–1928), Dutch physicist 514 Lot, Ferdinand (1866–1952), French historian 92 Lotka, Alfred James (1880–1949), Austrian-American mathematician 539 Lou Chia-lun (Lou Jialun, 1896–1969), Chinese university president 218 Loudon, James (1841–1916), Canadian university president 176 Louis Philippe of Orléans (1773–1850), French king 281, 284, 522 Lovén, Sven (1809–95), Swedish zoologist 534 Lubac, Henri de (1896–1991), French Cath. theologian 403 Ludwig I of Hessen (1753–30), Grand Duke of Hessen-Darmstadt 503

717

Name index Ludwig II of Bayern (1845–86), King of Bayern 396 Ludwig, Karl (1816–92), German physiologist 524, 583 Luther, Martin (1483–1546), German theologian and reformer 26, 66 ¨ Lutzow, Ludwig Adolf Wilhelm von (1782–1834), Prussian major general 273 Luzin, Nikolai Nikolaevich (1883–1950), Russian mathematician 511, 513 Lyapunov, Aleksandr Mikhailovich (1857–1918), Russian mathematician 513 Lyell, Charles (1797–1875), British geologist 530–1, 532–3 Lysenko, Trofim (1898–1976), Russian biologist and agronomist 92, 541, 586 Ma Chien-chiung (Ma Jianzhong, 1844–1900), Chinese university founder 219 Ma Hsiang-po (Ma Xiangbo, 1840–1939), Chinese university founder 219 Maas, Paul (1880–1964), German Classicist 427 Macaulay, Thomas Babington (1800–59), British historian 199, 463, 469, 472 Mach, Ernst (1838–1916), Austrian physicist 505 Mackinder, Halford John (1861–1947), British political geographer 483 ¨ Maklin, Fredrik Vilhelm (1821–83), Finnish zoologist 534 Magendie, François (1783–1855), French physiologist 528, 550 Magnes, Judah Leon (1877–1948), Israeli statesman and rabbi 191 ˆ Emile (1852–1964), French art Male, historian 477 Malinowski, Branislaw (1882–1942), British anthropologist 488–9 Mann, Thomas (1875–1955), German writer 576 Mannheim, Herman (1889–1969), German jurist 486 Mannheim, Karl (1893–1947), German sociologist 486 Manning, Henry Edward (1808–92), British Cath. theologian 404 Marheineke, Philipp (1780–1846), German ev. theologian 407 Maria Theresia (1717–80), empress of Austria 559 Marie, Joseph François (1738–1801), French mathematician 494

Mariette, Auguste Edouard (1821–81), French Egyptologist 444, 446 Maritain, Jacques (1882–1973), French philosopher 352, 403 Markov, Andrey Andreevich (1856–1922), Russian mathematician 510, 513 Markowski, Jozef (1758–1829), Polish chemist 498 Marouzeau, Jules (1878–1964), French Latinist 421 Marshall, Alfred (1842–1924), British economist 481 Marx, Karl (1818–83), German philosopher and politician 363, 412, 455, 460–1 ´ s Garrigue (1850–1937), Masaryk, Tomaˇ Czech philosopher and first President of Czechoslovakia 155, 322 Mascagni, Paolo (1755–1815), Italian anatomist 562 Maspero, Gaston (1846–1916), French Egyptologist 444, 446 Maspero, Henri (1882–1945), French Sinologist 446 Massignon, Louis (1883–1962), French Orientalist 445 ´ Mateos, Mariano Lopez (1800–63), Spanish physician 527 Matteucci, Carlo (1811–68), Italian Minister of Education 37, 118 Maurras, Charles (1868–1952), French writer 100, 338 Mauss, Marcel (1882–1950), French sociologist and anthropologist 414 Maxwell, James Clerk (1831–79), British physicist 507 Mazurkiewicz, Stefan (1888–1945), Polish mathematician 513 Mazzini, Giuseppe (1805–72), Italian propagandist and revolutionary 29–31, 150 McMillan, Conway (1867–1929), American botanist 539 Mechelin, Leopold von (1839–1914), Finnish jurist 155 Medici, Lorenzo de’ (1449–92), Florentine statesman 27 Meillet, Antoine (1866–1936), French linguist 451 Meinecke, Friedrich (1862–1954), German historian 479 Mendel, Gregor (1822–84), Austrian botanist 536–7 Mendeleev, Dmitrii Ivanovich (1834–1907), Russian chemist 511

718

Name index Menger, Carl (1840–1921), Austrian economist 483 Menshikov, Aleksander Sergeievich (1787–1869), commander of the Russian forces 153 Mercier, Désiré (1851–1926), Belgian Cath. theologian 327 ¨ Metternich, Klemens Wenzel Furst von (1773–1859), Austrian statesman 24, 27, 50, 152, 153, 275, 280, 288, 293, 409, 561 Meyer, Paul (1840–1917), French Romanist 442 Meynert, Theodor (1833–92), German psychiatrist 569 Michelet, Jules (1798–1874), French historian 30, 99, 149, 289, 290, 476 Michel-Lévy, Auguste (1844–1911), French geologist 540 Michelson, Albert Abraham (1852–1931), American physicist 171 Mickiewicz, Adam (1798–1855), Polish writer 149, 277, 289 Mignet, Auguste (1796–1884), French historian 280 Miklosich, Franz von (1813–91), Slovenian Slavist 436, 452 Miljukov, Pavel Nikolaievich (1859–1943), Russian historian and politician 155 Mill, John Stuart (1806–73), British economist 218, 455, 479, 588 Minkowski, Hermann (1864–1909), German mathematician 500 Mises, Richard von (1883–1953), Austrian mathematician and engineer 501, 513 Mitscherlich, Eilhard (1794–1863), German chemist 504, 511 Moeller van den Bruck, Arthur (1876–1925), German writer 347 Moleschott, Jacob (1822–93), Dutch physiologist 563–4, 573 Mommsen, Theodor (1817–1903), German historian 61, 69, 425, 428, 466 Monge, Gaspard (1746–1818), French mathematician 496–8, 507, 596, 599, 600 Monod, Gabriel (1844–1912), French historian 463, 476, 477 Montesquieu, Charles de Secondat, Baron de La Brède et de (1689–1755), French political philosopher 218 Montgomery Watt, William (b. 1909), British scholar of Islam 445 Mookerjee, Ashutosh (1864–1924), Hindu lawyer, mathematician, educator and author 204

Morgagni, Giovanni Battista (1682–1771), Italian anatomist and pathologist 548, 563 Morgan, Thomas Hunt (1866–1945), American zoologist and geneticist 537 Mosca, Gaetano (1858–1941), Italian jurist and political theorist 482 Mosley, Oswald (1896–1980), British politician 340 Moyano Samaniego, Claudio (1809–90), Spanish Minister of Education 118, 302 Mudrov, Matvej Jakovlevic (1772–1831), Russian physician 559 Mulder, Gerardus Johannes (1802–80), Dutch chemist 568 ¨ Muller, Detlef K. (b. 1942), German historian of education 255 ¨ Muller, Johannes (1801–58), German physiologist 17–19, 523–6, 532, 549, 552–3, 563–4, 579 ¨ Muller, Karl Otfried (1797–1840), German classical historian 466 ¨ Muller, Max (1823–1900), German linguist 414, 427, 489 Multatuli, pseudonym of Dekker, Eduard Douwes (1820–87), Dutch writer 301–2 ¨ Munzenberg, Willi (1889–1940), German politician and publicist 358 Murray, Gilbert (1866–1957), British Classicist 422 Mussolini, Benito (1883–1945), Italian statesman 37, 89, 98, 100, 341, 355, 482, 513 Myrdal, Gunnar (1898–1987), Swedish economist and politician 484 ¨ Nageli, Karl von (1817–91), Swiss-German botanist 526, 537 Namier, Lewis (1888–1960), British historian 475 Napoleon I (Napoleon Bonaparte 1769–1821), French emperor 25, 149, 240, 272, 300, 307, 381, 396, 444, 466, 477, 485, 495, 497, 522, 544, 588, 597, 602, 652 – on education and universities 3, 31, 39, 44–5, 52, 55, 61, 72, 74, 93, 97, 108, 120, 124, 129, 139, 159, 178, 186, 251, 454, 560 Napoleon III (Charles Louis Napoléon Bonaparte 1808–73), French emperor 69, 296, 300, 529 Neander, August (1789–1850), German ev. theologian 407 Nehru, Jawaharlal (1889–1964), Hindu statesman 205

719

Name index Nénot, Henri-Paul (1845–1934), French architect 104 Nernst, Walther Hermann (1864–1941), German physicist 174 Neumann, Carl (1832–1925), German mathematician 505 Neumann, Franz (1798–1895), German physicist and mineralogist 499–500, 502, 505, 515 Neumann, Salomon (1819–1908), German physician and politician 565 Nève, Félix (1816–93), French Orientalist 452 Newman, John Henry (1801–90), British Angl., later Cath. theologian 93, 404 Newton, Isaac (1643–1727), British mathematician, physicist and astronomer 493, 506 Nicholas I (1796–1855), Russian emperor 152, 303, 509, 573 Nicholas II (1868–1918), Russian emperor 154 Niebuhr, Barthold Georg (1776–1831), German historian 15, 465, 466 Niemczewski, Zachariasz (1766–1820), Polish mathematician 498 Nietzsche, Friedrich (1844–1900), German philosopher and Classicist 455, 468 Nilsson, Martin Persson (1874–1967), Swedish Classicist and historian 414, 420–1 Nilsson-Ehle, Herman (1873–1949), Swedish botanist 537 Nobel, Alfred (1833–96), Swedish chemist, engineer and industrialist 575 ¨ Noldeke, Theodor (1832–1930), German Orientalist 445 Norden, Eduard (1868–1941), German Classicist 425, 429 Oken, Lorenz (1779–1851), German scientist 521, 523 Ono, Azusa (1852–86), Japanese statesman and university founder 226 Orioli, Francesco (1785–1856), Italian philosopher 27 Ørsted, Anders Sandøe (1778–1860), Danish jurist and politician 154 Ørsted, Hans Christian (1777–1852), Danish physicist 154 Ortega y Gasset, José (1883–1955), Spanish philosopher of culture 354 Oscar I (1799–1859), king of Sweden and Norway 290

Osenberg, Werner (1900–72), German engineer 664 Osipovskii, Timofei (1765–1832), Russian mathematician 509 Osler, William (1849–1919), Canadian physician 582 Ostrogradskii, Mikhail Vasilevich (1801–62), Ukrainian mathematician 498, 510 Ostwald, Wilhelm (1853–1932), German chemist 514 Otto I (1815–67), king of Greece 43 Otto, Rudolf (1869–1937), German ev. theologian, philosopher and historian 414 Owen, Richard (1804–92), British anatomist and palaeontologist 531 Painlevé, Paul (1863–1933), French mathematician and statesman 156, 629 Palmén, Johan Axel (1845–1919), Finnish zoologist 534 Pareto, Vilfredo (1848–1923), Italian economist and sociologist 486 Paris, Alexis Paulin (1800–81), French literary historian 442 Paris, Gaston (1839–1903), French Romanist 442 Park, Robert (1864–1944), American sociologist 171 Parrot, Georg Friedrich (1767–1852), Estonian physicist 509, 510 Pasha Artini, Yacoub, see Artin Pasha Yacoub Pasquali, Giorgio (1885–1952), Italian philologist 428 Pasteur, Louis (1822–95), French chemist and microbiologist 13, 18, 92, 151, 525, 528–9, 534, 577, 579 Pattison, Mark (1813–1884), British educational reformer 168, 427 Pauli, Wolfgang (1900–58), Swiss-American physicist 505 Paulsen, Friedrich (1846–1908), German philosopher 20, 454, 457 Pavlov, Ivan Petroviˇc (1849–1936), Russian physiologist 573, 585 Pearson, Karl (1857–1936), British mathematician 513 Pedro II (1825–91), emperor of Brazil 182 Percival, John Thomas (1803–76), British physician 575 Perkin, Harold, British historian 369 Pestalozzi, Johann Heinrich (1746–1827), Swiss educational reformer 22

720

Name index Petrarca, Francesco (1304–74), Italian poet 29, 434 Pfeiffer, Rudolf (1889–1979), German Classicist 427 Pfleiderer, Otto (1839–1908), German ev. theologian 414 Pigou, Arthur Cecil (1877–1959), British economist 481 ´ Pilsudski, Josef Klemens (1867–1935), Polish statesman 352 Pinel, Philippe (1745–1826), French physician 545, 549–51 Piper, Ferdinand (1811–89), German ev. theologian and archaeologist 409 Pirogov, Nikolai (1810–81), Russian surgeon and anatomist 573 Pius IX (1792–1878), pope 396, 398, 401, 402, 403 Pius X (1835–1914), pope 317, 396, 401 Pius XI (1857–1939), pope 338, 356 Pius XII (1876–1958), pope 403 Planck, Max (1858–1947), German physicist 503, 627–8, 642 Plato (c. 427–c. 347 BC), Greek philosopher 395, 422, 451 Plekhanov, Georgiy Valentinovitch (1856–1918), Russian historian 473 Poggendorf, Johann Christian (1796–1877), German physicist 502 Poincaré, Henri (1854–1912), French mathematician 516 Poinsot, Louis (1777–1859), French mathematician 150 Poisson, Siméon Denis (1781–1840), French mathematician and physicist 497–8, 507 Pollard, Albert Frederick (1860–1948), British historian 474 Pompe van Meerdervoort, Johan Lidius Catharinus (1829–1908), Dutch naval surgeon in Japan 556, 572 Popper, Karl (1902–94), Austrian-born British philosopher 478 Powicke, Frederick Maurice (1879–1963), British historian 475 Prichard, James Cowles (1786–1848), British physician and ethnologist 551 Primo de Rivera y Orbaneja, Miguel (1870–1930), Spanish general and statesman 72–3, 354 Princip, Gavrilo (1895–1918), Serbian nationalist 293 Prothero, George Walter (1848–1922), British historian 471–2, 475 Proust, Marcel (1871–1922), French writer 157, 416

Puschkin (Pushkin), Aleksandr Sergeevich (1799–1837), Russian poet 275 Quinet, Edgar (1803–75), French historian 99, 149, 289 Rabelais, François (1494–1553), French writer 147 Rade, Martin (1857–1940), German ev. theologian 414 Rait, Robert Sangster (1874–1936), British historian 475–6 Ram, (Pierre François) Xavier de (1804–65), Belgian historian and university rector 401 ´ y Cajal, Santiago (1852–1934), Ramon Spanish histologist 527 Ranke, Leopold von (1795–1886), German historian 174, 463–5, 466–9, 477 Rankine, William John Macquorn (1820–72), British engineer 618 Rashdall, Hastings (1858–1924), British historian 462 Ratzel, Friedrich (1844–1904), German geographer and ethnographer 483 Rayleigh, John William Strutt, third baron (1841–1919), British physicist 507 Reinisch, Leo (1832–1919), Austrian Egyptologist and Africanist 446 Reitzenstein, Richard (1861–1931), German Classicist 395 Remak, Robert (1815–65), German physician 526–7 Remsen, Ira (1846–1927), American chemist 171 Renan, Ernest (1823–92), French historian 93, 151, 399–400, 412, 415, 417–18, 424, 443 Renner, Kaspar-Fridrich Fedorovic (1780–1816), Russian mathematician 509 Reuleaux, Franz (1829–1905), German engineer 618 ´ (1858–1934), Ribera y Tarrago, Julian Spanish scholar of Islam 444 Ricardo, David (1772–1823), British economist and banker 460, 481 Richelieu, Armand Jean du Plessis, duc de (1585–1642), French statesman and cardinal 102 Riesz, Frigyes (1880–1956), Hungarian mathematician 512 Ritschl, Albrecht (1822–89), German ev. theologian 412

721

Name index Robert de Sorbon (1201–74), French theologian 107 Robespierre, Maximilien de (1758–94), French revolutionary and statesman 34, 284 ´ José Enrique (1871–1917), Rodo, Uruguayan philosopher, educator and essayist 182 Rokitansky, Carl Freiherr von (1804–78), Austrian physician 568, 569 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano (1882–1945), president of the USA 668 Roscher, Wilhelm (1817–94), German economist 480 ¨ Roschlaub, Andreas (1768–1835), German physician 552 Rose, Heinrich (1795–1864), German chemist 504 Rosenberg, Alfred (1893–1946), German politician 659 Rosenbusch, Karl Harry Ferdinand (1836–1914), German geologist 540 Rosmini-Servati, Antonio (1797–1855), Italian Cath. theologian 402–3 Rossi, Giovanni Battista de (1822–94), Italian art historian 403 Rousseau, Jean Jacques (1712–78), Swiss-French philosopher 4, 546 Roux, Emile (1853–1933), French bacteriologist 529 Roux, Wilhelm (1850–1924), German zoologist 538 Rowntree, Benjamin Seebohm (1871–1954), British sociologist and philanthropist 486 Roy, Rammohun (1772–1833), Hindu religious, social and educational reformer 199 Rudolphi, Carl Asmund (1771–1832), German anatomist 18, 523 Ruge, Arnold (1802–80), German philosopher 455 Rumovskii, Stepan (1734–1812), Russian mathematician 509 Runeberg, Johan Vilhelm (1804–81), Finnish professor of rhetoric 148 Russell, William (1741–93), British historian 199 Rutherford, Ernest (1871–1937), British physicist 508, 514–15 Rydberg, Viktor (1828–95), Swedish writer and journalist 126 Sacy, Antoine Isaac Silvestre de (1758–1835), French Orientalist 443, 445, 450

Sagnac, Philippe (1868–1954), French historian 477 Saint-Amand Bazard (1791–1832), French revolutionary 279 Saint-Simon, Claude Henri de Rouvroy, comte de (1760–1825), French philosopher and social theorist 30, 484 Saintsbury, George (1845–1933), British literary historian 415 ´ Salazar, Antonio de Oliveira (1889–1970), Portuguese politician 91, 156, 341, 648–9 Salimbeni, Leonardo (1830–89), Italian teacher of natural history 535 Sambuc, Jules Théophile (1804–34), French revolutionary 281, 283 Sanctis, Francesco De (1817–83), Italian literary critic 69 Sand, Karl Ludwig (1795–1820), German theology student 275, 409 Sangnier, Marc (1873–1950), French writer 317 ´ (1814–69), Spanish Sanz del R´ıo, Julian scholar of law 302 Sapalski, Franciszek (1791–1838), Polish mathematician 498 Sarraut, Albert (1872–1962), French politician 211 Saussure, Ferdinand de (1857–1913), Swiss linguist 452 Savigny, Friedrich Karl von (1779–1861), German jurist 14–15, 426, 430, 450, 460, 466 Say, Jean Baptiste (1767–1832), French economist 484–5 Sbert, Antonio Maria (1901–80), Spanish student leader 354 Scaliger, Joseph Justus (1540–1609), French-Dutch Classicist 449 Scelle, Georges Auguste Jean Joseph (1878–1961), French university professor 89, 100 Schaumann, Eugen (1875–1904), Finnish nationalist 336 Scheler, Max (1874–1928), German philosopher 365 Schelling, Friedrich W. J. von (1755–1854), German philosopher 398–9, 455, 501–2, 552 Schiller, Friedrich von (1795–1805), German writer 148, 297–8, 477–8 Schimper, Andreas Franz Wilhelm (1856–1901), German botanist 538–9 Schirach, Baldur von (1907–74), German politician 349 Schlegel, August Wilhelm von (1767–1845), German literary historian 430, 452

722

Name index Schlegel, Friedrich von (1772–1829), German writer and critic 430, 450 Schlegel, Gustav (1840–1903), Dutch Sinologist 447 Schleiden, Matthias (1804–81), German botanist 521, 525, 526 Schleiermacher, Friedrich Ernst Daniel (1768–1834), German ev. theologian and philosopher 24, 25, 395, 414, 422, 453, 455 – reformer of the University of Berlin 5, 48, 49, 152, 163, 406, 639 ¨ Schlozer, August Ludwig von (1735–1809), German historian and philologist 148 Schmidlin, Joseph (1878–1944), German Cath. theologian 399 Schmidt, Georg Gottlieb (1768–1837), German mathematician 501 Schmoller, Gustav von (1838–1912), German economist 480 ¨ Schonlein, Johann Lukas (1793–1864), German physician 17 Schopenhauer, Arthur (1788–1860), German philosopher 455 ¨ Schrodinger, Erwin (1887–1961), Austrian physicist 174, 505, 513 Schumpeter, Joseph Alois (1853–1950), Austrian social scientist 480, 484 Schwann, Theodor (1810–82), German physiologist 521, 567–8 Schwarzschild, Karl (1873–1948), German astronomer 517 Scott, Walter (1771–1832), British writer 282 Secchi, Angelo (1818–78), Italian physicist 516 Sechenov, Ivan M. (1839–1905), Russian physiologist 573 Sederholm, Jakob Johannes (1863–1934), Finnish geologist 540 Sedgwick, Adam (1785–1873), British geologist 530 Seeley, John Robert (1834–95), British historian 469–70, 482 Seeliger, Hugo von (1849–1924), German astronomer 517 Semmelweis, Ignaz (1818–1865), German-Hungarian physician 569, 589 Semper, Gottfried (1803–79), German architect 104 ¨ Serturner, Friedrich Wilhelm (1783–1841), German pharmacist 578 Seyss-Inquart, Arthur (1892–1946), Austrian politician 654 Shakespeare, William (1564–1616), British playwright 199, 452 Shaw, George Bernard (1856–1950), Irish writer 576

Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft (1797–1851), British writer 147 Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792–1822), British writer 272 Siebold, Karl von (1804–85), German physician and zoologist 526 Siemens, Werner von (1816–92), German engineer 19, 627 ´ Sierpinski, Waclaw Franciszek (1882–1969), Polish mathematician 513 Simmel, Georg (1858–1918), German sociologist and philosopher 487 Simon, Jules (1814–96), French politician and philosopher 99 Simpson, George Gaylord (1902–84), American palaeontologist 539 Skoda, Joseph (1805–81), Austrian physician 562 ¨ Skrodzki, Karol (Jurgen Karl, 1787–1832), Polish physicist and university rector 498 Small, Albion Woodbury (1854–1926), American sociologist 171 Smith, Adam (1723–90), British economist 11, 148, 484 Smith, Arthur Lionel (1850–1924), British historian 474, 475 Snellen, Herman (1834–1908), Dutch ophthalmologist 579 Snellman, Johan Vilhelm (1806–81), Finnish philosopher and statesman 148, 336 Snouck Hurgronje, Christiaan (1879–1936), Dutch scholar of Islam 445 ¨ Soderblom, Nathan (1866–1931), Swedish ev. theologian and historian 414 Sombart, Werner (1863–1941), German sociologist 136, 480, 487 Sonnenschein, Carl (1876–1929), German Cath. theologian 320 Sorby, Henry Clifton (1826–1908), British geologist 540 Spartacus (d. 71 BC), Roman slave and revolutionary 150 Speer, Albert (1905–81), German politician and architect 665 Spemann, Hans (1869–1941), German zoologist 538 Spencer, Herbert (1820–1903), British philosopher 218, 316, 456 Spengel, Johann Wilhelm (1852–1921), German zoologist 534 Speransky, Mihail Mihajloviˇc count (1772–1839), Russian statesman 125 Stael, Madame de (1766–1817), French writer 452

723

Name index ˚ Stahlberg, Kaarlo (1862–1952), Finnish jurist and statesman 155 Staiger, Emil (1908–87), Swiss Germanist 432 Stalin, Joseph (1878–1953), Soviet dictator 92, 586 Stas, Jean Servais (1813–91), Belgian chemist 498 Stein, (Heinrich Friedrich) Karl, Reichsfreiherr vom und zum (1757–1831), German statesman 22 Stein, Mark Aurel (1862–1943), British archaeologist and geographer 205 Steinthal, Hajim (1823–99), German linguist 452 Stendhal (pseudonym of Marie Henri Beyle) (1783–1842), French writer 29 Stephen, James (1789–1859), British colonial administrator; historian 470 Stokes, George Gabriel (1819–1903), British mathematician 506 Stoll, Maximilian (1742–88), German physician 561 Strasburger, Eduard (1844–1912), German plant cytologist 538 Strauss, David Friedrich (1808–74), German ev. theologian 30, 411–12 Strindberg, August (1849–1912), Swedish writer 150 Stromeyer, Friedrich (1776–1835), German chemist 504 ˇ ek (1850–1922), Czech Strouhal, Cenˇ physicist 505 Strutt, John William see Rayleigh Stubbs, William (1825–1901), British historian 473–4 ˇ ur, ´ Ludov´ıt (L’udov´ıt, 1812–56), Slovak St student leader, linguist, politician and writer 288 Suess, Eduard (1831–1914), Austrian geologist and palaeontologist 540 Sullivan, Arthur Seymour (1841–1900), British composer 147 Sun Yat-sen (1866–1925), Chinese statesman 223 Susini, Clemente Michelangelo F. (1754–1814), Italian sculptor 562 Suslova, Nadezhda (1843–1918), Russian physician 585 Sutton, Walter Stanborough (1877–1916), American biologist 537 Swieten, Gerard van (1700–72), Dutch-Austrian 556, 559 Sybel, Heinrich von (1817–95), German historian 463, 471

Tagore, Rabindranath (1861–1941), Hindu writer and philosopher 207 Taine, Hippolyte (1828–93), French philosopher and historian 151 Tait, James (1863–1944), British historian 475 Takata, Sanai (1860–1938), Japanese political scientist and university founder 226 Tanaka Fujimaro (1845–1909), Japanese politician 224, 228 Tansley, Arthur G. (1871–1955), British botanist 539 Tarde, Gabriel de (1843–1904), French sociologist 485–6 Tawney, Richard Henry (1880–1962), British economic historian 473, 482, 488 Tegnér, Esaias (1782–1846), Swedish bishop 148, 159 Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre (1881–1955), French theologian and palaeontologist 221, 403 Tenon, Jacques (1724–1816), French physician 545 Thalamas, François (1867–1953), French historian 328 Thénard, Louis Jacques (1777–1857), French chemist 496, 497–8 Thibaudet, Antoine (1874–1936), French literary historian 134, 157 Thibert, Félix, French producer of artificial medical models 572 Thierry, Augustin (1795–1856), French historian 460 Thiers, Adolphe (1797–1877), French historian 280 Thomas Aquinas (1224/1225–74), Italian-French theologian and philosopher 402 Thomson, Joseph John (1856–1940), British physicist 508 Thomson, William, Lord Kelvin of Largs (1824–1907), British physicist 156, 508, 515 Thun und Hohenstein, Count Leo von (1811–88), Austrian statesman 51 Tigerstedt, Robert (1853–1923), Finnish physiologist 524 Tiso, Jozef (1887–1947), Slovakian politician 353 Tisserand, François Felix (1845–96), French astronomer 516 Tissot, Simon André (1728–97), Swiss physician 550 Tobler, Adolf (1835–1910), Swiss Romanist 434

724

Name index Toller, Ernst (1893–1939), German writer 346 Tolstoy, Leo (1828–1910), Russian writer 333 ¨ Tonnies, Ferdinand (1848–1923), German sociologist 486 Topelius, Zacharias (1818–98), Finnish-Swedish historian 146 Tout, Thomas Frederick (1855–1929), British historian 475 Traube, Ludwig (1818–76), German physician 429, 565 Traugutt, Romuald (1826–64), Polish revolutionary 306 Treitschke, Heinrich von (1834–96), German historian 307, 468–9, 478, 482 Trevelyan, George Macaulay (1876–1962), British historian 472 Treviranus, Gottfried Reinhold (1776–1864), German physician 519, 523 Troelstraa, Pieter Jelles (1860–1930), Dutch writer 341 Troeltsch, Ernst (1865–1923), German ev. theologian 395, 412 Trousseau, Armand (1801–67), French physician 589 Trubetskoi, Sergei Nikolaievich (1802–1905), Russian university rector 155 Trubetzkoy, Nikolai Sergejewich (1890–1938), Russian linguist 452 Ts’ai, Yuan-P’ei (1867–1940) 218 Tschermak, Erich, Edler von Seysenegg von (1871–1962), Austrian botanist 537 Tuke, Samuel (1784–1857), British psychiatrist 551 Tuke, William (1732–1822), British psychiatrist 551 Tullberg, Tycho (1842–1920), Swedish zoologist 534 ¨ Turck, Ludwig (1810–68), Austrian physician 573 Tyler, Edward Burnett (1832–1917), British anthropologist 414 Tytler, Alexander Fraser (1747–1813), British historian 199 Ubaghs, Gerhard (1800–75), Belgian philosopher and theologian 401 Ulyanov, Alexander (1866–1887), Russian revolutionary and brother of Lenin 324 Ulyanov, Vladimir Iljisch see Lenin Usener, Hermann (1834–1905), German Classicist 425

Valenciennes, Achille (1791–1864), French zoologist 522 Vallejo, Jose Mariano (1779–1846), Spanish mathematician 498 Vauquelin, Louis Nicolas (1763–1829), French chemist 495–6 Vavilov, Nikolai Ivanovich (1887–1943), Russian plant geneticist 541 Verdi, Giuseppe (1813–1901), Italian composer 30 Vico, Giambattisto (1668–1744), Italian philosopher and jurist 418, 451 Victoria (1819–1901), queen of Great Britain and Ireland 192, 197 Vidal de la Blache, Paul (1845–1918), French geographer 477 Villemain, Abel-François (1790–1870), French literary historian 149, 236 Virchow, Rudolf (1821–1902), German physician 19–20, 489, 526, 532, 533, 564–6, 568–9, 572, 579 Vogel, Hermann Karl (1841–1907), German astronomer 516 Vogt, Karl (1817–95), German geologist 69, 563–4 Volta, Alessandro (1745–1827), Italian physicist 520 Volterra, Vito (1860–1940), Italian mathematician and physicist 539 Voronoff, Serge (1866–1959), Russian-French physiologist 577 Voskresenskii, Aleksandr A. (1809–80), Russian chemist 511 ´ Alexander Boleslav´ın Vrchovsky, (1812–43), Slovak student 287–8 Vries, Hugo de (1848–1935), Dutch botanist and geneticist 537 Waals, Johannes Diderik van der (1837–1923), Dutch physicist 514 Wach, Joachim (1898–1955), German-American theologian 414 Wachler, Johann Ludwig Friedrich (1767–1838), German historian 462 Wade, Thomas (1818–95), British Sinologist 447 Waentig, Karl Heinrich (1843–1917), German university officer 136 Wallace, Alfred Russel (1823–1913), British zoologist 530 Walras, Marie Esprit Léon (1834–1910), French economist 483–4, 486 Walter von der Vogelweide (c. 1170–c. 1230), German poet 430 Walzer, Richard (1900–75), German Hellenist and Arabist 427

725

Name index Ward, Adolphus William (1837–1924), British historian, linguist 475 Warming, Eugen (1841–1924), Danish botanist 538–9 Waterhouse, Alfred (1830–1905), British architect 104 Watt, James (1735–1848), British engineer and inventor 595 Webb, Beatrice (1858–1943), British historian and social reformer 482 Webb, Sidney (1859–1947), British politician 482 Weber, Max (1864–1920), German sociologist and economist 60, 127, 136–7, 252, 465, 466, 480, 487–8 Wegener, Alfred (1880–1930), German meteorologist and geophysicist 540–1 Weierstrass, Karl (1815–97), German mathematician 500 Weinberg, Wilhelm (1861–1937), German geneticist 539 Weismann, August (1834–1914), German zoologist 536 Wellhausen, Julius (1844–1918), German ev. theologian 395, 443 Wennerberg, Gunnar (1817–1901), Swedish writer 125 Werner, Abraham Gottlob (1750–1817), German geologist 520 Westcott, Brooke Foss (1825–1901), British theologian 413 Westermann, Dietrich H. (1875–1956), German Africanist 448–9 Wette, Wilhelm Martin Leberecht, De (1780–1849), German ev. theologian 99, 407, 409 Whewell, William (1794–1866), British philosopher 498 Wicksell, Knut (1851–1926), Swedish economist 483 Wieger, Leon (1856–1933), French Sinologist 221 Wien, Wilhelm (1864–1928), German physicist 627 Wiesengrund, see Adorno Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Ulrich von (1848–1931), German Classicist 413, 425, 435, 642 Wilberforce, Samuel (1805–73), British bishop 531 Wilberforce, William (1759–1833), British politician and philanthropist 150 Willem of Oranje-Nassau (1840–79), prince of the Netherlands 302

William I (1772–1843), king of the Netherlands 39, 497 Wilson, Woodrow (1856–1924), American statesman, president of the USA 155, 184 Windelband, Wilhelm (1848–1915), German philosopher 171 ¨ Alfred Prince zu Windischgratz, (1787–1862), Austrian field marshal 294 ¨ Wit-Dorring, Johann von (1800–63), German student leader 278 ¨ Wohler, Friedrich (1800–82), German chemist 503–4, 525, 566 Wolf, Friedrich August (1759–1824), German Classicist 394, 418, 420, 422, 424, 466 Wolff, Christian (1679–1754), German philosopher 494 Wood, Charles (1800–85), British statesman and entrepreneur 200 Wordsworth, William (1770–1850), British writer 272 Wright, Sewall (1889–1988), American geneticist 539 Wulf, Maurice de (1867–1947), Belgian philosopher and historian 399 Wunderlich, Carl Reinhold August (1815–77), German internist 557, 573 Wundt, Wilhelm (1832–1920), German physiologist and psychologist 453, 488 Wurtz, Adolphe (1817–84), French chemist 105 Wysocki, Piotr (1797–1874), Polish revolutionary 283 Xaver of Saxony, Prince (1730–1806), German university founder 598 Yarrow, Alfred F. (1842–1932), British ship engineer 628 Yen, Fu (1853–1921), Chinese university president 217 Yersin, Alexandre (1863–1943), Swiss-born French bacteriologist 529 ´ Zarata, Antonio Gil de (1793–1861), Spanish university reformer 118 Zateplinskiy, P. A. (1794–1834), Russian astronomer 510 Zeeman, Pieter (1865–1943), Dutch physicist 514 Zeiss, Carl (1816–88), German mathematician, physicist and entrepreneur 577

726

Name index Zeller, Carl (1842–98), Austrian opera composer 147 Zeller, Eduard (1814–1908), German ev. theologian and philosopher 395 Zeuss, Johann Kaspar (1806–56), German Celticist 452

Zielinski, Tadeus (1859–1944), Polish Classicist 428 Zinin, Nikolai Nikolaevich (1812–80), Russian chemist 511 Zola, Emile (1840–1902), French writer 302, 328, 528

727

SUBJECT INDEX

Aachen (Germany), technical school, 625, u n i v e rs i t y , 58 Aarhus (Denmark), u n i v e rs i t y , 110–26 Aberdeen (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 Aberystwyth (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 Åbo, see Turku academic freedom, 94–8, 169–70 Academies, Académie des Inscriptions et des Belles Lettres, 642, Académie des Sciences in Paris, 17, 522, 529, 642, Academy of Mining in Slovakia, 495, Academy of Sciences in Berlin, 16, Academy of Sciences in Poland, 657, Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg, 541, 586, Bergakademie of Schemnitz, 597, Berlin Academy, 642, British Academy, 642, Export Academy in Vienna, 41, International Academy of Science, 643, Leopoldina, 522, Medical Academy in Moscow, 556, Medical Academy in St Petersburg, 556, 559, 573, Medical Academy in Vilnius, 556, Oriental Academy in Vienna, 442, Soviet Academy of Sciences, 666 academies and learned societies, 16–17, 156, 447, 594–5, see also specialized schools accommodation: board and lodging, 102, halls of residence, 104, 105–7, student houses, 107, 110 Adelaide (Australia), u n i v e rs i t y , 214 admission of students, admission rates, 235–7, requirements for admission,

116–17, 377–8, university access, 130–1, 238, 242, 244, 254–7 aesthetics, 439 Africa, French colonies, 193–6, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 191–8 African Studies, 448–9 Agram (Zagreb) (Croatia), student movements, 337, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, languages, 64–5 agriculture, 72, 188, 512, Agricultural Research Committee, 646 Aix-en-Provence (France), u n i v e rs i t y , buildings, 102, finance, 111 Alcala´ (Spain), 37 Alexandria (Egypt), u n i v e rs i t y (Faruk the First University), 192 algebra, see mathematics Algeria, 195 Algiers (Algeria), u n i v e rs i t y , 195 Allahabad University, 200 American, 436 Amsterdam (Netherlands), u n i v e rs i t y , 38, mathematics, 513, physics, 514 anatomy, 18, 493, 520, 581, anatomical collections, 557, 571–2, chairs, 557, 572, morbid anatomy, 571, neuroanatomy, 569, textbooks, 568 Angers (France), Catholic Institute, 91, 397 Anglican colleges, 54, 202, 215 Ankara (Turkey), u n i v e rs i t y , 44 anthropology, 460, 488–9, 526 antiquity, 11, 419–20, 421, 422–5 Antwerp (Belgium), medicine, 554 apprenticeships, 607 Arabic Studies, 186–91, 443 Arabic world, 443 archaeology, 414, 526

729

Subject index archaeology, Christian, 409 Argentina, 183, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 179 arts, 17, 34, 66, 93, 366, 454, artes liberales, 393, theology and, 393–5 Aslib, 648 assistants and amanuenses, 144 astronomy, 107, 493, 498, 499, 510 astrophysics, 516 Athens (Greece), u n i v e rs i t y , 43, 561, finance, 87 atomic weapons, 668 Auckland (New Zealand), u n i v e rs i t y , 215 Austro-Prussian War (1866), 300 Australia, u n i v e rs i t i e s , models, 163 Austria, careers, 383, Catholicism, 299, 323, 330–1, 350, gymnasien and colleges, 51, human rights, 313, Jews, 313, 320–1, 350, languages, 330, nationalism, 313, 322–3, 350–1, students, 51, u n i v e rs i t i e s , autonomy, 51, buildings, 104, engineering, 41, enrolments, 245, finance, 86–7, foundations, 41, mining, 41, models, 51–2, philosophy, 19, 51, women, 248 Austria-Hungary, 287–8, 292–5, 350, languages, 64–5, mining schools, 598, student movements, 298–9, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 118, faculties, 454, finance, 86–7, medicine, 559, models, 64–5, theology, 397–9 Ayn Warak, first college in the Lebanon, 187 Baghdad (Iraq) institutions of higher learning, 186–7 Balkan countries, careers, 384 Baltic states, u n i v e rs i t i e s , buildings, 103 Baltimore (United States), 580–1, u n i v e rs i t y (The Johns Hopkins University), 168, 170, 171 Bamberg (Germany), u n i v e rs i t y , medicine, 552 Bangor (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 ˆ Banska Stiavinca (Schemnitz) (Slovakia), Bergakademie, 597–8 Barcelona (Spain), 610, engineering, 617, specialist schools, 72, u n i v e rs i t y , 37 Bari (Italy), specialist schools, 71, u n i v e rs i t y , 37 Basle (Switzerland), u n i v e rs i t y , 38, astronomy, 516, mathematics, 505 Bavaria, u n i v e rs i t i e s , faculties, 454 Beijing (China), 220–1, institutions, 218–19, u n i v e rs i t y , 217–18, 222

Beirut (Lebanon), 187, u n i v e rs i t y (American University of Beirut), 187–8 Belfast (United Kingdom), Presbyterian College, 85, u n i v e rs i t y (Queen’s University), engineering, 613 Belgium, careers, 383, Catholicism, 310, 327, 341, CIE, 357, First World War, 642, languages, 24–5, 39, 65, 301, 316, 318, 319, 327, 340–1, mining school, 599, revolution, 282, Second World War, 653, social emancipation, 318–19, specialized schools, 604–5, student associations, 316, 341, student movements, 291–2, 301, 310, 327–8, 655, students, 310, technical schools, 604–5, 621, u n i v e rs i t i e s , admission, 254, arts, 454, Catholic universities, 91, enrolments, 245, medicine, 553–4, mobility, 65–6, models, 65–6, officials, 121, reforms, 39–40, 65–6, research, 656, theology, 397 Belgrade (Serbia), student movements, 337 Bengal (India), colleges, 207 Berkeley (United States), u n i v e rs i t y , 668 Berlin (Germany), 16, 411, Bergakademie, 598, Institute for Oriental Studies, 447, Institute for Physics, 514, Kapp Putsch, 346, seminars and institutes, 60, 408–9, 505, student associations, 297, 329, student movements, 273, 274, 292, 307, 319, 320, technical institute, 505, u n i v e rs i t i e s , medicine, 556, u n i v e rs i t y , 7, 12, 14, 16, 20, 34, 58, 124, 149, chemistry, 503, 504, finance, 60, 86, 111, German studies, 430, history, 465, humanities, 418, languages, 435, 436, 444, mathematics, 500–1, medicine, 558, 564, 587, mobility, 67, models, 21, 33, 47–53, 57–61, 74, 171, philology, 420, 425, philosophy, 453, physics, 501, 502, 505, physiology, 523–4, professors, 49, 137, research, 523, state control, 99, theology, 405, 406–8, see also Helmholtz, Hermann von; Humboldt, August von; Humboldt, ¨ Wilhelm von; Muller, Johannes; Schleiermacher, Friedrich; Schwann, Theodor; Virchow, Rudolf Bern (Berne) (Switzerland), 395, u n i v e rs i t y , 38, 247, professors, 69 Besançon (France), u n i v e rs i t y , buildings, 102, finance, 111 Bilbao (Spain), 611, 617 biology, 343, 519–20, 528–9, cell theory, 19, 525–7, genetics, 536–8, 539, positive

730

Subject index biology, 566, research, 521–3, 585, see also botany Birmingham (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36, finance, 85 Bohemia (Czech Republic), 353 Bolivia, 183 Bologna (Italy), u n i v e rs i t y , 133, dissolution of, 27, freedom, 20–1, status, 27, student movements, 27 Bombay (India), 199, 202, medical school, 557, u n i v e rs i t y , 200–1 Bonn (Germany), student associations, 297, u n i v e rs i t y , astronomy, 516, chemistry, 504, languages, 433, mathematics, 501, philology, 425, see also Strasburger, Eduard books, 142–3, availability, 106, see also libraries; textbooks Bordeaux (France, Gironde), Société Philomatique, 615, u n i v e rs i t y , astronomy, 516, theology, 396 Bosnia, nationalism, 337 botany, botanical gardens, 17, 35, 107, 522, chair of, 557 Bratislava (Poszony) (Slovakia), 287, 288, student movements, 352, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, buildings, 103, languages, 64 Braunschweig, see Brunswick Brazil, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 181–2 Breslau (Wroclaw) (Poland), student associations, 329, u n i v e rs i t y , astronomy, 516, languages, 437, mathematics, 501, physics, 505 Bristol (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 Brno (Czech Republic), 287, 656, student movements, 293, 321, 352, u n i v e rs i t y , 41 Brunswick (Braunschweig) (Germany), 58, student movements, 306 Brussels (Belgium), social emancipation, 318, 319, student movements, 301, 341, u n i v e rs i t y , 40, 282, 655 Bucharest (Romania), u n i v e rs i t y , 42, 560 Buda, see Budapest Budapest (Hungary), 293, student movements, 322, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, astronomy, 516, finance, 84, 87, 111, languages, 64, mathematics, 512, medicine, 559 Buenos Aires (Argentina), u n i v e rs i t i e s , 183 buildings and other properties, 102–5, 149–50, ‘Cathedrals of Science’, 104, finance, 110, 117, medical, 570, see also laboratories

Bulgaria, specialist schools, 43–4, u n i v e rs i t i e s , foundations, 42, 43–4 bureaucratization, 6–9 Burma, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 208–9 business schools, see specialized schools Caen (France), u n i v e rs i t y , buildings, 103 Cairo (Egypt), museums, 444, u n i v e rs i t i e s , Al Azhar University, 164, 191, American University of Cairo, 192 Calcutta (India), 202, 443, colleges, 198–9, medical schools, 557, u n i v e rs i t y , 200–1, 204, 205 California, University of, see Berkeley Calvinism, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 39 Cambodia, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 210–11 Cambridge (United Kingdom), 127, Cavendish Laboratory, 507, 508, student movements, 272, 325, 326, 339, u n i v e rs i t y , 11, 125, access, 244, admission, 92, 116, 243–5, 247, 250, 264–5, astronomy, 516, buildings, 102, colleges, 139, degrees, 247, engineering, 614, examinations, 54, Extension Programme, 309, finance, 62, 64, 84, 111–12, 117, foreign students, 205, history, 469–74, humanism, 54, income, 108, languages, 443, 444, 447, mathematics, 506, medicine, 582, MML, 441, natural sciences, 507, 515, 530, officials, 97, 118–19, physics, 514, 515–16, physiology, 582, privileges, 95, professors, 139, 151, 155, reforms, 61–4, 308, research, 11–12, 62, sciences, 531, social sciences, 481, 482, state control, 95, students, 264–5, theology, 413 Cambridge (United States), u n i v e rs i t y (Harvard University), 166, 169, 172 cameralism, 546 Canada, colleges, 176–7, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 175–7, models, 163 Cape of Good Hope (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y , 196, 197 Cape Town (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y , 196, 197 Cardiff (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 Carlsbad conference (1819), 152 Casablanca (Morocco), 196 Catholic associations, 315, 319, 323, student associations, 297, 330–1, 357 Catholic countries and states, 50–1

731

Subject index Catholic universities, 39, 91, 92, 113, 121, 299, 310–11, 379, 397, 403, colleges, 202, Darwinism, 535–6, institutes, 91, 397, 404 Catholicism, 131, 299, 323, 330–1, 350, modernism and, 401–5, Reformed Catholicism, 399, student associations, 297, 330–1, 357, theology, 395–400 Central America, u n i v e rs i t i e s , models, 163 Cernowitz, see Czernowitz Ceylon, 207–8 chair of, aesthetics, 439, anatomy, 557, 572, Arabic, 393, botany, 557, chemistry, 495, 496, 497, 503, 504, 557, economics, 480, Egyptology, 445, 446, engineering, 613, English studies, 435, Greek, 134, 393, Hebrew, 393, Latin, 134, 421, linguistics, 453, materia medica, 557, mathematics, 506, medicine, 579–80, metallurgy, 495, mineralogy, 495, 497, obstetrics, 557, ophthalmology, 562, oriental languages, 393, 443, 444, oriental studies, 442, pathology, 572, pharmacy, 557, philology, 421, 422, 433, 438–40, philosophy, 420, 457, physics, 496, 502, 515, poetry, 134, practical medicine, 557, rhetoric, 134, Romance Studies, 433, Sanskrit, 452, Sinology, 447, Slavonic Studies, 436–7, sociology, 486, surgery, 557, theoretical medicine (Institutiones), 557, veterinary medicine, 562 chairs or professorships, 71, 89–90, 119, 128–30, 172, see also professors chancellor, 97, 119 Charkov (Ukraine), u n i v e rs i t y , 35, finance, 87 chemistry, 379, 494–5, 497–8, 499, 501, 502, 503–4, 510, 514, 571, 578, agricultural chemistry, 512, bio-chemistry, 514, chair of, 495, 496, 497, 503, 504, 557, industrial, 606–7, Kaiser-Wilhelm-Institute, 643, laboratories, 504, 507, organic chemistry, 566, physical chemistry, 514, Royal College of Chemistry, 508, 613 Chicago (United States), u n i v e rs i t y , 166, 169, 170, 171, 172, 668 Chile, 183, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 180 China, ‘Boxer Indemnity’, 222, colleges, 218, foreign languages, 216–17, Fudan College, 220, languages, 221, missionary colleges, 220–1, private institutions, 219–20, research, 221–2, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 216–23, autonomy, 222–3

Christiania, see Oslo Christianity, 410–11, 412–13 civil engineering, 599–600 Clark University, see Worcester Clarté movement, 338, 343 Classicism, 276 Clermont-Ferrand (France), u n i v e rs i t y , 630 clinical schools, 554 Cluj, see Kolozsvar Coimbra (Portugal), u n i v e rs i t y , 181, buildings, 102, medicine, 562 colleges, 3–4, 7–8, 9, 10, 11, 20, 36, 43, 51, 54, 62, 63, 85, 139, 155, 164–77, 192–3, 197, 198–9, 200, 201–3, 207, 215, 218, 247, 308, 315, 380, 505, 507, 508, 513, 531, 614 colleges, national, 99 Cologne (Germany), u n i v e rs i t y , 19, 61 Colombia, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 179 communications studies, 487 Communism, 87, 98, 100, 131, 338–9, 352, 357–8 Congress of Europe (1818), 152 congresses, 130 Copenhagen (Denmark), u n i v e rs i t y , 40, 66, 265, astronomy, 516, finance, 84, medicine, 558, see also Warming, Eugen ´ Cordoba (Argentina), u n i v e rs i t y , 182 ´ Cordoba (Spain), specialist schools, 72 corporatism, 325–37 councils, academic, 119–20, 129, 130, 647 Cracow (Poland), 657, student movements, 283, 290, 298, 305, 334, 351, students, 314, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, 42, 657, astronomy, 516, languages, 64, mathematics, 498, medicine, 560, theology, 398 Croatia, 293, languages, 64–5, student movements, 322, 337, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 41 Czech Republic, Catholicism, 331, Fascism, 352–3, Jews, 321, languages, 299, 330, nationalism, 313, 322–3, 331, student movements, 293, 294–5, 321, 352, technical schools, 41, 603–4, 625, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 41, 287, 352, 656, finance, 87, languages, 65, medicine, 559, physics, 505 Czechoslovakia, CIE, 357, nationalism, 356, parliament, 156, Second World War, 656, u n i v e rs i t i e s , buildings, 103 Czernowitz (Bukowina), u n i v e rs i t y , 41, 330

732

Subject index Dakar (Senegal), 196 Damascus (Syria), 186–7 Danzig, see Gdansk Darmstadt (Germany), technical university, 58 Darwinism, 530–6 Debrecen (Hungary), u n i v e rs i t y , 41, languages, 64 degrees, 38–9, 46, 95, 120, 241–2 degrees: bachelor (baccalaureate), 7–8, 190, 241, 366, doctor, doctorate, 8, 137–8, 366, 625–6, engineering science, 622, honorary degrees, 158, master of arts, 366, Master of Surgery, 582, medical degrees, 582 Delft (Netherlands), student movements, 302, 655 demography, 460 Denmark, constitutionalism, 154, public education ministries, 88, Second World War, 658, students, 266, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 40, 66, 265, admission, 265, astronomy, 516, finance, 84, medicine, 558 dialectical materialism, 460 dialectics, 393 Dijon (France), u n i v e rs i t y , finance, 111 dissertations or theses, 8, 13, 370, 424, 441 documentation, 648 Dominican institutions, 212 Dorpat, see Tartu Dresden (Germany), technical university, 58 dress, 132, 159, 281, 285, 286, 324 Dublin (Ireland), Medical School, 589, Royal College of Physicians, 555, u n i v e rs i t y (Trinity College), 11, 36, mathematics, 507, physics, 505, professors, 155 Durham (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36, engineering, 606 ecology, 538–9 econometrics, 484 economics, 459, 460, 479, 480–2, chair of, 480, specialized schools, 62, 205, 339, 481–2, 486 Edinburgh (United Kingdom), Royal College of Physicians, 555, u n i v e rs i t y , 36, chemistry, 514, medicine, 549, models, 175, philology, 415, reforms, 11, state control, 95 education, costs of, 250–4, history of, 462, phases of, 257, pre-university, 239–40,

242–3, 246, 247–8, 255–6, 650, 669, progressiveness, 257, public education ministries, 88–90, 96, 109 Egypt, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 191–2, Egyptian University (Fuad the First), 191–2 Egyptology, 444 electro-technology, 512 engineering, 41, 71, 602, 606, 613, 614, 615, 617, 623, 625–6, chair of, 613, civil engineering, 599–600, electrical engineering, 618, Engineering Advisory Committee, 650, engineering science, 622, industrial engineering, 611, marine, 44, textbooks, 607 England, careers, 374, Church of England, 166, education, 243, 255, 256, costs, 251, students, 264–5, theology, 413, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 127, access, 244, admission, 243, chairs, 89, Dissenters, 99, 166, dress, 132, enrolments, 245, finance, 118, foreign students, 205, languages, 447, oriental studies, 444, professors, 130–1 English studies, 435 Enlightenment, 411, 544 enrolments, 245 Erasmus University, see Rotterdam Erlangen (Germany), u n i v e rs i t y , 34, chemistry, 503, natural sciences, 501, theology, 411 ethnopsychology, 453 European models, 4–15, 53–5, 163–4, see also Humboldtian model; Napoleonic model evolutionism, 459, see also Darwinism examinations, 22, 54, 140, 142, 366–7, 370, 373 faculties, faculty of arts, 123, 248, 393–4, 454, 493, faculty of humanities, 145, faculty of law, 50, 124, 129, 132, 145, 248, 262, letters, 129, mathematics, 133, 454, medicine, 50, 124, 129, 145, 158, 262, 494, 557–8, 570–5, 579–80, missionary studies, 399, philosophy, 48, 50, 51, 132, 248, 262, 453, 493, 511, physics, 133, science, 123, 129, 454, 497, theology, 50, 113, 123, 129, 145, 158, 248, 262, 393, 396, 405–9 Fascism, 94, 341, 343, 351–2, 358–9 finance, 11, 46, 56, 62, 64, 115, education costs, 250–4, expenditure, 107–10, fees, 45, 52, 68, 116, 118, financial dependence, 84–8, gifts, 56, 112, sources of, 111–14, 117–18, state and, 74

733

Subject index Finland, Darwinism, 534, languages, 335, 336, 337, 343–5, nobility, 159, parliament, 155, Second World War, 659, student associations, 344, student movements, 276, 289, 295–6, 335–7, 344–5, students, 24, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 40, 123, 284, buildings, 104, enrolments, 245, law, 303, officials, 159, professors, 154, 155, 158 First World War (1914–18), 337, 638, 641–5, 652, 669, research institutions, 628–9 Florence (Italy), u n i v e rs i t y , 27, 37, physics, 515 Fort Hare (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y , 198 France, academies and specialized schools, 34–5, 57, 159, 240, 596–7, 598, 599–600, 615–16, 623, 630, aristocracy, 157, arts, 34, baccalaureate, 240, 244, buildings, 103–4, careers, 45, 127, 374, 375–6, 381, Catholicism, 95, 401, Collège de France, 99, 288, 455, 496, 567, collèges, 34–5, 240, colonies, 179, 193–6, 211, Communism, 338–9, Darwinism, 534–5, e´ coles des arts et métiers, 496, Edgar Faure Act (1968), 5, education, 152, 240, 242–3, 252, 255–6, costs, 251, examinations, 373, French Revolution, 24, 34, 240, 280, 476–7, 495, July, 281, parliament, 156, politics, 151, 153, public education ministries, 88, 89–90, research, 629, 652–3, Restoration, 86, scholarships, 251, sciences, 34, 495–9, Second World War, 651–3, 669, seminaries, 399–400, social emancipation, 317–18, student associations, 338–9, student movements, 278–80, 288–9, 296, 300–1, 328, students, 262–4, Third Republic, 307–8, Université Saint-Joseph, 188–9, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 4–5, 114, 118, access, 242, 244, admission, 116, 240–3, 246, 247, arts, 56, 93, 248, 454, autonomy, 83, 85, biology, 521–2, buildings, 102, Catholic faculties, 57, Catholic universities, 91, colleges, 7–8, 10, Communism, 98, degrees, 7–8, 46, 95, 120, 241–2, dress, 132, engineering, 626, examination, 140, 142, faculties, 186, 249, 262–4, 497, finance, 45, 46, 56, 85–6, 115, halls of residence, 105–7, historiography, 476–9, income, 108, Jews, 98, languages, 441–2, law, 34, 248, 249, 262, letters, 249, mathematics, 495–9, medicine, 18–19, 34–5, 249, 545–6, 553, 574, 581–2, mobility, 205,

498–9, models, 4–6, 44–7, natural sciences, 16–17, officials, 57, 85, 121, philology, 416–17, 421, 425–6, political dependence, 93, professors, 7–8, 46, 56–7, 116, 139–40, 142, 153, 156–7, 288, reforms, 34–5, 55–7, 307–8, 669, religious discrimination, 93, replacements, 3, research, 12, 91–2, 522, resistance, 99, Romance philology, 12, scholarships, 109, sciences, 57, 113, 249, social sciences, 484–6, state control, 95, 97, statutes and decrees, 93, 97, student movements, 24, 93, 100, student numbers, 101, students, 56, teachers, 108, theology, 6, 396, women, 248, women, 247 Franco-Prussian War (1870), 300, 306–7, 616, 652 Franeker (Netherlands), u n i v e rs i t y , 39 Frankfurt-am-Main (Germany), 285, 292, u n i v e rs i t y , 61, Jews, mathematics, 19, natural sciences, 19 Fredericton, see New Brunswick Freiberg (Germany), mining school, 597–8 Freiburg im Breisgau (Germany), student associations, 297, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, 397, buildings, 104, theology, 399 Freiburg/Fribourg (Switzerland), u n i v e rs i t y , 38 Galicia (Austria), 42, 314, 334 Gdansk (Poland), 58 genetics, 536–8, 539 Geneva (Switzerland), specialist schools, 69, u n i v e rs i t y , 38, 69, 70, professors, 69, sciences, 497 Genoa (Italy), medicine, 562, specialist schools, 71 geography, 460, 477, 479, 483, plant geography, 520 geology, 493, 520, 530–1, 532–3, 539–41 geopolitics, 483 Georgia (United States), u n i v e rs i t y , 165 Germany, academies and specialized schools, 58, 238–9, 243, 262, 608–9, 611–12, 621, 623, 625, 631, careers, 374, 375–7, 381–2, Catholicism, 312, 329, commercial colleges, 380, Darwinism, 533, education, 22–3, 242–3, 255–6, German Student Day, 347, Jews, 275, 312, 313, 320, 347, 349, 587, journals, 431, laboratories, 504, museums, 488, nationalism, 24, 94, 273, 297–8, 311, 312–13, 328–30, 345–51, 478, 513–14,

734

Subject index 587–8, 641–2, parliaments, 153, Physikalisch-Technische Reichsanstalt, 627, princes, 50, protest movements, 99, Protestantism, 312, public education ministries, 88, research, 541, 627–8, 661–5, Restoration, 152, 153, Romanticism, 275, schools, 22–3, 120, seminaries, 397, social emancipation, 319–21, student associations, 296–8, 311–12, 345, student movements, 272–6, 285–7, 292–3, 295, 306–7, 311–13, students, 168, 258, 261–2, unification, 285, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 5–6, 7, 114, 118, 124, access, 238, 242, admission, 235–40, 246, 247, 254, 257–62, 377, autonomy, 59, 292–3, biology, 522–3, buildings, 103, 104, business, 61, disappearance, 3, engineering, 613, faculties, 249, 261–2, 454–5, finance, 60, 86, 115, German studies, 430, 432, Greek studies, 23, humanism, 59, humanities, 249, 417–20, laboratories, 105, languages, 429–30, law, 129, 249, 262, 394, mathematics, 19, 494, 499, medicine, 17–18, 22, 129, 249, 262, 546, 570, 587–8, mobility, 205, 526, models, 4–6, 21, 33, 47–53, 57–61, 167–75, 228, natural sciences, 17, 19, non-professorial staff, 59–60, officials, 50, 97, philology, 415, 421–8, philosophy, 19, 129, 248, 262, 499, physics, 515, physiology, 563–5, professors, 8–9, 49, 59–60, 89, 116, 119, 128–9, 131, 134–9, 152, 153, 157–8, reforms, 33–4, research, 60, 292, resistance, 100, sciences, 113, 249, 499–505, 659–61, social sciences, 479–80, 486–7, state control, 91, 94, 96, 98, student movements, 24, 26, 94, students, 57, teaching, 128, theology, 129, 248, 249, 262, 394, 395–6, 397–9, 430, women, 248, Weimar Republic, 94, women, 247 Ghent (Belgium), languages, 341, 655, social emancipation, 318, student movements, 301, 327, technical school, 604–5, u n i v e rs i t y , 39, 65, 282, 655, mathematics, 497, sciences, 497 Giessen (Germany), u n i v e rs i t y , 34, 50, chemistry, 498, 501, 503–4, 606, mathematics, 500, 501, natural sciences, 501, theology, 399 ´ (Spain), 610 Gijon Glasgow (United Kingdom), 11, u n i v e rs i t y , 36, astronomy, 516, engineering, 613, history, 475, Latin, 421, physics, 508, sciences, 595, social composition, 63

Gothenburg (Sweden), Chalmers Institution, 609, u n i v e rs i t y , 40 ¨ Gottingen (Germany), 394, aristocracy, 429, student associations, 297, student movements, 274, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, 94, 123, buildings, 103, chemistry, 503, 504, history, 466, mathematics, 500, 512, 513, natural sciences, 501, professors, 52, 152, 286, 468, state control, 99, theology, 412 graduates, 117, 119, 363–5, 371–2, 387, numbers of, 234–5, overproduction of, 59, 235, 254, 256, 376–9, 384 Grahamstown (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y (Rhodes University College), 197 Granada (Spain), u n i v e rs i t y , 37 grants, 64, 96, 118, 646, 651 Graz (Austria), Catholicism, 331, nationalism, 313, 323, 331, 350, student movements, 295, 299, technical school, 351, u n i v e rs i t y , 19, 41, 351, buildings, 105, engineering, 41, geology, 541, physics, 505 Greece, careers, 383, student movements, 277, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 43, 114, finance, 87, foundations, 42, medicine, 560 Greek, 23, 134 Greifswald (Germany), student associations, 297, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, finance, 86, mathematics, 501 Grenoble (France), Institut Electronique, 616, u n i v e rs i t y , buildings, 103 Groningen (Netherlands), u n i v e rs i t y , 39, astronomy, 516, sciences, 497 Haifa (Israel), 191 Halifax (Canada), u n i v e rs i t y (Dalhousie University), 175 Halle (Germany), 34, 411, student associations, 297, student movements, 274, 306, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, 466, buildings, 103, chemistry, 503, natural sciences, 501, theology, 405 halls of residence, see accommodation Hamburg (Germany), 447, u n i v e rs i t y , 61, physics, 505 Hanover (Germany), technical university, 58, 348 Hanoi (North Vietnam), u n i v e rs i t y , 211 Harderwijk (Netherlands), u n i v e rs i t y , 39 Harvard University, see Cambridge (United States) Hebrew universities, 190

735

Subject index Heidelberg (Germany), student associations, 297, student movements, 307, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, buildings, 103, chemistry, 503, 504, finance, 86, mathematics, 19, 500, natural sciences, 19, physics, 500, 501, 502 Helsinki (Helsingfors) (Finland), 40, 285, languages, 289, philanthropy, 146, student movements, 303, u n i v e rs i t y , 66–8, 125, 126, 276, 289, buildings, 104, privileges, 125, professors, 152, 158, 336 Hermesianism, 400 Higher Polytechnical Schools, 10 Hindu institutions, 198–9 history, authenticity, 463–76, critical history, 459–63, historiography, 14, 476–9, historicism, 477–9, journals, 462–3, literary history, 431–2 honorary titles, 159 Hong Kong (East Asia), u n i v e rs i t y , 216 hospitals, 545, 548, 549, 589 humanism, 54, 59, 393, 394, 416, 429, 449, 571 humanities, 145, 249, 417–20, 441, 670 Humboldtian model, 4–6, 21, 33, 47–53, 57–61, 64–70, 74, 171, 456 Hungary, careers, 65, Janos Bolyau Institute, 512, Jews, 41, 65, nationalism, 313, public education ministries, 90, student movements, 293–4, students, 51, 323, Treaty of Trianon, 65, women, 65, u n i v e rs i t i e s , administration, 90, buildings, 103, finance, 86–7, foundations, 41, languages, 65, 439, law, 51, 65, mathematics, 512, models, 51–2, 64–5, state control, 94, 98, see also Austria-Hungary Ias¸i (Romania), u n i v e rs i t y , 42, 560 ideological discrimination, 92–3 Imperial Physical-Technical Institute in Berlin, 60 inclusiveness, 235–46 India, colleges, 201–3, languages, 199–200, 206, medical schools, 557, mobility, 205–6, research, 204–5, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 198–207, 227, models, 163, teachers, 205, 206, women, 207 Indo-China, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 210–11, models, 163 Indonesia, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 211–12 industrial engineering, 611 industries, 493, 615, 616, 618, 663, medicine and, 576–8 Innsbruck (Austria), 300, languages, 330, nationalism, 313, 350, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, theology, 398

insignia, 26, 273 institutes, see seminars and institutes internationalism, 642, 645 Iraq, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 186 Ireland (Hibernia), u n i v e rs i t i e s , 11, 36, finance, 85, mathematics, 507, medicine, 85, 555, 589, models, 214, physics, 505, professors, 155 Islam, 44, 442, 444, 445, Islamic institutions, 199 Istanbul (Turkey), mathematics, 513, medicine, 561, u n i v e rs i t y , 44 Italy, Casati Law, Legge Casati, 70, 96, Catholicism, 70, 355–6, 402, Darwinism, 535, engineering, 617, Fascism, 94, 355–6, graduates, 560, languages, 300, public education ministries, 88, research institutions, 629, schools of commerce, 71, Second World War, 659, secret societies, 278, seminaries, 397, technical schools, 602–3, 622, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 10, 114, 118, 119, admission, 248, autonomy, 47, 70, 71, buildings, 102, decrees, 96, distribution, 70, enrolments, 245, finance, 87, income, 108, mathematics, 512, medicine, 562, models, 13, officials, 121, oriental studies, 444, philology, 415, 427–8, political dependence, 94, professors, 71, 140, reforms, 36–7, 47, 70–2, resistance, 100, sciences, 497, social sciences, 482, 486, state control, 96, 98, status, 56, student movements, 26–31, students, 70, 71, 72, theology, 70, 397, women, 248 Japan, languages, 225, private universities, 226, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 223–6, 227, models, 163 Jena (Germany), 577, Catholicism, 329, student associations, 297, student movements, 273, 274–5, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, 125, chemistry, 503, mathematics, 501, see also Haeckel, Ernst Jerusalem (Palestine), u n i v e rs i t y , 189–91 Jesuits, 113, 179, 188–9, 202, 213, 559 Jews, 19, 65, 67, 126, 320–1, 350, 352, 379, 663, access, 131, 333, 349, 527, associations, 312, 330, exclusions, 275, 313, 320, 347, 587, numerus clausus, 41, 65, 349, purges, 98, students, 41, 42, 275, support for, 654 Johannesburg (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y (Witwatersrand), 197 Johns Hopkins University, see Baltimore journalism, 148

736

Subject index journals, 11, 338, 441, Asiatic studies, 443, 445, chemistry, 514, ethnopsychology, 453, history, 462–3, 478, mathematics, 500, 512, 513, medicine, 547, philology, 425, philosophy, 149, 431, 456, physics, 502, research, 172, Slavonic studies, 436 ¨ Kaliningrad, see Konigsberg Karlsruhe (Germany), technical university, 502, u n i v e rs i t y , buildings, 103 Kazan (Russia), 35, 513, student movements, 304, 324, u n i v e rs i t y , 52, astronomy, 516, officials, 98, sciences, 509 Kharkov (Russia), u n i v e rs i t y , astronomy, 510, mathematics, 509 Khartoum (Sudan), u n i v e rs i t i e s , Gordon College, 192–3, Kitchener School of Medicine, 193 Kiel (Germany), u n i v e rs i t y , 19, 34, 50, 274, 502 Kiev (Ukraine), academies, 36, students, 52, 304, 305 knowledge, international identity, 130, professions and, 365–9 Kolozsvar (Romania), u n i v e rs i t y , 41, languages, 64 ¨ Konigsberg (Kaliningrad) (Russia), student associations, 297, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, mathematics, 499–500, natural sciences, 501, physics, 499–500, 502 Korea, 225 ´ see Cracow Krakow, laboratories, 18, 104–5, 144, 514, astronomy, 516, chemistry, 504, 507, physics, 507, 508, 514, 628, 646, physiology, 571, technology, 619–20 laboratory exercises, 502, 503 laicization, 6–9 Landshut (Germany), 34 languages, 24–5, Arabic, 187, 191, 443, Chinese, 444, 446–8, Croatian, 65, Czech, 64–5, Dutch, 319, 341, English, 435–6, 439, Finnish, 289, 335, 336, 337, 343–5, Flemish, 24, 39, 65, 301, 316, 318, 341, French, 439, German, 439, Hungarian, 64–5, Italian, 300, Japanese, 447, Latin, 428, 571, Manchurian, 444, Medieval and Modern Languages (MML), 441, modern, 438–42, Nordic, 439, oriental, 35, 413, 430, 442–53, Persian, 443, Polish, 64–5, Romance, 438, 439, Sanskrit, 414, 444, 452, sciences of, 393, semitic, 413, 442, 443,

Slavonic, 436–8, Tartar, 444, Turkish, 443 Latin, 421, 571 Latin America, 4, academies and institutions, 179–80, positivism, 178, 180, private universities, 180, student movements, 182–5, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 177–85, reforms, 182–5 Lausanne (Switzerland), u n i v e rs i t y , 38, 70 law, 65, 187, 480, national standards, 90 law, jurisprudence, 460, 480 law, Roman law, 14–15 League of Nations, 339, 342, 357 Lebanon, Jesuits, 188, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 186, 187–9, Université Saint-Joseph, 188–9 lectures, 50, 138, 467–8 Leeds (United Kingdom), 315, u n i v e rs i t y , 36 legal guarantees, 94–8 Leiden (Netherlands), student associations, 315, u n i v e rs i t y , 39, 292, languages, 443, oriental studies, 447, physics, 514, sciences, 497 Leipzig (Germany), student associations, 297, 329, student movements, 307, 319, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, astronomy, 516, buildings, 103, finance, 86, mathematics, 501, natural sciences, 501, oriental studies, 445, physics, 503, professors, 49, theology, 405 Lemberg (Lvov) (Ukraine), student movements, 334, students, 314, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, 42, 657, engineering, 41, languages, 64 Leoben (Austria), nationalism, 313, u n i v e rs i t y , 41 ´ (Spain), specialist schools, 72 Leon libraries, 105, 144, 173–4, book availability, 106 Liège (Belgium), student movements, 301, technical school, 604–5, u n i v e rs i t y , 39, 282, mathematics, 497, sciences, 497 Lille (France), Catholic Institute, 91, 397, Institut Industriel, 616, Société des Sciences, 615 linguistics, 452, 453 literacy, 462 literary history, 429 literature, literary history, 431–2 Liverpool (United Kingdom), 315, u n i v e rs i t y , 36, social sciences, 486 Ljubljana (Laibach) (Slovenia), 330, nationalism, 314, 322 logic, 479

737

Subject index Lombardy (Italy), u n i v e rs i t i e s , engineering, 602 London (United Kingdom), Central Technical College, 62, City and Guilds, 614, colleges, 54, Geological Society, 530, Guy’s Hospital, 589, Imperial College, 62, 614, Inns of Court, 205, King’s College, 54, 200, 508, Linnean Society, 530, London School of Economics, 62, 205, 339, 481–2, 486, Royal College of Chemistry, 508, 613, Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons, 555, 582, Royal College of Science, 62, Royal College of Surgeons, 531, Royal Engineering College, 614, Royal Geographical Society, 530, Royal School of Mines, 62, 599, 613, Royal Society of London, 530, student movements, 339, technical institutes, 614–15, u n i v e rs i t y , 36, 54, 126, 127, 202, 203, engineering, 606, 625–6, foreign students, 205, history, 474, languages, 441, 444, medicine, 555, 574, models, 165, 198, 200–1, 214, physics, 508, statistics, 513, University College, 54, 200, 508, 513 Louvain (Belgium), languages, 341, social emancipation, 318, student movements, 301, 310, 327–8, students, 291, u n i v e rs i t y , 39, 282, 397, 655, mathematics, 497, officials, 97, oriental studies, 447, sciences, 497, theology, 401–2 Lublin (Poland), u n i v e rs i t y , 657 Lund (Sweden), u n i v e rs i t y , 40, 66, 125, buildings, 103, economics, 483, finance, 84, 87, philology, 420, stellar statistics, 517 Lutheran universities, 132 Lutheranism, 158, 407 ´ Lvov (Lwow), see Lemberg Lyon (France), Catholic Institute, 91, 397, u n i v e rs i t y , buildings, 103, theology, 396 Madras (India), medical school, 557, u n i v e rs i t y , 200 Madrid (Spain), specialist schools, 72, student movements, 354, technical school, 601, u n i v e rs i t y , 37, 73, 302, 354, buildings, 103, halls of residence, 107, medicine, 561, theology, 396 Mainz (Germany), seminary, 397, 399 Malaya, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 209 Malines (Belgium), 39 Manchester (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36, chemistry, 514,

engineering, 614, 615, finance, 85, history, 475, physics, 508, 514, 515 Manila (Philippines), u n i v e rs i t i e s , 212–13 Mannheim (Germany), u n i v e rs i t y , 61 manufacturing industries, 618 Marburg (Germany), student movements, 346, u n i v e rs i t y , 19, 34, 50, buildings, 104, philology, 421, professors, 34 Marieberg (Sweden), military school, 597 materialism, 563–4 mathematical sciences, 393 mathematics, 19, 495–501, 505, 506–7, 508, 510, algebra, 494, applied, 494, arithmetic, 494, calculus, 494, classical analysis, 512, faculty of mathematics, 133, 454, functional analysis, 512, geometry, 494, logic, 513, mathematical analysis, 497, nationalism and, 513–14, probability, 513, research, 512–14, set theory, 512, 513, teaching, 494, topology, 513 Maynooth (Ireland), Royal Catholic College, 85 mechanics, 510, 605, 607–8 medicine, Brownianism, 551–2, 563, chairs, 557, chemistry, 578, degrees, 582, dermatology, 569, faculty expansion, 570–5, histology, 572, homeopathy, 552, 577, insane asylums, 550–1, medical education, 543–4, 553–63, medical instruments, 577–8, Medical Research Committee, 646, medical schools, 34–5, 220, 585, 586–7, medical students, 587–8, military surgeons, 555–7, modernization, 579–85, morbid anatomy, 569, 571, national standards, 90, pathology, 567–70, physiology, 563–70, practical medicine, 557, 573–5, professionalization, 588, Reform Movements, 565–6, Romanticism and, 544–53, specialization, 575–9, 583, vivisection, 576, see also Flexner, A. Medieval and Modern Languages (MML), 441 Melbourne (Australia), 214, u n i v e rs i t y , 214 metallurgy, 495 Mexico, 181, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 179 Michigan (United States), u n i v e rs i t y , 167, 174 Middle East, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 186–91 Milan (Italy), u n i v e rs i t y , 37, engineering, 71, 617, 623 military schools, 595–7 military service, 583–4

738

Subject index military technology, 493, 596–7, 662 mineralogy, 493, 495, 497 mining schools, 10, 62, 495, 597–8, 599, 600, 613 missionary colleges, 186, 201–2, 220–1 missionary studies, 399 mobility, 65–6, 67, 69–70, 74–5, 205–6, 526, foreign students, 74–5, 205, 278, 498–9, 510, 584–5 Modena (Italy), u n i v e rs i t y , 27–9 modernism, Catholicism and, 401–5 monographs, 172, 540 Mons (Belgium), 599 Montpellier (France), medical schools, 34, 553, see also Bordeu, Théophile de Montreal (Canada), u n i v e rs i t y (McGill University), 175, 176 Moravia, 321–2, 353 Morocco, 195–6 Moscow (Russia), Medical Academy, 556, student movements, 304, 305, 332, students, 324, u n i v e rs i t y , 35, buildings, 102, languages, 444, mathematics, 513, mechanics, 511, sciences, 509, statutes, 305, students, 52 Mulhouse (France), Société Industrielle, 615 Munich (Germany), student movements, 346, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, 126, buildings, 103, mathematics, 501, physics, 505, theology, 399 ¨ Munster (Germany), student associations, 297, u n i v e rs i t y , theology, 398, 399 museums, 17, 35, 144, 444, 531, 557 music, 145

Netherlands, careers, 383, Catholicism, 342, colonies, 211–12, nationalism, 342, revolution, 281, Second World War, 653, social emancipation, 318, socialism, 326–7, student associations, 315–16, 326–7, 341–3, student movements, 282–3, 301–2, 654, students, 292, 309–10, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 114, 118, arts, 66, 454, autonomy, 66, degrees, 38–9, enrolments, 245, foundations, 39, models, 66, philology, 427, physics, 514, reforms, 38–9, women, 248 ˆ (Switzerland), u n i v e rs i t y , 38 Neuchatel New Brunswick (Canada), u n i v e rs i t y , 175 New Haven (United States), u n i v e rs i t y (Yale University), 166, 167, 172 New Scholasticism, 399, 402 New Zealand, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 214–15 Nijmegen (Netherlands), u n i v e rs i t y , 39 Nobel Prizes, 171, 484, 527, 538, 575, 640–1 North Africa, u n i v e rs i t i e s , models, 163 North America, colonies, c o l l e g e s a n d u n i v e rs i t i e s , models, 164–77 North Carolina (United States), u n i v e rs i t y , 165 Norway, Second World War, 658, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 40, 66, 658, enrolments, 245, medicine, 558 Nottingham (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 numbers, of graduates, 234–5, of students, 57, 58, 74, 101–2, 128, 233–5, 630, 646, of universities, 3

Nagasaki (Japan), 557 Nagyszombat (Trnava) (Slovakia), u n i v e rs i t y , 41 Nancy (France), Institut Electronique, 616, student associations, 308 Nankai (China), u n i v e rs i t y , 219, 222 Naples (Italy), specialist schools, 71, u n i v e rs i t y , 37, 70 Napoleonic model, 4–5, 6, 44–7, 55, 74, 83, 124, 497 nation states, growth of, 40–4 nationalism, 24, 75, 273, 289–90, 297–98, 307–15, 322–3, 328–30, 331, 337, 342, 345–51, 356, 478, 641–2, 670 nations, rise of, 20 natural sciences, 16–17, 19, 130, 454, 501, 507, 515, 530, 539, 541, idealism, 501–2, research, 511–17, status, 669 Neo-Hellenism, 418 Neo-Malthusian movement, 576

observatories, 516, 517 obstetrics, 557 Odessa (Ukraine), student movements, 332, u n i v e rs i t y , 36 ophthalmology, 562 oriental studies, 442–53 Oslo (Christiana) (Norway), medicine, 558, u n i v e rs i t y , 66, 658 Otago (New Zealand), u n i v e rs i t y , 215 Oviedo (Spain), u n i v e rs i t y , 37, 72 Oxbridge (= Oxford and Cambridge), 63, careers, 375, models, 164–7, social composition, 63, see Cambridge, Oxford Oxford (United Kingdom), ‘Oxford Pledge’, 339, socialism, 326, student movements, 326, 339, students, 264–5, u n i v e rs i t y , 11, 116, 127, access, 244, admission, 116, 243–5, 246, 247, 250, 264–5, admission requirements, 92, 99, antiquities, 11, buildings, 102, 104,

739

Subject index Oxford (United Kingdom) (cont.) colleges, 139, degrees, 247, ecology, 539, engineering, 614, Extension Programme, 309, finance, 64, 84, 85, 111–12, 117, foreign students, 205, history, 469–74, humanism, 54, income, 108, languages, 441, 443, 444, 447, mathematics, 506, medicine, 582, officials, 97, 118–19, Oxford Movement, 11, 93, philology, 426–7, physics, 508, privileges, 95, professors, 139, 151, 155, reforms, 61–4, 308, research, 11–12, scholarships, 109, sciences, 531, social sciences, 481, state control, 95, theology, 413 pacifism, 339 Padua (Italy), u n i v e rs i t y , 27, 300, engineering, 602 Palestine, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 186, 189–91 Palma (Spain), specialist schools, 72 Paris (France), academies and specialized schools, 16–17, 529, Bureau Universitaire de Statistique, 117, Catholic Institute, 91, 397, 404, Collège ´ de France, 443, Ecole Centrale, 609–10, ´ ´ Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées, 599, Ecole polytechnique, 496–7, 599–600, hospitals, 545, 589, Institut National des Sciences et des Arts, 17, medical schools, 34, 528–9, 548, 549, 553, museums, 35, 444, 495, Physique et de Chemie Industrielles, 616, schools (collèges), 34, 55, 56, 86, social emancipation, 317–18, student associations, 308, student movements, 148, 281, 283–4, 290–1, Université Impériale, 6, 45, 83, 124, 497, u n i v e rs i t y , arts, 34, buildings, 104, chemistry, 497–8, 514, finance, 56, 85–6, 111, foreign students, 498–9, 510, halls of residence, 107, law, 34, mathematics, 494, 497–8, medicine, 34, 528–9, 548, 549, 553, 556, mobility, 67, monopoly, 95, officials, 88, 93, oriental studies, 443, philology, 426, sciences, 497, Sorbonne, 92, 97, 99, 103, 133, 421, 499, 514, 567, student numbers, 101, theology, 34, 396 Pasteur Institutes, 529 pathology, 567–70, 572 patronage, 127 Pavia (Italy), hospital, 550, u n i v e rs i t y , 27, 29–31, 300, engineering, 602, medicine, 562, see also Golgi, Camillo Pécs (Hungary), u n i v e rs i t y , 41 Peking, see Beijing Persian language, 443

Peru, 183, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 179 Pest, see Budapest pharmacology, 550 pharmacy, 43, 503, 557, 579 philanthropy, 146 philhellenism, 282 Philippines, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 212–13 philology, 12, 50, 394, 414, 415–20, breakthrough of, 420–8, comparative philology, 449–53, diffusion of, 438–42, oriental studies, 442–53, origins of modern, 438, seminars, 440–1 philosophy, 19, 20, 51, 129, 248, 262, 393, 429, 453, 460, 499, ancients, study of, 419–20, faculty of philosophy, 48, 50, 51, 132, 262, 453, 454–5, 493, 511, journals, 149, 456, medicine and, 545–6, metaphysics, 394, 401, 521, natural philosophy, 19–20, 493, 520–1, 563, philosophe, 148–9, stages of, 566, status, 48, textbooks, 566, theology and, 453–7 phonology, 452 photography, 516 physics, 516, 571, Cavendish Laboratory, 507, 508, chair of, 496, 502, 515, experimental physics, 495–511, 515, faculty of physics, 133, Institute for Physics, 514, journals, 502, mathematical physics, 497, 507, 515, nationalism and, 513, research, 514–17, theoretical physics, 515 physiology, 493, 523–4, 571, 582, textbooks, 563 Piedmont (Italy), u n i v e rs i t i e s , engineering, 602 Pietermaritzburg (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y , 197 Pietism, 410, 411 Pisa (Italy), u n i v e rs i t y , 27, mathematics, 512 poetry, 134, 415 Poland, Catholicism, 351, CIE, 357, Communism, 352, Fascism, 351–2, general strike, 334, gentry, 277–8, Jews, 42, 352, languages, 64–5, mobility, 334, rebellion, 150, Romanticism, 277, Sanacja, 352, Second World War, 656–8, student movements, 23, 272, 277–8, 305–6, 314, technical universities, 58, u n i v e rs i t i e s , Catholic universities, 91, medicine, 559–60, state control, 91, 94 political science, 481–4 politics, 151–6, 479 politics, political dependence, 93–4

740

Subject index Portugal, parliament, 156, Second World War, 648, 659, u n i v e rs i t i e s , admission, 246, enrolments, 245, finance, 87, medicine, 562, state control, 91, 98 positivism, 178, 180, 455, 460 Poszony, see Bratislava Potsdam (Germany), 517 Prague (Czech Republic), Catholicism, 331, Fascism, 352–3, Jews, 321, languages, 299, 330, nationalism, 313, 322–3, 331, student movements, 294–5, technical schools, 41, 603–4, 625, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, 352, 656, finance, 87, languages, 65, medicine, 559, physics, 505 Presbyterian colleges, 85, 202 Presbyterian universities, 187, 215 Pressburg, see Bratislava Pretoria (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y , 197 Pribram (Czech Republic), u n i v e rs i t y , 41 printing, 142 private universities, 110, 126, 180, 191, 219–20, 226 professional schools, 34–5 professionalization, 127–8, 384–7, 547, 588, 629–31, national variations, 384, process of, 369–73, scientific research, 511–17 professions, 91, 117, 139, expansion of, 374–80, 493, knowledge and, 365–9, 384, semi-professions, 372, 386 professions, academic, 130–4, 259, 369–71, see also professors professions, civil, 45, 57, 65, 127, 151, 251, 256, 262, 343, 373, 375, engineering, 10, 593, 594–606, in royal or state service, 125, social workers, 372 professions, commercial, 375 professions, ecclesiastical, 370, 374, 394, 453 professions, educational, 374, school-teachers, 372 professions, legal, 131, 251, 262, 370, 374, 381, 382, 453 professions, medical, 131, 251, 262, 370, 374, 382, 384, dentistry, 553, 579, military surgeons, 555–7, nurses, 372, pharmacists, 372, 553, 582, pharmacy, 43, 503, 557, 579, veterinarians, 372 professions, scientific, 256 professorial typology, assistant professor (adjunctus), 140, associate professors, 119, chairholders, 119, 129,

extraordinary professor (extraordinarius), 138, 141, ordinary professor (ordinarius), 129, 131, 138, 141 professors, appointment and requirements, 49, 50, 89–90, 115, 126, 130, 134, 172–3, appointment procedures, 134–40, bureaucratization, 127–8, control of, 115–16, education of, 50, honorary titles, 159, income, 49–50, 108, income and lifestyle, 140–7, laicization, 123–7, mobility, 74–5, nepotism, 131, 370, numbers of, 108, political role, 151–6, public image, 147–8, resignations and exile, 99–100, role of, 21–2, 147–51, self-consciousness, 124, 159, social status, 59, 124, 132–3, 147–60, 670 professorship, see chairs Protestant academies and universities, 131, 188, 213, 394, 398 Protestant associations, 297, 315, 319 Protestantism, 286 Prussia (Germany), 272, careers, 256, 374, education, 239–40, 255, 462, military schools, 597, public education ministries, 88, qualifications, 251, reforms, 22–3, seminars and institutes, 60, students, 266, u n i v e rs i t i e s , admission, 237, 239–40, finance, 250, models, 47–53, professors, 131, 134–5, 141–2, reforms, 34 psychiatry, 551, 576 psycho-analysis, 576 psychology, 452, 460, 479 public authorities, 14 public education ministries, 88–90, 96, 109 public lectures, 149 publishing, 130, 172, 427, 648 Quebec (Canada), u n i v e rs i t y , 177 Queensland (Australia), u n i v e rs i t y , 214 Rabat (Morocco), 196 radioactivity, 508 Rangoon (Burma), u n i v e rs i t y , 208–9 Rationalism, 410 Reading (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 rector/vice-chancellor, 52, 57, 96, 120, 124, rector magnificus, 97 religion, ideological discrimination, 92–3, scientific study of, 413–14 Rennes (France), u n i v e rs i t y , buildings, 103

741

Subject index research, 47, 105, 170–1, 368–9, 585, finance, 91–2, professionalization, 511–17, research institutions, 60, 172, 626–9, 646, 647, 662, scientific spirit, 13–15, seminars, 440–1, state control, 92, technology, 623–6, wars, 646, 652–3, wartime, 649–51 resistance, 98–100 rhetoric, 134, 393 Rio de Janeiro (Brazil), u n i v e rs i t y , 182 Rockefeller Foundation, 221 Roman law, 14–15 Romance Studies, 12, 432–5, 438, 439, chair of, 433 Romania, Fascism, 353–4, Jorga Law, 94, medicine, 560, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 10, 41, chemistry, 498, foundations, 42–3, mathematics, 498, physics, 498, state control, 94, 96, 98 Romanticism, 275, 276, 277, 282, 398, 410, 430, 502, 520–1, 543, Enlightenment and, 544–53 Rome (Italy), specialist schools, 71, u n i v e rs i t y , 91, engineering, 602, mathematics, 512, physics, 515, student numbers, 101, u n i v e rs i t y (Gregoriana), 403 Rostock (Germany), u n i v e rs i t y , 34, natural sciences, 501, professors, 34 Rotterdam (Netherlands), u n i v e rs i t y (Erasmus University), 39, see also Erasmus Rouen (France), u n i v e rs i t y , theology, 396 Russia, academies, 35–6, 586, aristocracy, 52–3, 157, careers, 376, 382–3, Communism, 87, education, 374, Jews, 333, parliament, 155, public education ministries, 88, Revolution (1905), 67, 333, Revolution (1917), 68, 585, student movements, 25, 303–6, 314–15, 323–4, 331–4, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 10–11, 40, 114, 118, 125, arts, 454, autonomy, 333, dress, 52, finance, 52, 68, 87, Jews, 67, languages, 444, mathematics, 498, medicine, 67, 558–9, 573, mobility, 67, models, 52–3, 66–8, natural sciences, 541, nobility, 67, officials, 52, oriental studies, 447, professors, 52, 157, 305, reforms, 35–6, 68, sciences, 508–11, state control, 95, 97–8, statutes, 67, 68, 333, students, 66–7, women, 67, 333, see also USSR Russo-Japanese War (1904–5), 332 St Andrews (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36

St Gallen (Switzerland), u n i v e rs i t y , 38 St Petersburg (Russia), 35, Academy of Sciences, 541, 586, ‘Bloody Sunday’, 332, Institute of Engineers, 601, Medical Academy, 556, 559, 573, museums, 444, student movements, 303, 304, 324, u n i v e rs i t y , chemistry, 511, finance, 87, languages, 447, mathematics, 510, officials, 98, physics, 510–11, professors, 152, students, 52 Salamanca (Spain), u n i v e rs i t y , 37, buildings, 102, medicine, 561 Salzburg (Austria), u n i v e rs i t y , 41 sanctions, 97–8 Sanskrit, 414, 444, 452 Santiago de Chile (Chile), u n i v e rs i t y , 180 Santiago de Compostela (Spain), specialist schools, 72, u n i v e rs i t y , 37, theology, 397 Saragossa, see Zaragoza Sarajevo (Bosnia), student movements, 337 Saratov (Russia), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 Scandinavia, careers, 383, Scandinavianism, 289–90, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 118, foundations, 66, mobility, 527, models, 66, reforms, 40 ˇ Schemnitz (Banska Stiavnica) (Slovakia), Bergakademie, 597–8 scholarships, 108–9, 250, 251 Scotland, students, 62, 646, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 36, 53–4, 645, admission, 246, councils, 99, engineering, 613, finance, 11, 62, 118, mathematics, 506, medicine, 555, models, 165, officials, 97, reforms, 63, scholarships, 109, social composition, 62–3, state control, 95 Second World War, 638, sciences and, 649–51 Second World War (1939-45), 359, 647–71 secondary schooling, costs of, 250–4 secret societies, 278, 284, 287, 298 secularization, see laicization seminaries, 113, 396, 397, 399 seminars and institutes, 50, 60, 172, 408–9, 505, agricultural institutes, 646, Catholic institutes, 91, 188, 397, 404, City and Guilds, 614, Dominican institutes, 212, engineering, 617, Experimental Biology, 585, Experimental Medicine, 585, Hindu institutes, 198–9, Imperial PhysicalTechnical Institute in Berlin, 60, Institute for Physics, 514, Institut Electronique, 616, Institut Industriel, 616, Institut National des Sciences et des Arts, 17,

742

Subject index Institute of Engineers, 601, Janos Bolyau Institute, 512, Kaiser-Wilhelm-Institute, 505, 643, Kaiser-Wilhelm-Society, 33, 60, Karolinska Institute, 40, 558, languages, 440, mathematics, 513, Max-Planck Institutes, 541, Pasteur Institutes, 529, Physikalisch-Technische Reichsanstalt, 627, technical institutes, 238–9, 243, 262, 505, 608–9 service staff, 115 set theory, 512 Seville (Spain), 610, u n i v e rs i t y , 37, theology, 397 Shanghai (China), 221, u n i v e rs i t y , 219–20, 221 Sheffield (United Kingdom), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 Silesia, 321, 351 Singapore, 209 Sinology, 446–8 Slavonic studies, 436–8 Slovakia, 353, Academy of Mining, 495, student movements, 287–8, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 41 Slovenia, Catholicism, 330–1, nationalism, 313, 331 social class, bourgeoisie, 263, lower-middle class, 259, 264, middle class, 258, 259, 264, 379, 386, upper-middle class, 259 social sciences, 394, 417, 459, 461, 484–6, rise of, 479–9 sociology, 460, 461, 479, 484–8 Sofia (Bulgaria), u n i v e rs i t y , 43–4 South Africa, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 196–8, models, 163 South America, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 46–7, models, 163 Southampton (United Kingdom), 36 Spain, Catholicism, 354, Civil War, 340, 341, 355, colonies, 46–7, Fascism, 354–5, public education ministries, 88, Second World War, 659, specialist schools, 72, student movements, 276, 302–3, 310–11, 328, 354–5, technical schools, 601–2, 610–11, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 3, 114, 284, administration, 90, arts, 454, attendance, 72, autonomy, 46–7, 72, 118, biology, 527, buildings, 103, Catholic universities, 91, engineering, 617, enrolments, 245, finance, 87, graduates, 72, income, 108, languages, 73, mathematics, 494, medicine, 561–2, models, 72, oriental studies, 444, privileges, 95, professors, 72, 89, 108, reforms, 37–8, 72–3, 90, 302, sciences, 498, state control, 95, 98, status, 56, theology, 6, 396–7, women, 248

Spanish America, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 179 specialization, 6–9, 623–6, medicine, 575–9 specialized schools, 57–9, 101, administration, 57, agriculture, 72, 512, buildings, 103–4, business, 38, 39, 44, 57, 71, 72, chemistry, 508, commerce, 71, 380, economics, 62, 205, 339, 481–2, 486, languages, 35, medical, 34–5, 193, 528–9, 548, 549, 553–63, 586–7, 589, military, 496, 595–7, mining, 62, 495, 597–600, 613, natural history, 495, oriental studies, 444–5, veterinary medicine, 72, 562, see also technical schools sport, 107, 309, 325 state control, academic freedom, 94–100 statistics, 513 Stellenbosch (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y , 197 Stockholm (Sweden), Jews, 126, Karolinska Institute, 558, technical institutes, 609, u n i v e rs i t y , 40, 126, 133, medicine, 558, physics, 514 Strasbourg (France), Catholic Theology Faculty, 91, medical schools, 553, professional schools, 34, u n i v e rs i t y , astronomy, 516, history, 477–8, mathematics, 19, natural sciences, 19 student houses, 107, 110 student movements, 23–31, 100, 148, 153, 269–71, consolidation and anti-liberalism, 307–15, ‘Corps’, 286, 296, fighting for freedom, 271–80, integration, 296–307, international, 356–9, nationalism, 345–51, Philomaths, 277–8, revolution and restoration, 281–8, social and national emancipation, 315–24, students in revolt, 288–96, world politics and corporatism, 325–37 students, 114, 115, 166, attendance, 116, behaviour, 309, 311–12, distribution of, 248–50, dress, 52, female students, 584–5, financial assistance, 108–9, mobility, 74–5, 205, 278, 498–9, 510, 584–5, numbers of, 57, 58, 74, 101–2, 128, 233–5, 630, 646, preparation of, 246–54, responsibilities of, social origins, 257–66, student associations, 20–1, 296–8, 308, 310–14, 316, 320, 329, 341, 344, 345, women, 59, 67, 69, 207, 247–8, 326, 333, 379, 584–5 Stuttgart (Germany), technical university, 58, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, physics, 505 Sudan, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 192–3 surgery, 557, 582

743

Subject index Sweden, 597, careers, 343, Chalmers Institution, 609, Darwinism, 534, Fascism, 343, Jews, 126, Karolinska Institute, 558, medical institutes, 40, military schools, 597, parliament, 155, Scandinavianism, 289–90, Second World War, 659, socialism, 326, student movements, 295, 316, students, 266, 316–17, 343, technical institutes, 609, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 40, 66, 125, 126, 133, 316, 326, 534, admission, 265, astronomy, 516, buildings, 103, 160, chemistry, 495, economics, 483, enrolments, 245, faculties, 454, finance, 84, 87, medicine, 558, models, 66, philology, 420, 421, physics, 514, professors, 150, 155, racial biology, 343, reforms, 289, social sciences, 483, stellar statistics, 517, theology, 405, women, 248 Switzerland, careers, 70, Second World War, 659, secret societies, 278, technical schools, 611, u n i v e rs i t i e s , admission, 247, chemistry, 504–5, enrolments, 245, faculties, 454, mathematics, 504–5, mobility, 67, 69–70, models, 68–70, women, 248, women, 69 Sydney (Australia), u n i v e rs i t y , 214 Syria, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 186–7, models, 163 Szeged (Hungary), u n i v e rs i t y , 41, mathematics, 512 Taiwan, u n i v e rs i t y , 225 Tananarive (Madagascar), 196 Tartu (Dorpat) (Estonia), u n i v e rs i t y , 35, 123, 510, astronomy, 516, medicine, 558, physics, 509 Tashkent (Russia), medical school, 586 Tasmania (Australia), u n i v e rs i t y , 214 teachers, assistants and amanuenses, 144, language, 430 teaching appointments, 89–90 teaching hospitals, 548, 549, 589 teaching, private, 49, 50, 128, 137–8, 141, 172–3 technical schools, 10, 68, 351, 505, 512, 593–4, 595–600, 615–16, 621, 622, certificates and diplomas, 629–31, diversification, 623–6, doctorates, 625–6, engineering, 599–600, industrial engineering, 611, models, 600–6, syllabuses, 618–19 technical universities, 58 technology, for public servants, 594–600, status, 617–23

textbooks, 526, 527, anatomy, 568, chemistry, 497–8, 502, engineering, 607, materialism, 564, mathematics, 494, 497–8, medicine, 546, 548, 552, 566, 567, natural sciences, 509, 539, philosophy, 566, physics, 502, physiology, 563, technology, 617 Thailand, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 209–10 theology, academic theology, 6, 34, 70, 129, 248, 249, 262, 430, archaeology, 409, arts and, 393–5, Catholic, 91, 395–402, dogmatics, 398, 399, 407, faculty of theology, 50, 113, 123, 129, 145, 158, 248, 262, 393, 396, 405–9, liberalism, 410–14, Lutheran, 407, mediation, 411–12, philosophy and, 453–7, 460, Protestant, 398, 399, 405–9, Thomism, 402 theology, biblical exegesis, 398, 407 thermodynamics, 512 Tiblisi (Russia), medical school, 586 Tilburg (Netherlands), u n i v e rs i t y , 39 Tokyo (Japan), u n i v e rs i t i e s , 224–5, 226, professors, 226 Tomsk (Siberia), u n i v e rs i t y , 36 Toronto (Canada), u n i v e rs i t y (University College), 176–7 Toulouse (France), Catholic Institute, 91, 250, 397 Transylvania, 293 Trinity College, Dublin, see Dublin Trnava, see Nagyszombat ¨ Tubingen (Germany), student associations, 297, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, mathematics, 19, 501, 505, natural sciences, 19, physics, 503, professors, 34, theology, 398, 405, 411, 412 Tunisia, 195–6 Turin (Italy), specialist schools, 71, 617, u n i v e rs i t y , engineering, 602, mathematics, 512, physics, 515, professors, 133, 153 Turkey, u n i v e rs i t i e s , foundations, 44 Turkish language, 443 Turku (Åbo) (Finland), 40, 66, student movements, 24, 276, u n i v e rs i t y , 125 Turnau, see Nagyszombat Ukraine, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 35, 36, 41, 42 ultramontanism, 395–400, 402 United Kingdom, careers, 61, 245, 376, 381, Chemical Society, 642, civic colleges, 308, 315, Civil Engineers Institutes, 605, education, 55, 246, Education Act (1944), 650, 669, examinations, 373, Inns of Court, 380,

744

Subject index learned societies, 156, Mechanics’ Institutes, 605, 607, medical schools, 554–5, museums, 531, National Physical Laboratory, 628, 646, parliament, 155, Royal College of Physicians, 380, Royal Society of London, 456, 642, schools, 127, Second World War, 645–51, social emancipation, 318, students, 306, 325–6, 339–40, 646, technical schools, 605–6, University Grants Committee, 64, 96, 118, 646, 651, wars, 645–51, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 11–12, 114, access, 130–1, admission, 243–5, arts, 366, buildings, 103, 104, Catholics, 131, chairs, 89, civic universities, 55, 62, colleges, 63, councils, 98, engineering, 613–15, 625–6, 630–1, finance, 62, 85, 115, 118, foundations, 36, income, 108, Jews, 131, medicine, 547, 572, 574, 576, 582, models, 53–5, 164–7, 193, natural sciences, 17, officials, 96, 121, physics, 515–16, privileges, 95, professors, 156, reforms, 61–4, 380, religious discrimination, 92, research, 627, 628, 646, sciences, 506–8, social composition, 62–3, social sciences, 482, 486, sport, 309, 325, state control, 95, women, 248 United States, academic institutes, 172, atomic weapons, 668, libraries, 173–4, politics, 155, Rockefeller Foundation, 174, Second World War, 665, 667–8, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 164–7, 227, academic freedom, 169–70, Egyptian university, 192, foreign students, 205, medicine, 580–1, 585, mobility, 168, models, 163, 192, 221, professors, 169, research, 170–2, 665, social sciences, 487, students, 166 universitates, 20–1 university administration, 115–21, 144, councils, 98–9, education, 90–4, staff, 107–8, state control, 88–94 university autonomy, 13–14, 46–7, 51, 59, 66, 70, 71, 72, 83–4, 85, 90–100, 117–21, 222–3, 292–3, 333 university models, 4–13, 15, 21, 33, 166, 175, 200–1, 214, 227–9, see also Cambridge; European models; Humboldtian model; Napoleonic model; North America; Oxford university officials, bursar, 85, commissar, 50, curator, 50, 97, Grand Master, 88, 93, inspector general, 96, secretary, 115, visitor, 97, see also chancellor; rector/vice-chancellor university presses, 172, 427

university reforms, 7–8, 11, 33–40, 47, 54, 57, 61–4, 65–6, 68, 70–3, 90, 182–5, 302, 307–8, 380, 669 university typology, 4, private universities, 110, 126, 180, 191, 219–20, 226, student movements, 295, 316, u n i v e rs i t y , 40, 125, 534, astronomy, 516, buildings, 103, 160, chemistry, 495, finance, 84, 87, models, 66, philology, 420, professors, 150, racial biology, 343, reforms, 289, social sciences, 483, theology, 405 Uruguay, 183, u n i v e rs i t y , 180 USSR, 10, Communism, 100, Marxism, 585–7, medical schools, 586–7, non-Communists, 358, public education ministries, 88, Second World War, 666–7, u n i v e rs i t i e s , buildings, 103, resistance, 100, state control, 91, 94, 98 utilitarianism, 588 Utrecht (Netherlands), student movements, 302, u n i v e rs i t y , 39, 553, medicine, 554, 556, teachers, 108 Valencia (Spain), 610, u n i v e rs i t y , 37, 536 Valladolid (Spain), u n i v e rs i t y , 37 Varna (Bulgaria), 44 Vergara (Spain), 610 veterinary medicine, 72, 562 Victoria (Canada), colleges, 176 Victoria (New Zealand), 215 Vienna (Austria), 19, Catholicism, 323, 331, Export Academy, 41, Jews, 320–1, languages, 330, nationalism, 313, 323, 350, 351, student movements, 51, 287–8, 293–4, 295, 298–9, 337, technical school, 603–4, u n i v e rs i t y , 41, astronomy, 516, buildings, 102, 104, 105, engineering, 41, finance, 87, languages, 436, 442, law, 51, medicine, 549, 556, 562, 574, physics, 505, students, 42, see also Rokitansky, Carl Vietnam, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 210–11 Vilnius (Vilna) (Lithuania), Medical Academy, 556, student movements, 277, u n i v e rs i t y , 35, 283, 657, mathematics, 498, medicine, 559, physics and mathematics, 509, professors, 152 Vistulaland (Poland), 334 vitalism, 521, 551–3, 563 Wales, colleges, 308, u n i v e rs i t i e s , 36 Warsaw (Poland), 305, 357, revolution, 305–6, student movements, 283, 314, u n i v e rs i t y , 42, 306, astronomy, 498, mathematics, 512, medicine, 560, physics, 498

745

Subject index Wellington (South Africa), u n i v e rs i t y , 197 West Africa, u n i v e rs i t i e s , models, 163 Western Australia, u n i v e rs i t y , 214 Windsor (Canada), u n i v e rs i t y (King’s College), 175 women, 59, 67, 69, 207, 247–8, 326, 333, 379, female professors, 65, 126, 133, philanthropy, 146 Worcester (United States), u n i v e rs i t y (Clark University), 169, 170, 171 ¨ Wurzburg (Germany), student associations, 297, u n i v e rs i t y , 34, chemistry, 504, mathematics, 501, medicine, 564, natural sciences, 501, physics, 503

Yale University, see New Haven (United States) Yugoslavia, u n i v e rs i t i e s , buildings, 103 Zagreb, see Agram Zaragoza (Saragossa) (Spain), u n i v e rs i t y , 37, 73, theology, 397 Zionism, 330 zoological parks, 107 Zurich (Switzerland), Federal Polytechnical, 68, 504–5, 611, 625, u n i v e rs i t y , 38, buildings, 104, chemistry, 504, mathematics, 504, medicine, 584, physics, 505, professors, 69, theology, 412

746

A History of the University in Europe: Volume 3, Universities the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries (1800-1945) (A History of the University in Europe)

A History of the University in Europe: Volume 4, Universities since 1945

Europe in the Sixteenth Century (A General History of Europe)

The University of Oxford: A New History

In Pursuit of Ancient Pasts: A History of Classical Archaeology in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries

A general history of Freemasonry in Europe

The History of Medieval Europe

Europe: A History

Europe and the Maritime World: A Twentieth Century History

Europe in the Seventeenth Century (General History of Europe)

Europe: A History

The History of the Idea of Europe

History of the Balkans, Volume 1: Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries

A Pictorial History of Delta State University

Stand, Columbia: A History of Columbia University

A History of the University of Manchester, 1973-90

A Chance for European Universities: Or: Avoiding the Looming University Crisis in Europe

The History of the Origins of Representative Government in Europe

The Concept of a University

National Thought in Europe: A Cultural History

The Early Reformation in Europe

Barbarism and Civilization: A History of Europe in Our Time

Barbarism and Civilization. A history of europe in our time

Early Mediaeval Europe, 300-1000 (Macmillan History of Europe)

Barbarism and Civilization: A History of Europe in Our Time

The University of Oklahoma: A History, 1890-1917

Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945

A History Of Modern Europe Since-1789

A Financial History of Western Europe

Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945

A History of the University in Europe: Volume 3, Universities the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries (1800-1945) (A History of the University in Europe)

A History of the University in Europe: Volume 4, Universities since 1945

Europe in the Sixteenth Century (A General History of Europe)

The University of Oxford: A New History

In Pursuit of Ancient Pasts: A History of Classical Archaeology in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries

A general history of Freemasonry in Europe

The History of Medieval Europe

Europe: A History

Europe and the Maritime World: A Twentieth Century History

Europe in the Seventeenth Century (General History of Europe)

Europe: A History

The History of the Idea of Europe

History of the Balkans, Volume 1: Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries

A Pictorial History of Delta State University

Stand, Columbia: A History of Columbia University

A History of the University of Manchester, 1973-90

A Chance for European Universities: Or: Avoiding the Looming University Crisis in Europe

The History of the Origins of Representative Government in Europe

The Concept of a University

National Thought in Europe: A Cultural History

The Early Reformation in Europe

Barbarism and Civilization: A History of Europe in Our Time

Barbarism and Civilization. A history of europe in our time

Early Mediaeval Europe, 300-1000 (Macmillan History of Europe)

Barbarism and Civilization: A History of Europe in Our Time

The University of Oklahoma: A History, 1890-1917

Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945

A History Of Modern Europe Since-1789

A Financial History of Western Europe

Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945

Recommend Documents