Basic Research as a Political Symbol
Roger Pielke Jr.
Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2012
Abstract The use of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ as a term used in science policy
discussion dates only to about 1920. At the time the phrase referred to what we
today commonly refer to as applied research in support of specific missions or goals,
especially agriculture. Upon the publication of Vannevar Bush’s well-known report,
Science – The Endless Frontier, the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ became a key political
symbol, representing various identifications, expectations and demands related to
science policy among scientists and politicians. This paper tracks and evaluates the
evolution of ‘‘basic research’’ as a political symbol from early in the 20th century to
the present. With considerable attention having been paid to the on-going evolution
of post-Cold War science policy, much less attention has focused on the factors
which have shaped the dominant narrative of contemporary science policies.
Keywords US science policy Á Symbolism Á History Á United Kingdom
Introduction
Since the end of the Cold War in the early 1990s, observers of science and
technology policies have studied in depth the on-going changes that have
characterized thinking and practice (e.g., Sarewitz 1996, Gibbons et al. 1994,
Guston 2000, Jasanoff 2004, Lentsch and Weingart 2011). Much of the post-War
discussion and debate of science in society and politics orients itself with respect to
an overarching narrative that characterizes post-World War II science and
technology policy, with less attention focused on the establishment of that narrative
(Kline 1995). At the core of that narrative is a concept – ‘‘basic research.’’ This
R. Pielke Jr. (&)
Center for Science and Technology Policy Research, University of Colorado, 1333 Grandview Ave.,
UCB 488, Boulder, CO 80309-0499, USA
e-mail: pielke@colorado.edu
123
Minerva
DOI 10.1007/s11024-012-9207-5
paper documents the rise of ‘‘basic research’’ as a political symbol in the early to
mid-20th century, thus setting the stage for its well-documented fall and the
changing nature of science and technology policies now underway.
The phrase ‘‘basic research’’ has been fundamental to discussions of science
policy for almost 70 years. It represents both a concept and a relationship. As we
will see, the phrase carries with it multiple meanings which support the expectation
that public investments in science and technology are the wellspring of economic
growth and prosperity. Although ‘‘basic research’’ entered the English lexicon
around 1920, it only became a term broadly used in science policy discourse upon
the 1945 publication of Vannevar Bush’s seminal report, Science – The Endless
Frontier.
‘‘Basic research’’ first appeared as a phrase on the pages of the New York Times in
1922, in a US Congressional hearing in 1919 and in 1923 in the Congressional
Record of a floor debate among members of Congress, and in Science and Nature,
respectively 1924 and 1928.1
The fact that the phrase appeared first in political
discourse prior to appearing in the leading journals of science is symptomatic of the
role of the phrase as an important political symbol with a meaning that has evolved
over time.
From its initial years, Minerva was home to early discussions and debates over
‘‘basic research.’’ Toulmin (1966) presented the ‘‘warrants for basic research.’’
Michael Polanyi’s (1962) ‘‘Republic of Science’’ in the journal’s very first issue
wrote what remains today an oft-cited defence of logic of support for basic research,
which at the time was part of his long-standing debate countering J. Desmond
Bernal’s emphasis on mission-oriented research (Brown 2007).2
Calvert (2006)
explored the continuing use of ‘‘basic research’’ as a key concept in science policy.
All told, almost 100 contributions to Minerva since 1962 have used the phrase
‘‘basic research’’ (according to a search of the journal’s website). As the journal
looks to its next 50 years, this paper contributes an analysis of some neglected
aspects of the past.
Political symbols, according to Edelman (1967), ‘‘bring out in concentrated form
those particular meanings and emotions which the members of a group create and
reinforce in each other.’’ More precisely, as a political symbol ‘‘basic research’’
represents the identifications, expectations and demands of scientists, policymakers
and the public about the role of science in society (Lasswell et al. 1952). Symbols
play an important function in political debate as ‘‘there is nothing about any symbol
that requires that it stands for only one thing’’ (Edelman 1967). Thus, the public can
rally around a national flag or members of a legislature around the issue of, say, ‘‘tax
reform,’’ even though in each case individuals may ascribe vastly different
meanings to the idea of the nation represented by the flag or the specific meaning of
‘‘tax reform.’’
This paper argues that in discussions of science policy ‘‘basic research’’ has
played an important symbolic role in maintaining a political consensus on the role
1
The sources for the media, Congressional and scientific publications cited here are discussed in the text
below.
2
Polanyi did not actually use the phrase.
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123
of science in society that has continued largely unbroken for almost 70 years. The
political consensus has undergirded an approach to science policy that has been
found wanting by analysts and scholars for decades (e.g., Sarewitz 1996). However,
to date, despite the perceived weaknesses in contemporary science policy identified
by academics and other observers, a new political consensus has yet to emerge to
replace ‘‘basic research’’ as a central, organizing symbol.
To explore the symbolic functions of ‘‘basic research’’ in political discourse in
science policy over the past century, this paper documents through a straightforward
content analysis the rise (and subsequent fall) of ‘‘basic research’’ as a political
symbol, and how the phrase has evolved and changed as the politics of science policy
have changed over time. The paper proceeds in four parts. Part one provides an
overview of symbols in political discourse and the methodologies of content analysis
used to track symbols over time. Part two conducts a simple content analysis of the
presence of ‘‘basic research’’ in the United States in the elite media, Congress and in
the leading scientific journals Science (published in the US) and Nature (published in
the UK). Part three explores in more detail the historical context which gave rise to
‘‘basic research’’ as a political symbol. Part four discusses some of the reasons that
‘‘basic research’’ has sustained as a political symbol, despite the introduction of
various alternatives. Despite various proposed alternatives to ‘‘basic research’’ – such
as transformational research or use-inspired – the concept has yet to be replaced in
science policy discourse. This paper helps to explain why.
Part I: Symbols in Political Discourse
Elder and Cobb (1983) define a symbol as: ‘‘any object used by human beings to
index meanings that are not inherent in, nor discernible from, the object itself.’’
They continue:
Literally anything can be a symbol: a word or a phrase, a gesture or an event, a
person, a place, or a thing. An object becomes a symbol when people endow it
with meaning value or significance.
In his classic essay, Sapir (1934) distinguishes two types of symbols, referential and
condensational. Referential symbols are ‘‘economical devices for purposes of
reference.’’ So each of the following is an example of a referential symbol - @, ?,
&, Z, WORD, ,. A second type of symbol distinguished by Sapir is one that carries
with it ‘‘emotional tension in conscious or unconscious form.’’ Examples of such
symbols would include 9/11, a swastika, the American flag, and your name. Sapir
asserts that ‘‘society is peculiarly subject to the influence of symbols in such
emotionally charged fields as religion and politics.’’
Lasswell et al. (1952) define ‘‘key political symbols’’ as those which occur ‘‘in the
flow of political statements,’’ and distinguish three types: symbols of identification
(referring to people and groups), symbols of demand (referring to preferences and
volitions) and symbols of expectation (referring to assumptions of fact). As a key
political symbol, ‘‘basic research’’ has been extensively studied from perspectives
that correspond conceptually to the three-part typology (cf. Sarewitz 1996).
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
As a symbol of identification, basic research is used to characterize the work
conducted by scientists. Alvin Weinberg (1970) proposed an axiology of science which
held that basic research is ‘‘better’’ than applied research. Weinberg was codifying a
value structure that had long been in place in the scientific community (cf. Godin 2009,
Calvert 2006). The first editorial published by Science in 1883 explained that the person
who applies the discoveries of others to ‘‘useful purposes … stands upon a lower plane
than the investigator.’’ From the perspective of the scientific community, basic
researchers stand at the top of a hierarchy of activities worth pursuing, reflecting a sense
of purity and nobility (Science 1883; cf. Daniels 1967; Pielke 2007).
As a symbol of demand, basic research represents an invocation of the so-called
‘‘linear model’’ of innovation, which is typically characterized as a flow from basic
research to applied research to development to application and ultimately societal
benefits (Godin 2006; Pielke 2007). Bush (1945) in his famous report used the
metaphor of a reservoir as a buffer between scientists and the rest of society, with
the results of research akin to water that fills the reservoir, to be available to
decision makers when needed. The more modern language of ‘‘upstream’’ and
‘‘downstream’’ engagement in research follows directly from the Bush metaphor.
From this perspective, Bush argued that ‘‘basic research’’ needed special protection
as demands for relevance would tend to drive out research aimed at furthering
knowledge itself (cf. Sarewitz 2012).
As a symbol of expectation, basic research is viewed by many scientists as
research done with no consideration of application. At the same time, such research
is viewed by policymakers as fundamental to applications (Calvert 2006). Such
contradictory views are reconciled via Bush’s reservoir metaphor. But for many
years the Bush metaphor has been viewed as problematic in practice (Godin 2009;
Pielke and Byerly 1998). Dubos (1961) identified a ‘‘schizophrenic attitude’’ which
Daniels (1967) characterized as a focus among scientists on the conceptual aspects
of their work while at the same time maintaining in public – especially when
soliciting research funding – that their work would lead to ‘‘useful results.’’ In a
series of analyses, Godin (e.g., 2002; 2003; 2005) documents how the linear model
of science was used as a means of research accounting by governments, and
crucially, by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development
(OECD). The specificity required in allocating money was contrary to the multiple
and conflicting uses to which the term basic research served as a symbol of demand.
The phrase ‘‘basic research’’ evolved from a referential symbol to a condensational
symbol of expectation, identification and demand, ultimately serving as a (if
not the) key political symbol of 20th century science policy. The next section
performs a simple content analysis of the rise (and subsequent fall) of ‘‘basic
research’’ as a key political symbol, documenting this evolution.
Part II: A Content Analysis of Trends in Elite Media, Congress
and Science/Nature
Lasswell et al. (1952) argue that one can track symbols over time in political
discourse via a ‘‘content analysis’’ defined as ‘‘a technique which aims at describing,
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with optimum objectivity, precision, and generality, what is said on a given subject
in a given place at a given time.’’ This section of the paper performs a
straightforward content analysis of the frequency with which the phrase basic
research has appeared in political, media and scientific outlets over the past century.
Figures 1a and b show the number of mentions of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ in
the Congressional Record, which documents debate among members of Congress
on the floors of the House and Senate, and in Congressional hearings, which are
used to gather testimony from various witnesses and includes statements of
witnesses, supporting materials, and the transcripts of exchanges between members
of Congress and witnesses. The data is presented by Congress (each covering 2 full
years) and was collected using the Lexis-Nexis Congressional database.3
Searches
were performed on the appearance of the specific phrase ‘‘basic research’’ in the full
text of the database.
The first concatenation of the words ‘‘basic’’ and ‘‘research’’ in debates of the US
Congress occurred in a congressional hearing in 1915 on the budget of the US
Department of Agriculture where both words were used as adjectives to describe the
‘‘work’’ of the agency. The first use of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ with ‘‘research’’
used as a noun occurred in a Congressional hearing on USDA in 1919. In both
datasets, the number of mentions of the phrase increased sharply in the mid-1940s,
coincidental with the publication of Science - The Endless Frontier and the was
followed by a sharper increase in the 1950s following the creation of the National
Science Foundation, when the phrase first appeared in the text of bills.
The phrase has seen a subtle decline in floor debate, where elected representatives
speak, but saw a much more pronounced increase and then decline in
congressional hearings. Presumably this is due to agency officials and interested
parties who often testify to the importance of ‘‘basic research’’ before the relevant
oversight committees and subcommittees. The peak mentions in the Congressional
Record occur in 1969 and in Congressional hearings in 1979, with respective
declines of more than 50% and almost 70% by 2010.
However, when the data are normalized to the dataset average (Fig. 1b) the data
shows similar patterns in floor debate vs. in hearings, with the peak usage among
elected officials leading that used in hearings.
Figure 2 shows the frequency of appearances of the specific phrase ‘‘basic
research’’ in the New York Times collected using the paper’s publicly available
archival search function on its website. The time series shows some similarities and
some differences as compared to the pattern of use in Congress. Usage of the phrase
increased dramatically upon the publication of Science - The Endless Frontier, and
then saw a second dramatic increase beginning in 1956, peaking in 1959, followed
by a large decrease in use in 1961. There was a subsequent steady decline until
1980, which saw an upswing followed by a subsequent decline in usage.
Appearances of the phrase in 2010 were 50% of the levels of 1980.
3
Available at: https://web.lexis-nexis.com/congcomp. The database is available on a subscription basis
and was accessed via the University of Colorado. Data collection was performed by Sarah Leshan and
Zach Johnson, who also performed the searches discussed below.
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
Figures 3a and b show the frequency of uses of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ in the
two leading journals of science, Science and Nature, obtained using the search
functions available on each website (requiring a subscription to access). The
patterns of usage within the scientific community are starkly different than those in
Congress or the New York Times, showing increasing usage in absolute and relative
terms before falling steeply in the 1990s following the end of the Cold War.
To summarize, the usage of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ rose and fell in each of
the databases explored here. Specifically, in Congress, usage peaked in the late
Fig. 1 a The number of mentions in the Congressional Record and Congressional Hearings from 1920 to
2010. b The relative number of mentions in the Congressional Record and Congressional Hearings from
1920 to 2010, with the long term average equal to 100
R. Pielke Jr.
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1960s in floor debate and about 1980 in hearings. In the New York Times, usage
peaked in the late 1950s with a secondary, and much lower, peak around 1980. In
Science and Nature, where scientists (and those who cover science) generally write
for each other, usage peaked the latest, in the 1990s. All databases show a
significant decline in usage to 2010.
The next section seeks to explain the rise of basic research as a political symbol
and its significance for science policy, drawing on theory in symbolic politics and
studies of US science policy.
Part III: Making Sense of the Rise of ‘‘Basic Research’’
The notion of ‘‘basic research’’ as ‘‘pure science’’ existed long before the publication
of Science - The Endless Frontier popularized the phrase. Substantially similar
appeals for government support of research had been made in the US and the UK since
at least the 1920s. Such arguments did not gain much traction until World War II.
Leadership of science at the highest level of government moved from agriculturists to
physicists. In accepting the importance of science, politicians never deviated from
their expectation that science would be instrumental. The introduction of the flexible
phrase ‘‘basic research’’ was able to accommodate all of these changes and became
institutionalized as the basis for science policy practice. But it was not until World
War II, and the demonstrated power of science via the atomic bomb and other
technologies, that basic research came to dominate science policy discourse.
Symbolic Transformation: From Pure to Basic
The phrase ‘‘basic research’’ entered the American vocabulary in the 1920s, though
there is evidence that the phrase was used on a few occasions in Congressional
Fig. 2 The number of mentions in the New York Times from 1920 to 2010
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
discussions involving the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) prior to 1920.
However, despite appearing in the New York Times and in Congressional
deliberations, the phrase did not become a key political symbol until after World
War II.
When ‘‘basic research’’ was first used as a term by scientists and leaders in the
USDA, it carried a meaning much more closely aligned to what we today call
‘‘applied research.’’ The phrase itself was a condensation of a longer descriptive
phrase, which is found in the 1921 Year in Agriculture Report of the Secretary of
Agriculture to the President. The report explained that ‘‘the basic work of the
[Agriculture] department is in the field of research’’ (USDA 1921). It was this report
that provided the impetus for the first appearance of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ in
Fig. 3 a The number of mentions in Science and Nature from 1920 to 2010. b The relative number of
mentions in Science and Nature from 1920 to 2010, with the long term average equal to 100
R. Pielke Jr.
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the New York Times several months later. The NYT article on the USDA report used
a condensed form of the longer phrase, shortening it to simply ‘‘basic research.’’
Throughout the 1920s and 1930s the phrase appeared occasionally in Congressional
testimony, at first exclusively by USDA officials and then later in testimony
from the Departments of Interior and Defense. In the hearings of the 1920s, the
phrase is used to describe research in support of the agency mission and generally in
support of US industry. For instance, in the first instance of the phrase being used in
a congressional hearing, Henry S. Graves, USDA Chief of Forest Service, explains
to the Agriculture Committee that ‘‘It is essential that the Forest Products laboratory
[of USDA] have information regarding industrial processes in making their basic
research available’’ in order for the research to be applied in industry (Graves 1919).
Again, the usage is consistent with what today we call ‘‘applied research’’ rather
than any notion of curiosity-driven investigation led by the scientific community.
Several years later in 1924, a scientist with the USDA Bureau of Chemistry
explained in a Congressional hearing how basic research into dyes (for coloring
materials) supported American industry that was facing international competition,
an argument for investment in research that continues to present days. The
testimony provides an example of the justification used by scientists for federal
support of science at the time:
Recently we have been concentrating particularly on the optical properties of
dyes. Two dyes may look alike to the eye but they are entirely different in their
properties. One will not be as fast as the other; and we are endeavoring to find,
and are finding right along, means of telling which these dyes are. That comes
under the class of analytical procedures. It involves the examination of all the
dyes that we can get hold of, comparing them with pre-war dyes and the
American dyes at the present time. Then, in the intermediates there is the same
question of telling what intermediate you have got when you have it. The
literature is full of these compounds with long names, but they do not tell how
to know them when you have them. We have had to examine methods, study
the properties, the difference in optical properties, the solubilities, and other
determinations in order to know just what we have, and to aid industry in
developing new uses for those intermediates and possibly new ways of making
them. It is on such basic research that the dye industry of Germany was built,
and it is on such research that the American manufacturer must rely to meet
the increasing competition of European manufacturers (Ambler 1924).
During this period, ‘‘basic research’’ was being presented to the US Congress as that
research which would support agency missions and the broader needs of US
industry. There was no mention of science for science sake in these discussions.
Kline argued that the language used to describe science changed as a result of
World War I:
The change in rhetoric is evident in debates about science and industrial
research during World War I. Because the topic became a matter of national
defense when the United States was cut off from German dyes, fine optics, and
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
other products early in the war, scientific and engineering journals carried
numerous articles about improving U.S. research capabilities (Kline 1995).
The scientific community had long resisted efforts to justify public support in terms of
the practical benefits from research. Kline (1995) quotes Willis Whitney, head of
industrial research for General Electric, speaking to the American Chemical Society
in 1916, criticizing the view of ‘‘some scientists … that making a utility of the Godgiven
discoveries of the truly beautiful phenomena of Nature was a prostitution to be
deprecated, and that research could only be pure when it was sterile.’’ However, in the
broader scientific community, especially in physics and chemistry, the ‘‘pure science’’
ideal was alive and well (Kline 1995). For instance, in 1926, Arthur Kennelly of
Harvard University presented an argument that would become conventional wisdom
two decades later, explaining on the pages of Science magazine:
[M]any cases of scientific research which have been made without any
suspicion of applicability have subsequently come to be applied to very
practical use. It would seem that the only differences which necessarily
separate a scientific research of the basic or non-applied type from one of the
applied type lie in the aims and motives of the researcher… Useless scientific
knowledge is now a contradiction in terms.
The phrase ‘‘basic research’’ was beginning to gain traction in the scientific
community and simultaneously being used in political settings. However, the usage
of the phrase in science and in politics conveyed very different, almost opposing
meanings about science, with scientists appealing to practical benefits of ‘‘basic
research’’ to politicians, while reinforcing the ‘‘pure science’’ ideal among their
peers.
One aspect of my investigation into the origins of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’
involved ascertaining whether it (in the English language) originated in the United
States or in the United Kingdom, as both countries saw their respective science
policies evolving along similar paths early in the 20th century. All evidence points
to the phrase as originating in the United States, and I found no evidence of the
phrase originating in the United Kingdom.
However, there is ample evidence that the underlying logic which ultimately
came to be expressed by Vannevar Bush in Science - The Endless Frontier evolved
in parallel on both sides of the Atlantic.4
A 1924 report by the National Union of
Scientific Workers, a left-leaning organization of scientists in the United Kingdom,
foreshadowed many of the arguments that were later expressed by Bush (on the
NUSW, see MacLeod and MacLeod 1979). As was typical of the era, the NUSW,
however, emphasized the importance of ‘‘pure science’’ rather than a more
symbolically malleable expression (NUSW 1924a).
The NUSW advocated for government support for research with no consideration
of application or return on investment.5
4
That said, the scientific community was to some degree a global community even then, and ideas and
arguments quickly crossed the Atlantic in both directions.
5
Godin (2009) cites several other examples of similar arguments for the practical importance of ‘‘pure
research,’’ none of which used the phrase ‘‘basic research.’’
R. Pielke Jr.
123
[The NUSW] must be prepared to do work for which there is no direct
economic return, and to exert itself, alone or in co-operation with other bodies
for the encouragement of scientific research and the general advance of
science (NUSW 1924a).
The NUSW commissioned a report in 1921 titled ‘‘On the Encouragement of
Fundamental Research’’ based on ‘‘the opinion of the [NUSW] Research Committee
that fundamental scientific research is not adequately supported by the State, local
authorities, or the general public’’ (NUSW 1921). The resulting report, published in
1924, presented an argument virtually identical in logic and structure for the support
of government support of research that would later appear in Science - The Endless
Frontier (NUSW 1924b). Several of its arguments highlighting the intrinsic
importance of pure research, however, do not appear in Vannevar Bush’s seminal
report, nor does the phrase ‘‘fundamental research’’ marking a substantive and
symbolic shift in the arguments used by the scientific community to justify public
investments in their work.
The NUSW Encouragement report did not use the phrase ‘‘basic research.’’
Throughout, it used the phrase ‘‘fundamental research,’’ explaining that, ‘‘by
fundamental research, then, we mean research undertaken without any immediate
expectation of results of practical value’’ (NUSW 1924b). The NUSW offered a
justification for its emphasis on fundamental rather than practical research grounded
in its leftist political orientation:
In a community of perfectly enlightened ‘‘economic men’’, practical research
would need no encouragement. In a community so little enlightened as our
own, encouragement is certainly needed; but it must be given to those who
have the control of capital and can employ others to work for them, rather than
the scientific workers who actually do research (NUSW 1924b).
The NUSW eschewed patents, prizes and grants for research, instead arguing that
scientists should be provided with a salary, few obligations and little accountability.
Perhaps somewhat ironically, in the United Kingdom, a contradictory approach
to science in society was advanced in the years that followed from J. Desmond
Bernal – a leading British scientist and, like many of those scientists in the NUSW,
with communist leanings – who argued that government science needed to focus on
practical outcomes (Brown 2007). Bernal’s perspective was countered by Michael
Polanyi who argued for a free market ‘‘invisible hand’’ approach to research
(Polanyi 1962), an argument that resonated with the linear model/reservoir
metaphor used by Vannevar Bush. Bernal’s views were ultimately superseded by
Polanyi’s with the adoption of the linear model/reservoir logic. However, in postCold
War years, Bernal’s views have seen a re-emergence coincidental with the
decline in usage of ‘‘basic research’’ as a key political symbol (Byerly and Pielke
1995).
The NUSW Encouragement report presented several reasons to justify it call for
greater public investment in fundamental research. One justification was in terms of
the practical value of the investment: ‘‘[F]undamental research should be
encouraged because, though not directed purposely to practically useful results, it
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
does actually lead to them’’ (NUSW 1924b).6
A second justification invoked the
inherent value of science for science sake: ‘‘[F]undamental research undertaken
without any ulterior motives of utility is essentially desirable for its own sake for its
effect in developing the intelligence and imagination of the individual and the race’’
(NUSW 1924b). A third justification was offered, arguing that ‘‘the community
benefits directly by the presence within it of able and intellectually active citizens’’
(NUSW 1924b). Of these various justifications it was only the practical value
argument that appears in Science - The Endless Frontier, which did not rely on
appeals to science for science sake.
Perhaps ironically, the practical orientation of government to research in the
United States did not go unnoticed by the NUSW, one of its members offered a
caution in focusing on research directed by government needs:
America was not a country of farmers but of industrialists working upon the
land. Consequently they were less tied by tradition, and more ready to look to
science for help. On the other hand, the State legislatures which supported the
biological work were very apt to demand immediate results, and some
promising work was spoiled by premature publication. We, in this country,
should take warning of the danger of allowing the legislature to get direct
control of scientific research.7
The concern was that applied research would drive out the pure, an invocation of the
same principle expressed two decades later in Science - The Endless Frontier
(Sarewitz 2012). Yet, it was the appeal to application and benefit that would
ultimately secure large-scale government support for science on both sides of the
Atlantic.
The United States too had seen a long history of support for ‘‘pure science’’ from
within the scientific community which was increasingly challenged during World
War I and the years that followed, as scientists sought greater financial support from
government and industry (Kline 1995).8
Writing in 1929 in the then-influential
magazine The Country Gentleman, US Secretary of Agriculture Arthur M. Hyde
laid out a rationale for government support of basic research that is very similar to
that advocated by Bush in 1945.9
Hyde (1929) argued that in the USDA ‘‘technical men’’ did not have a program of
research under their control, which meant that:
6
This view was widely shared at the time. Kline (1995) quotes astrophysicist George Elery Hale writing
in Science in 1914 on this point, ‘‘we must show how the investigations of Faraday, pursued for the pure
love of truth and apparently of no commercial value, nevertheless laid the foundations of electrical
engineering. If we can disseminate such knowledge…we can multiply the friends of pure science and
secure new and large endowments for physics, chemistry and other fundamental subjects.’’ Almost
100 years later, Faraday remains a trusted anecdote in science policy discussions.
7
Comment of Sir A. Daniel Hall, FRS, upon the occasion of a member of the NUSW, W. B. Brierley of
the Department of Mycology at Rothamstead, visiting the United States (The Scientific Worker 1921).
8
Kline (1995, p. 205): ‘‘The wartime discourse pitted those who preached the new ‘gospel of industrial
research,’ nurtured by Arthur Little and others in the chemists’ crusade, against adherents of the older
‘gospel of high culture and pure science.’’’
9
On the influence of The Country Gentleman, see Pursell (1968).
R. Pielke Jr.
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Item by item, the department’s proposed expenditures must be explained to the
Budget Bureau Committee and to the appropriations committees in Congress.
Since it is impossible to forecast the results of any particular research problem,
details cannot be furnished in advance. It is difficult, therefore, to convince the
lay mind of the fact that such studies are indispensably prerequisites to the
practical values which flow therefrom.
Hyde argued that a ‘‘lump sum appropriated for fundamental research’’ would solve
this problem. Hyde anticipated many of the arguments later used by Bush, appealing
to the practical benefits from undirected and largely unaccountable research, and
even alluding to the metaphor of a ‘‘flow’’ from research to application.
The changing language of science policy during this era has been discussed by
Kline (1995), who observes:
Several important changes in terminology occurred in the interwar period.
Although engineering science had not become an everyday expression, the
terms basic science and fundamental science began to replace pure science in
the rhetoric of many scientists and engineers.10
The change in language reflected a change in practices as well – symbols matter.
Kline (1995) states that the changes in terminology represented
… modifications to the pure-science ideal - amounting to what may be called a
‘‘basic-research’’ ideal - seem to have been overlooked by most readers of
Science, the Endless Frontier - then and now. By focusing so much attention
on how to increase the nation’s ‘‘scientific capital,’’ the only sure basis for
long-term ‘‘technological progress,’’ the report promoted a hierarchical
applied-science model of technology that greatly influenced the early funding
patterns of the NSF and postwar science policy in the United States.
The first documented use of the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ in public speech by a US
president was Harry Truman on August 14, 1946 in making remarks on a
Congressional bill supporting basic research in agriculture. He said,
Now, as we move into a new period of peace, basic research and the
application of the results become even more important (Truman 1946).
Truman’s remarks reflect what had become by then a fairly common understanding
of basic research by policymakers as a tool for achieving practical ends:
Our greatest peacetime agricultural problem is the efficient marketing of
adequate quantities of the right kinds of foods and other farm products. The
basic research provided for in this Bill will help solve the problem, and will be
of great value to future generations (Truman 1946).
10
Kline attributes the popularization of the term ‘‘basic research’’ in the mid-1920s to Arthur Kennelly.
Based on the analysis that I present here, Kennelly’s use of the phrase is to be viewed as part of the
broader expansion in use as it gained in symbolic importance. See Kennelly (1926). Of note, Vannevar
Bush was a student of Kennelly’s and in the 1940s claimed credit for coining the phrase (according to
Kline 1995). Bush’s claim is clearly incorrect. Success has many parents.
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
Truman’s remarks coming after the war but before the establishment of the NSF
show that at the highest political level, nothing like the ‘‘pure science’’ ideal had
been accepted in government. Science was indeed ascendant, and ‘‘basic research’’
helped to pave the way.
To summarize, the basic framework and logic of arguments appealing for
government support for research were well established in both the UK and US by
the end of the 1920s. However, such arguments did not lead to much policy action.
Nonetheless, with the advantage of hindsight, there were signs that change was
underway. A short news article on the NUSW report in Science on January 29, 1925
was the first occasion that the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ appeared in the journal. In its
description of the NUSW report, the Science story replaced the phrase ‘‘fundamental
research’’ as used in the report with ‘‘basic research’’ (Science 1925). Here we see
initial indications that the phrase was being adopted to circumstances beyond its
initial reference to mission-oriented research in the USDA to refer to a broader set
of identifications, expectations and demands. ‘‘Basic research’’ was becoming a key
political symbol.
From Farmers to Physicists: Political Evolution in Science Policy Leadership
Up until World War II, leadership in science policy had been firmly in the hands of
agriculturalists, with the focus of government support for scientific research found
in the US Department of Agriculture. The transition of ‘‘basic research’’ from a term
referring to applied research in agriculture to a condensational symbol expressing
expectations, identifications and demands for all of science occurred in parallel with
the political evolution of science policy. By the time that atomic bombs had
exploded over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, science policy was dominated by
physicists, and the focus of attention had shifted to the newly formed National
Science Foundation, but also in areas such as energy, health, and very soon
thereafter, space.
Pursell (1968) argues that ‘‘by any standard, the decade of the Depression was an
outstanding one for agricultural research.’’ In the 1930s, when the agriculturalists
were still in charge, advocates for increased government spending on agricultural
research decided to ‘‘press not only for more research funds, but for a freer hand in
allocating them’’ (Pursell 1968), in a manner consistent with that called for by Hyde
(1929) in The Country Gentleman. Such pressure led in 1935 to the passage of the
Bankhead-Jones Act, creating new appropriations for agricultural research (beginning
at $1 million per year, rising to $5 million) and new research facilities across
the nation.
The institutionalization of agricultural research at such a prominent level
represented a marked change in government support for science. Pursell (1968)
characterizes the passage of the act as a ‘‘stunning victory’’ for the advocates of
government support of science:
Congress (however inadvertently) had accepted the argument that fundamental
research was a reasonable object for government support. The precedents set
R. Pielke Jr.
123
by these victories were not lost upon other science administrators in the
government nor upon the scientific community at large.
He attributes this success ‘‘more to specific opportunity than to general policy,’’
meaning that it was the political connections and acumen of the agricultural
community rather than a wholesale acceptance by policymakers of the importance
of research. As Pursell (1968) explains:
The New Deal, as such, never realized the potential of science for dealing with
either the temporary or long-range problems of the nation. Agricultural
research enjoyed a favoured position because it was long established and had
paid off enough to win important friends in high places.
At the forefront of this agricultural community in the late 1930s was Henry A.
Wallace, who was President Franklin Roosevelt’s Secretary of Agriculture. Wallace
was a long-time champion of agriculture and science, and a rising political star
(Culver and Hyde 2000).11
His political fortunes had further to rise, before suffering
a dramatic fall. In the context of science policies, the exalted role of the
agriculturalists was to be replaced by the physicists against the backdrop of war.
As the former Secretary of Agriculture who had overseen the dramatic expansion
of research in the agency, Wallace was naturally a go-to person on scientific matters
for the President. Roosevelt appointed Wallace to lead the preparation of a report on
the prospects for American agriculture under the contingency of a cessation of trade
with Europe due to the war (Culver and Hyde 2000). The President also asked
Wallace to serve on the National Advisory Defense Commission, originated in
1916, to oversee the government’s war role.
On June 12, 1940 Vannevar Bush, then head of the Carnegie Institution of
Washington, proposed to Roosevelt to create the National Defense Research
Committee (NDRC), which Roosevelt enacted via Executive Order 15 days later,
with Bush as its chair (Zachary 1997). The work that would eventually lead to the
atomic bomb was conducted by this new body (which later evolved into the more
widely known Office of Scientific Research and Development). For his part, Bush
explained the motivation for advocating the creation of the NDRC (Bush 1970):
There were those who protested that the action of setting up NDRC was an end
run, a grab by which a small company of scientists and engineers, acting
outside established channels, got hold of the authority and money for the
program of developing new weapons. That, in fact, is exactly what it was.
A similar strategy used by the agriculturalists in the 1930s to gain passage of the
Bankhead-Jones Act was now being used by the physicists when the stakes and
rewards were much larger.
In Roosevelt’s cabinet, Wallace was the ‘‘only member with a scientific
background’’ (Culver and Hyde 2000), so the President asked him to serve as his
11
An interesting side note: Wallace’s father, Henry C. Wallace, was the Secretary of Agriculture in the
early 1920s and oversaw the report of the USDA from which the New York Times distilled the phrase
‘‘basic research.’’ If the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ can be traced to any one individual, Henry C. Wallace is
a leading candidate.
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
personal liaison to Bush and the new weapons effort. In Washington, DC, Wallace
lived one floor above Bush, who recalled ‘‘sometimes we would take a walk
together on a Sunday morning’’ (Bush 1970), and expressed that he had Wallace’s
support and returned the trust (Zachary 1997).
When Roosevelt ran for a third term later in 1940, Wallace was on the ticket with
him as the vice presidential candidate. When Bush decided, in October, 1941 to
press for going ahead with the Manhattan Project, he arranged a meeting with
Roosevelt via Wallace, and the three met together on October 9, 1941 to discuss the
proposal. The President did not commit to the project at that time, but he did
empanel an advisory group – the ‘‘Top Policy Group’’ – that included, in addition to
Bush and Wallace, the Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson, the Army Chief of Staff
George C. Marshall and Harvard President James B. Conant (Culver and Hyde
2000). By December, the atomic bomb project was underway. Wallace continued to
serve as ‘‘an informal link’’ between Bush and the President during the War.
Despite the pivotal role played by Wallace in the evolution of US science policy
and the early years of the war effort, he seems to have been air-brushed out of
science policy history. In his memoirs, Bush recalled somewhat cryptically how
Wallace left the scene (Bush 1970):
‘‘[O]ne day I went in with a report to the President… When I gave it to him I
said, ‘‘Mr. President your policy committee has approved this with the
exception of Mr. Wallace, who is not available.’’ He grinned at me and said,
‘‘Well, Henry’s out West making political speeches. I do not think we need to
worry him.’’ That was my cue and I never went near Wallace on atomic
energy matters after that.’’
Bush is likely referring to early 1944, when Wallace had begun to challenge
Roosevelt on matters of policy, and was being asked by his supporters to challenge
for the Democratic nomination for presidency in the upcoming election, should
Roosevelt not run (cf. Culver and Hyde 2000).
Whether it was bureaucratic infighting, a drift to the political left, or his support
for the creation of a United Nations body, Wallace and Roosevelt had a professional
if not personal falling out. Culver and Hyde (2000) write, ‘‘no one could say for
certain what had triggered Wallace’s fall.’’ In a remarkable period of political
manoeuvring and intrigue, Wallace was defeated in his effort to be renominated by
the Democratic Party for the vice presidential slot under Roosevelt. Wallace later
ran for president for the Progressive Party and became tarred by the political debates
over communism of the late 1940s and 1950s. He has very little presence in
contemporary scholarship on science policy, a notable oversight.
What can be said with certainty is that by the time the atomic bombs exploded
over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the political center of gravity in US science policy
had shifted from the agricultural community to the physical scientists. The shift is
most apparent in the fact that all science advisors to the US president through
Barack Obama have degrees in some subfield of physics (except the first, George
Killian, who was not a scientist, see Pielke and Klein 2010). The change in the
symbolism of science policy was accompanied by a change in the composition of its
R. Pielke Jr.
123
leaders, and eventually a change in the institutions of science. The next section of
the paper explores the significance of the symbolic shift.
Part IV: Why Basic Research and Why it Sustains
This section of the paper explores the significance of ‘‘basic research’’ as a political
symbol in two parts. The first part explains the theoretical basis for why the phrase,
and the underlying framework that it represents, was successful in defining the
modern era of science policy. The second part examines the conditions which have
enabled ‘‘basic research’’ to survive for generations as a key political symbol,
specifically, a marriage of science policy with economic theory, institutionalization
via R&D statistics and the lack of alternative frameworks.
The Importance of Semiotic Innovation
Much has been written about Vannevar Bush and his seminal report, Science – The
Endless Frontier, with some of the debate over the originality of Bush’s arguments
(see, e.g., Godin 2006; Guston 1997). But as shown here and elsewhere, the basic
framework proposed by Bush was not particularly new in the history of appeals for
government investment in science – similar arguments had been made by the
NUSW and were found in appeals for funding in the US agricultural community.
Bush’s signature innovation was to revolutionize discussions of science policy, with
revolution defined by Lasswell (1951) as ‘‘changes in the composition and
vocabulary of the wielders of power.’’
In producing that report, Bush explained that he made an explicit decision to use
the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ because of its malleability in political discourse. Bush
wrote in his memoirs of this explicit decision (Bush 1970):
To persuade the Congress of the pragmatically inclined United States to
establish a strong organization to support fundamental research would seem to
be one of the minor miracles… When talking matters over with some of these
[people on Capitol Hill], it was well to avoid the word fundamental and to use
basic instead.
Bush’s semiotic innovation is well grounded in political theory. Lasswell (1969)
observes ‘‘ambiguity is an aid to concerted action.’’ He continues, ‘‘A high degree of
generality is essential to popular appeal; symbols must be sufficiently vague to
enable the individual to transfer his private loves and hates and hopes and fears to
the slogans and catchwords of the movement.’’
Nor was Bush the first to use the phrase ‘‘basic research’’ in an explicit science
policy context. In 1934, British social scientist Julian Huxley proposed a taxonomy
of research that had four categories: background, basic, ad hoc and development
(Godin 2006). Godin (2006) suggests that Bush ‘‘borrowed’’ the term from Huxley.
The historical record is ambiguous over how Bush came to appreciate the concept of
‘‘basic research’’ – whether from Huxley, Wallace, Kennelly or simply from its
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
general increasing usage at the science-policy interface. Whatever the intellectual
provenance that underlay Bush’s inclusion of the phrase in Science - The Endless
Frontier, science policy discussions were changed forever as ’’basic research’’
became almost universally accepted as an essential feature of the politics of science.
‘‘Basic research’’ succeeded as a political symbol because of its malleability to a
wide range of contexts. Calvert (2006) explains that ‘‘The term is therefore more
than just a label. It performs social functions – such as protecting autonomy and
defining self-image.’’ It has been plastic enough a concept to embody the vastly
different conceptions of science espoused by British scientists with communist
leanings and American conservative politicians separated by almost a century. It
also encompasses the identifications, expectations and demands of mission-oriented
government scientists and those scientists in academia looking for government
support without accountability to agency missions.
That consensus breaks down on the meaning of ‘‘basic research’’ when
discussions descend from generalities to specifics is not surprising (e.g., Calvert
2006). As Elder and Cobb (1983) argue, ‘‘A symbolic consensus rests on the mutual
attribution of significance to a symbol and on common affective sentiments toward
it—not on agreement about its substantive meaning.’’ They continue (p. 121),
A symbolic consensus is viable and can sustain the political community only
as long as the content attributed to politically significant symbols is not
brought into question. People may be talking past one another when these
symbols are used, but this is of little consequence as long as their referent is,
for most, remote, abstract, ambiguously defined, or poorly understood. As
actions initiated in the name of a symbol become more proximate, immediate,
and clearly understood by more people, the shallowness of the consensus is
revealed and the unifying power of the symbol is destroyed.
This dynamic of breakdown in a symbolic consensus is readily seen in the fall of
‘‘basic research’’ as a political symbol documented in the trends in usage in the US
Congress, New York Times and Science and Nature..
The symbolic consensus on basic research did not resolve the debate between
those advocating a greater hand of governments in directing research and those
advocating greater autonomy which has spanned generations and continents. In the
United States, the debate saw Kilgore vs. Bush and in the United Kingdom, Bernal
vs. Polanyi. The debate has never been resolved intellectually. However, despite this
lack of resolution, one of the functions of ‘‘basic research’’ as a political symbol has
been to help stabilize expectations about why science is important and why it
deserves support. Such is the potent power of a political symbol.
The Basis of Symbolic Sustainability
In political discourse symbols come and go over time. ‘‘Basic research’’ has proven
to be a remarkably robust symbol, despite its relative decline in usage in recent
years. Three factors account for this sustainability over many decades. One is the
use of a theoretical model by economists that embeds basic research as a core factor
R. Pielke Jr.
123
in the origins of growth. The second is the institutionalization of accounting and
statistics on R&D that use ‘‘basic research’’ as a formal category (Godin 2006). And
the third factor is the lack of development of a politically acceptable substitute,
which might succeed the concept in science policy discussions.
The timing of the publication of Science - The Endless Frontier occurred after
Joseph Schumpeter advanced his thesis of how ‘‘creative destruction’’ in the
economy leads to economic growth and before Robert Solow formalized a model of
economic growth (Schumpeter 1912; Solow 1957). Both perspectives were readily
adapted (and, arguably, modified substantially) by the science and technology
policy community to elevate the importance of basic research as the linchpin of
economic growth.
In 2007, the US National Academy of Sciences published an influential volume
on science policy, titled ‘‘Rising Above the Gathering Storm,’’ which repeated
justifications for the government support of basic research that had been often
repeated over a half-century.
Early in the 20th century, Joseph Schumpeter argued that innovation was the
most important feature of the capitalist economy. Starting in the 1950s, Robert
Solow and others developed methods of accounting for the sources of growth,
leading to the observation that technologic change is responsible for over half
the observed growth in labor productivity and national income (National
Research Council 2007).
While such observations are sometimes accompanied by qualifications12
–
inevitably the resulting policy recommendations focus on more support for R&D,
and especially basic research.
In addition to recommending greater resources for S&T education, the 2007 NRC
emphasized funding basic research invoking the linear model of innovation, and
echoing the ‘‘flow’’ analogy first proposed by Bush in 1945, recommending that the
government: ‘‘Sustain and strengthen the nation’s traditional commitment to longterm
basic research that has the potential to be transformational to maintain the flow
of new ideas that fuel the economy, provide security, and enhance the quality of
life… (National Research Council 2007).’’
Ironically, the frequent invocation of both Schumpeter and Solow in the context
justifying government support for basic research finds little support in what the two
economists actually argued. Schumpeter described the roles of invention, innovation
and diffusion in the economy, concepts which others adapted to a linear model of
innovation (Godin 2006). But Schumpeter explicated that he rejected any such
linear model:
It should be noticed at once that that concept [of innovation] is not synonymous
with ‘‘invention’’… It is entirely immaterial whether an innovation implies
scientific novelty or not. Although most innovations can be traced to some
conquest in realm of either theoretical or practical knowledge, there are many
12
In this case, ‘‘over long periods the contributions of technologic change and other causes of growth–
such as worker skills, capital deepening, and institutional change—are highly interactive and difficult to
separate’’ (National Research Council 2007).
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
which cannot. Innovation is possible without anything we should identify as
invention and invention does not necessarily induce innovation, but produces of
itself no economically relevant effect at all (Schumpeter 1947).
Similarly, Robert Solow used the term ‘‘technical change’’ to refer to any change in
the economics of production, and not as a specific reference to ‘‘technology’’ as
conventionally understood. Solow explains in 1957:
I am using the phrase ‘technical change’ as a shorthand expression for any
kind of shift in the production function. Thus slowdowns, speedups,
improvements in the education of the labor force, and all sorts of things
will appear as ‘technical change’ (Solow 1957).
The integration of post-war science policy with a misinterpretation of neo-classical
economic theory led to the creation of a mythology of innovation that persists today
(e.g., Lind 2012).
Godin (2009) explains that the justifications for the primacy of basic research
have been the dominant framework underlying contemporary science policy for
decades, and have led to an inordinate focus on it to the neglect of other aspects of
innovation:
The problem is that the academic lobby has successfully claimed a monopoly
on the creation of new knowledge, and that policy-makers have been
persuaded to confuse the necessary with the sufficient condition that
investment in basic research would by itself necessarily lead to successful
applications. Be that as it may, the framework fed policy analyses by way of
taxonomies and classifications of research and, above all, it was the
framework most others compared to.
Godin argues that such justifications have been codified in the accounting practices
recommended by the OECD and this diffused throughout the globe (Godin 2003).
The formalization of R&D statistics has created a feedback loop.
Godin (2009) argues that ‘‘the long survival of the model, despite regular
criticisms, is due to statistics.’’ He explains,
Having become entrenched with the help of statistical categories for counting
resources and allocating money to science, technology, and innovation, and
standardized under the auspices of the OECD and its methodological manuals,
the linear model functioned as a ‘‘social fact.’’ Rival models, because of their
lack of statistical foundations, could not easily become substitutes.
There is a long list of phrases that have been proposed to replace ‘‘basic research.’’
These include: Opportunity-oriented, Strategic, Fundamental, Transformational,
Translational, Use-inspired, Collaborative assurance, and Mode 2 science. There
has been no lack of alternative conceptions to ‘‘basic research’’ proposed over the
years. What has been missing, however, is an alternative theoretical foundation to
support the proposed new formulations. The result is that these terms sometimes
replace ‘‘basic research’’ but have never displaced it as a key political symbol in
science policy discourse.
R. Pielke Jr.
123
Conclusion
‘‘Basic research’’ has functioned as the key political symbol in discussion of science
policy since the end of World War II. However, its origins as a phrase in the English
language go back several decades further to the 1920s. The phrase only became a
key political symbol condensing considerations of identification, expectation and
demand following the publication of Science - The Endless Frontier. The rise of
basic research as a political symbol was coincident with the transition in the locus of
political power at the highest levels of government within the scientific community
from agriculturalists to physicists.
This paper has documented, through a straightforward analysis of content, the
rise of basic research as a key political symbol in discourse in the US Congress, the
New York Times and the two leading journals of the scientific community, Science
and Nature. In each case, attention rose and then has fallen, first in the New York
Times, then in Congress (first among elected members, then in the broader context
of hearings), and lastly in the journals. This pattern is consistent with the use of
basic research as a means of marketing science to politicians rather than a
representation of a change in the intellectual foundations of science policy. It was
only after basic research achieved public and political success that the scientific
community adopted it, and only after it had fallen out of favor in public and political
discourse did the scientific community begin to abandon it and look for substitutes
with equal potency.
Yet symbols matter. Institutions, mechanisms of accounting and organizations
have all been developed around the concept of basic research and the accompanying
theory of how science and society are related. One reason for the well-documented
transitions on-going in science policy since the end of the Cold War is that this
underlying theory is not grounded in a solid foundation, but rather a misreading of
neo-classic economics that places public investments into science and technology
into a black box. Dissatisfaction with this model of how science policy relates to
societal outcomes is arguably one of the key factors which has led to a search for a
new model of science policy.
However, no such model has yet displaced the post-World War II model. ‘‘Basic
research,’’ despite falling out of favor in discourse, has yet to be replaced
symbolically or intellectually. Of course, many of the proposed alternatives are
simply synonyms that represent the same ideas using different words. For several
decades now, it has seemed that science policy is evolving. However, the lack of a
symbolic revolution akin to that which took place at the end of World War II means
that change is not yet upon us. When change does occur it will be symbolic, as well
as political and institutional.
Acknowledgments Thanks to Warwick University Modern Records Centre, Institute for Science,
Innovation and Society at the University of Oxford, The Royal Society, and for research and publication
support Zachary Johnson, Sarah Leshan, Ami Nacu-Schmidt, Sara Ward and Elizabeth Hall. This work
was supported the US National Science Foundation’s program on Science of Science and Innovation
Policy.
Basic Research as a Political Symbol
123
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