in sputnik’s shadowzywang/wangsputnik5-6.pdfin short order, the sputnik news spread like a wildfi...

IN SPUTNIK’S SHADOW

The President’s Science Advisory

Committee and Cold War America

Z u oy u e W a n g

R u t g e r s U n i v e r s i t y P r e s sNew Brunswick, New Jersey, and London

2008

71

5 Eisenhower, Sputnik, and the Creation of PSAC, 1957

On the evening of October 4, 1957, American physicist and ODM-SAC member Lloyd Berkner was attending a reception for International Geophysical Year scien-tists at the Soviet embassy in Washington, DC, when a New York Times reporter told him that the Soviets had just launched a satellite. Berkner immediately announced the news and congratulated the Soviet scientists present on their achievement.1 In short order, the Sputnik news spread like a wildfi re and promised to change, among other things, the science–state partnership and put the hitherto obscure scientists on the ODM-SAC into the public spotlight.

Sputnik, or “fellow traveler [of the earth],” evoked intense but mixed feelings in the American people. Ever since American scientists and engineers produced the atomic bomb and other technological wonders to win World War II, their countrymen had generally assumed that the U.S. domination in science and tech-nology was unquestionable. Few were aware or cared about the fact that Europe had led the world in science until the 1930s. Even scientists who knew better about Soviet strength disbelieved that a totalitarian system that had brutally suppressed scientifi c freedom, as in the Lysenko scandal only a few years before, could achieve such technological excellence. Vannevar Bush, for example, had declared in 1949 that “We can take comfort in the conviction that dictatorship will seldom pioneer, and that when they do the dictator will probably buy gold bricks. . . .”2 Now Sputnik inspired in the American public not only a sense of shock, but also admiration for this unique human endeavor. Amateur astronomers from coast to coast gazed into their telescopes searching for the artifi cial moon. Others tuned to their radios to listen to the sharp beeps emitted by the satellite as broadcast by CBS and other networks.3

As Sputnik brought the world into the shrinking global village, many Ameri-cans also recognized the end of U.S. safety through isolation. It was a rude awak-ening to the nation’s vulnerability. The fact that the rocket that had launched Sputnik could also serve as an ICBM to deliver an H-bomb to its target led many Americans to wonder whether the country had lost not only the competition for national prestige, but also the nuclear arms race. Just a few weeks prior to Sput-nik, Khrushchev’s boast of a successful launching of an ICBM had been met with skepticism in Washington. Some even thought that Sputnik itself was merely a propaganda trick. However, when the Soviets launched Sputnik II on November 3, 1957, with an incredibly large half-ton payload and a live dog, all doubts vanished.4 With Sputniks beeping overhead, all other Soviet propaganda appeared perilously true: their gross national product grew at a faster rate than that of the United

72 I k e , S p ut n i k , a n d t h e R i s e o f P S A C

States and would soon surpass it; they were producing twice as many engineers as the Unites States; other countries would adopt the Soviet political system and the United States would be isolated in the world.

Dire warnings from politicians and scientists soon radiated from Washington. Democratic Senator Henry M. Jackson characterized Sputnik as “a devastating blow to the prestige of the United States as the leader in the scientifi c and techno-logical world.”5 Lyndon Johnson, Democratic majority leader in the Senate, held headline-making hearings on the nation’s satellite and missile programs. As the lead witness, Edward Teller, whose portrait appeared on the cover of Time, gave alarmist testimony. His warning that the Soviets were winning the race in military technology and in scientifi c research was confi rmed by two venerable fi gures in American science and defense, Vannevar Bush and James Doolittle. To drive the point home, both Teller and Johnson pronounced the Sputniks a worse defeat for the United States than Pearl Harbor.6 Underneath the Cold War rhetoric was a strong sense of wounded nationalism.

Partisan polemics reached a height in Washington that had not been seen since the acrimonious debate over “who lost China” several years earlier. Democrats accused the Eisenhower administration of lacking leadership and vision and put-ting budget before national security. Senator John F. Kennedy (D-MA), for example, criticized it for “complacent miscalculations, penny-pinching, budget cutbacks, incredibly confused mismanagement and wasteful rivalries and jealousies.”7 Capitalizing on the so-called missile gap, Kennedy, Johnson, and other Democratic presidential hopefuls began preparation for the 1958 congressional and the 1960 presidential elections.8 In response, the Republicans blamed the Truman admin-istration for delay in starting the missile program and the Democratic-dominated Congress for reducing Eisenhower’s request for defense funds. Such partisan bick-ering largely drowned out the voices of many intellectuals and concerned citizens who called for a thoughtful national self-examination.9

In this tense atmosphere, scientists, because of their prominent role in both the missile and satellite programs, came under attack. Senator Styles Bridges (R-NH) blamed them for the missile lag because they “were beguiled by the peace and light emanating from the Kremlin.” “The time has come,” he claimed, “not to ask our scientists what to do, but to tell them what must be done.”10 Unaware that the rocket, not the satellite, was the bottleneck of the American program, some mem-bers of the public charged scientists’ “gold-plating” of the satellites as the cause of the nation’s humiliation. One Texan constituent complained to Johnson that the “brains” did not understand the feeling of the people. If they did, “they would have shot a waste basket, a fi ling cabinet or anything up there.”11

Whereas scientists appeared soft-headed, incompetent, and out of touch to their critics, they stood out to others as unsung heroes laboring in an environment of neglect and hostility. Whether accurate or not, former President Truman’s diagnosis that McCarthy-style “character assassination of Oppenheimer” and other scientists had led to the loss by the United States of the satellite race resonated within the scientifi c community.12 Several of Oppenheimer’s supporters within

The Creation of PSAC, 1957 73

ODM-SAC, including Rabi, then ODM-SAC chairman, now called publicly for a redress of his case, “as elementary justice.” Rabi also agitated for Oppenheimer’s reemployment by the government—only then “will it indicate that a change of heart has occurred.”13 The administration, however, resisted reopening the Oppen-heimer case. One NSC offi cial privately characterized the scientists’ request as scapegoating the security system when they were “unable to equal some of the scientifi c feats of the Soviets.”14

Sputnik was not the fi rst technological spectacle to bring the power of science to national conscience—the atomic bomb and other technology-based weapons during World War II had already done so. However, Sputnik coupled science and technology with the pursuit of national prestige in a way that touched a raw nerve in a society already rattled by the Cold War. Thus, when the news came from Stockholm on October 30 that the Nobel Prize for physics had been awarded to two Chinese American physicists—Tsung Dao Lee of Columbia and Chen Ning Yang of the Princeton Institute for Advanced Study—it provided both a welcome relief and a cause for concern. When the duo traveled to Sweden to receive the awards in December, American offi cials kept “an anxious eye” on them for fear that China might woo or snatch them way; the FBI relaxed only when the pair promptly returned to the United States.15 Eventually, traditional American enthusi-asm toward technology would return with a vengeance as a reaction to the Sputnik challenge, but in late 1957, the American public lived in the shadow of a technologi-cal defeat. Eisenhower, even years later, could not believe the near panic that had greeted Sputnik—“its light was blinding.”16

In part, the Eisenhower administration had itself to blame for the way Ameri-cans reacted to Sputnik. Prior American rhetoric, such as that advanced by Strauss, had always identifi ed the superiority of the American system with its technological and military prowess.17 Eisenhower himself had never given the U.S. satellite pro-gram the highest priority that the Soviets did. Even though the Killian TCP report of 1954–1955 had urged the United States to launch the International Geophysical Year satellite program as a way to legitimize its reconnaissance satellites, and many people, including the ODM-SAC and Eisenhower himself, recognized the satellite’s signifi cance for national prestige, apparently none believed the Soviet Union could really beat the United States.18 Thus there was a sense that the American Interna-tional Geophysical Year satellite would serve its strategic purpose better if it was pursued as an internationally open scientifi c project, rather than a crash military endeavor. In the same spirit, Eisenhower had approved in 1955, on recommendation from Assistant Secretary of Defense Donald Quarles, that the U.S. satellite project, called Vanguard, be established as an NSF project using a relatively new rocket built by the Navy, instead of utilizing the advanced Redstone military rockets developed by the Army.19 Such an arrangement, as Quarles reminded the cabinet two weeks after Sputnik, had been meant to “obviate or weaken Soviet protest on over-fl ight.”20 Now Sputnik actually “has done us a good turn,” as Quarles told Eisenhower in a separate meeting, by nicely establishing the “freedom of space” for everyone, paving the way for American reconnaissance satellites.21


In a way, the fact that the Soviets used a military rocket for launching the satellite was actually reassuring to the Pentagon and Eisenhower. It indicated that the Russians gave higher priority to space than to ICBMs, which would in turn imply that they did not think that the United States was going to start a war against them and that they wanted to wage the Cold War more in psychological than military terms.22 This understanding, coupled with his knowledge of the real Soviet strength from the U-2 reconnaissance overfl ights, led Eisenhower to react calmly to the Sputnik launch. For security reasons, however, he could not disclose the U-2 information to the public, which limited the eff ectiveness of his response to the Sputnik challenge.

The Origins of Presidential Science Advising

Despite his conviction that Sputnik, per se, represented no major strategic threat (and indeed some benefi ts) to the United States, Eisenhower still had to calm the hysteria and mitigate the public alarm. He took several measures behind the scenes to speed up the American satellite program, but his appointment of James Killian as science adviser and the reconstitution of the ODM-SAC into the President’s Science Advisory Committee formed the most publicly prominent part of his response to the Sputnik challenge. Conventional accounts of this process render it as mainly a matter of science in policy: Sputnik made the president recognize his need for science advising in space and defense policy and he then proceeded to establish it.23 However, this narrative of natural evolution does not explain why Eisenhower chose Killian and the ODM-SAC scientists, instead of their opponents led by Edward Teller or Ernest Lawrence, as his science advisers. After all, in the pre-Sputnik days Teller and Lawrence were equally if not more prominent scientifi c fi gures than ODM-SAC scientists. They certainly wielded more infl uence than the latter in U.S. nuclear weapons policy. What the conventional account masks is the role played by a crucial debate among these opposing scientifi c camps and policymakers over the meaning of Sputnik for American science and technology policy, especially nuclear weapons policy. In the end, the establishment of the science advisory system had to do with both science in policy and policy for science.

Even though Sputnik provided the direct trigger for the establishment of the PSAC system of science advising and with it the incorporation of moder-ate scientists in policymaking, at least three prior or concurrent developments shaped Eisenhower’s choices of scientists. The fi rst and most important factor was Eisenhower’s profound rethinking about the course of the Cold War and the nuclear arms race, as he indicated in his meeting with the ODM-SAC in March 1957. “There will be no such thing as a victorious side in any global war of the future,” he told the nation during a subsequent press conference.24 Related to this turn toward serious arms control was Eisenhower’s increasing disenchantment with the technological push of the Teller–Lawrence–Strauss group. In the summer of 1957, for example, in response to the clean bomb campaign by Teller, Lawrence, and Strauss to derail a nuclear test ban, Eisenhower acknowledged the potential benefi ts of the research in reducing civilian casualties in a nuclear exchange and


in peaceful applications, but resented their implication that a test ban was thus immoral. They made it “look like a crime to ban tests,” he complained after the meeting.25 The incident also led him to observe bitterly that “the scientists today in this fi eld seemed to be running the Government rather than acting as servants for the Government.”26

Concurrent with these developments was Eisenhower’s increasing attraction to the ODM-SAC group for both its advocacy of a moderation of the arms race and for its linking of federal support of basic research with curbing the techno-logical push. Thus, on October 8, in his post-Sputnik consultation with Detlev W. Bronk, president of the NAS, he warmed to the latter’s recommendation that he revive William Golden’s original proposal for a presidential science adviser and advisory committee by consulting with Rabi and upgrading the ODM-SAC.27 Coincidentally, Eisenhower had, prior to Sputnik, requested to meet with the ODM-SAC on October 15 to discuss its report on basic research. He now appreci-ated it even more as an opportunity to discuss the Sputnik crisis with a group of prominent American scientists, especially Rabi and Killian, who had commanded his admiration and confi dence.28

For their part, Rabi, Killian, and their ODM-SAC colleagues also looked for-ward to the meeting. They had been just as surprised by Sputnik, especially by its political impact, as everybody else, despite their own earlier warning of just such an event.29 “I was really astonished,” recalled Rabi years later.30 As Hans Bethe recalled, most American scientists had thought “that the Russians were some-what behind us.”31 Still smarting from the Wilson cut in basic research funding, ODM-SAC scientists saw the meeting with Eisenhower as a golden opportunity to strengthen the scientists–government relations and to promote federal support of science. Rabi, for example, “knew something would happen.”32

On October 12, Rabi met with Andrew Goodpaster in the White House to plan for the committee’s conference with the president three days later. “Advice to the president on science” was already on the meeting agenda, including the possibility of the appointment of a special assistant for science and upgrading the ODM-SAC to a level comparable to the Council of Economic Advisers.33 The day before the meeting with the president, Rabi convened the Science Advisory Committee, which decided to recommend the preceding steps as well as other changes in sci-ence and defense policies to Eisenhower.34

At the October 15 meeting, Eisenhower opened the discussion by posing a question about government support of science, the original theme of the meeting. Still remembering the pre-Sputnik debate on basic research he touched off in the Cabinet, Eisenhower told the scientists that he had been refl ecting “very earnestly” on the best way to support science. According to Goodpaster’s notes:

He said it was all well and good to accept the importance of basic research, but government offi cials have some responsibility to assure that money provided is actually used for research, and not diverted to other ends. However, to do so might result in intrusion into university activity.35


Obviously the debate in the spring and the impact of Sputnik had softened the edges of Eisenhower’s criticism of federal support of science. He was no longer questioning such support, although his concern over maintaining a public–private boundary—public accountability and private autonomy—remained and would later fi nd general expression in his farewell speech. Welcoming this shift in Eisen-hower’s thinking, Rabi sought to transform the debate even further into a matter of administration. He told Eisenhower that the question of government manage-ment of research was of central concern to his committee and proposed that it conduct a study on the issue for the president. Eisenhower readily approved.

Then the discussion quickly turned to the burning question of whether American science already lagged dangerously behind that of the Soviet Union. Rabi’s answer was both reassuring and alarming. The United States still enjoyed some advantages, he told Eisenhower, but the Soviets had picked up momentum. “Unless we take vigorous action,” he predicted, the Soviets could surpass the Americans just as the Americans had overtaken the Europeans in science in the last generation. Following Rabi, Edwin Land spoke “with great eloquence” about the urgent need for presidential action. Land lamented the American obsession with mass production and consumerism and its loss of the pioneering spirit to the Soviets, who pursued science “both as an essential tool and a way of life.” Describ-ing the current feeling of scientists as “isolated and alone,” Land pleaded with the president to break American complacency and inspire American youth toward scientifi c adventure. Although Eisenhower disagreed with Land on the advantages of the elitist Soviet education system (they were “picking out the best minds and ruthlessly spurning the rest”), he promised to do his part to create a better attitude toward science in the United States. Thanks to Sputnik, he added, “people are alarmed and thinking about science.” By giving speeches and public recognition to scientists (including establishing the national science medals), Eisenhower hoped to turn this alarm to constructive ends.

Rabi then came to the main recommendation of the ODM-SAC: the appoint-ment of a presidential science adviser. According to Goodpaster’s notes,

Dr. Rabi said that many of the policy matters that come up to the President have a strong scientifi c component. He pointed out that the President lacks a scien-tifi c adviser, or someone who can provide him with a scientifi c point of view. The President said it might be well to have such an adviser, or even a small sec-tion, to support him. He said the group would have to recognize, however, that every such individual added simply adds to the burdens of the Presidency—but perhaps the individual could be a great help in getting the right point of view across. He said he would like to hear something more specifi c as to their ideas.

Rabi answered that he believed “the fi rst essential is to get someone the President could live easily with (in the sense of working with him agreeably),” and “com-pletely sound scientifi cally.” Killian suggested “a committee to back up” the science adviser, with which Eisenhower agreed, mentioning the Council of Economic Advisers as a model.


The more Eisenhower refl ected on the idea of a science adviser, the more enthusiastic he grew. “Such an individual could be most helpful,” he told the scien-tists. A science adviser could assist him in keeping track of the government’s deci-sions related to “scientifi c matters,” he said, such as the one he made in 1955 to give the highest priority to ballistic missiles. That decision, Eisenhower complained, did not get fully implemented due to secondary considerations at the Pentagon. As another example, Killian mentioned the disarray in military R&D in the DOD and the demoralization of the scientifi c community. The need, Killian said, was “more for leadership than for money.” A sympathetic Eisenhower immediately asked Goodpaster to arrange for the committee to meet his new secretary of defense, Neil McElroy, on the subject.

It is worth noting here that both the scientists and Eisenhower adopted fairly fl uid defi nitions of the boundaries between science and technology and between science in policy and policy for science: missiles were hardly “scientifi c matters” and scientifi c demoralization derived more from the cut in funding for science than from any weakening in the government’s use of science. Yet, the nature of the Sputnik crisis allowed ODM-SAC scientists to connect policy for science with science in policy. In the same vein, the scientists urged Eisenhower to strengthen scientifi c cooperation with the allies. A joint scientifi c committee with the NATO allies was mentioned (and later established). Rabi suggested a science adviser to the secretary of state. Albert Hill and others called for removal of security restrictions in information exchanges with allies, especially the British. Again, Eisenhower was most receptive. He immediately asked Cutler and Goodpaster to explore ways to implement these ideas.36

Although, as we have seen, Rabi had cleared most of these proposals with the White House staff , if not President Eisenhower himself, prior to the meeting, its signifi cance as a creation moment for the modern presidential science advisory system was recognized and would be long remembered by American public sci-entists. Years later, Bethe recalled it as “one of the most memorable hours of my life. . . . I have never before been present at a session where so much was decided in such a short time. Eisenhower was most impressive.”37 The receptiveness of the president to their proposals clearly excited and energized the scientists. For his part, Eisenhower appreciated the scientists’ reassurance of present U.S. strength and made good use of it in his eff ort to calm the public and fend off political attacks. At the same time, he took the scientists’ warning about science educa-tion and basic research seriously, and soon made these subjects major items on his post-Sputnik agenda. It is doubtful that the American response to Sputnik would have emphasized science and education so much if not for the strong infl uence of science advisers such as the ODM-SAC.

In retrospect, what was at stake in the meeting was no less than the negotiation over the meaning of the Sputnik challenge itself. With his Pearl Harbor analogy, Edward Teller was especially eff ective in leading the charge, in both Congress and in the media, that Sputnik represented a military and technological defeat for the United States and that it had to respond accordingly by accelerating its nuclear


weapons and other defense programs. Even though he agreed with the ODM-SAC scientists about the Soviet challenge in science and education, the thrust of his concern over Sputnik was military and technological. Just two days before Eisenhower’s meeting with the ODM-SAC, Teller had issued a clarion call in the Los Angeles Times under the headline “We Must Win the H-War before It Starts!” Contrary to Eisenhower’s conviction about the absurdity of nuclear wars, Teller demanded that “we must overcome the popular notion that nuclear weapons are more immoral than conventional weapons” and that “we must revamp our mili-tary planning to fl ight and win a limited nuclear war.”38 Much of what Eisenhower would later call the military-industrial complex resonated with Teller’s analysis. It pushed on its own for a countertechnological attack that would eventually spill over into other areas of American life, resulting in a new wave of technological enthusiasm in Sputnik’s shadow. Of course, such a reaction placed the institutions of American military technology—including Teller’s Livermore Laboratory—in the forefront of American Cold War strategy.

In contrast, at the White House meeting, Rabi, Killian, and their colleagues, with their own interpretation of the boundary between science and technology, attempted, with considerable success, to turn Sputnik into a challenge in science, education, and presidential science advising. Like Teller, they did so partly out of conviction and partly out of their own institutional self-interest, for their interpreta-tion of Sputnik would lead to increased funding for science and science education, with benefi t for the universities, home institutions of most ODM-SAC members. Thus, despite their diff erences, both groups would contribute to what historian Walter McDougall called “another American lurch toward technocracy” in the wake of Sputnik.39 For his part, Eisenhower was not unaware of ODM-SAC scien-tists’ self-interest, but on balance he accepted their version of the challenge because it helped him devise a response strategy that would promote his own agenda of arms control and fi scal conservatism. He even began to appreciate their argument that federal support of basic research might help curb the technological momentum behind the arms race itself. Ultimately, it was this agreement between the president and his science advisers that paved the way for the establishment of a peacetime science advisory system in the White House for the fi rst time in American history. Thus, even though all parties involved in the debate over Sputnik—Eisenhower, the Democrats, ODM-SAC scientists, and Teller—shared what historians have called an “ideology of liberal consensus” on the need to fi ght communism abroad (and to solve domestic problems through incremental reforms, not radical revolutions), they diff ered sharply over the limits of nuclear weapons in this struggle.40

The cordial atmosphere at the October 15 meeting left little doubt that Eisen-hower would look to the ODM-SAC for his fi rst science adviser. Although no name was mentioned at the meeting, Killian, for his performances in directing the TCP in 1954–1955, in chairing the President’s Board of Consultants on Foreign Intelligence Activities, and for his prominent position as MIT president, quickly emerged as Eisenhower’s and his staff ’s favorite choice. A political moderate, he had been attacked by the right wing for protecting left-wing faculty members at MIT and for


his association with Oppenheimer, but his TCP investigation had also established his credibility with the military establishment.41 Although not a working scientist himself, Killian had the reputation of a brilliant science administrator. He knew both the scientifi c community and the government well enough to be an eff ective liaison between them. Conceivably, his nonscientist background might actually have made other White House staff feel more comfortable in working with him. His friendship with Congressman John McCormack, the Democratic majority leader in the House, did not hurt him either.

Another logical choice would have been Rabi: He not only knew Eisenhower well, but also, unlike Killian, was “completely sound scientifi cally.” Was he ever considered? Goodpaster remembered Rabi declining the position—“Rabi felt that it simply was not possible for him to undertake the job”—implying that it was off ered to him, but Rabi recalled neither receiving a formal off er nor having great enthusiasm for it. In retrospect, Rabi cited his religious ( Jewish) background and possible attack from the right wing as his, and possibly the White House’s, con-cerns.42 His advocacy for arms control both during the H-bomb debate and after would have led to opposition from the national security establishment as well. Cutler, who was attuned to the concerns at the Pentagon and the AEC and who had just clashed with Rabi over his proposed study of American commitment in the world, clearly favored Killian over Rabi, too.

Once the White House reached consensus on Killian, things moved rapidly. A few days after the White House meeting, Sherman Adams, Eisenhower’s chief of staff , called Killian and asked him to come back to Washington for discussion on the matter of a science adviser. After a conference with Rabi, Land, Berkner, James Fisk, Mervin Kelly, and Bronk in New York, Killian drew up a memorandum on the appointment of a presidential science adviser and the transfer of the ODM-SAC, with enlargement, into the White House. At breakfast in the White House, Killian met with Adams and Cutler, who had drafted a similar memorandum on the subject. Killian was subsequently asked to combine his with Cutler’s memo and come up with terms of reference for the new science adviser and advisory commit-tee.43 On October 24, Killian had breakfast with Eisenhower, who formally asked Killian to be his special assistant for science and technology (commonly known as the science adviser). Killian accepted the off er after securing a leave of absence from MIT.44 Although the exact setup for a science advisory committee was not yet decided, a major step in the history of American public science was accomplished.

The Rabi Committee vs. the Teller–Lawrence Group

As the White House deliberated over whether to upgrade the ODM-SAC or try a new setup like the Council of Economic Advisers, another sequence of events took place that might well have both reaffi rmed Eisenhower’s decision to shift his trust from the Teller–Lawrence group to the Rabi–Killian group and led him to approve the establishment of PSAC out of the ODM-SAC. On October 29, 1957, Rabi, as chairman of the ODM-SAC, met with Eisenhower in the White House to report a fi nding by his committee that nuclear explosions could prematurely detonate


unprotected warheads within several miles. Although the United States had already started shielding its warheads against this eff ect, the Soviets apparently had not yet caught on. Thus, the committee recommended that, fi rst, the United States develop an antimissile system based on this eff ect, and, second, the United States quickly reach a test ban with the Soviets to prevent them from fi nding out the secret.45 Eisenhower reacted favorably to the Rabi proposal. He even agreed with a poignant comment by Rabi that it was a “tragedy” that the United States had not reached a test ban early enough, as ODM-SAC had suggested, to prevent the Soviets from test-ing their thermonuclear warheads in their latest test series. Eisenhower recalled that he himself had often expressed a desire for a test ban to “freeze our advantage.”46

Eisenhower’s warm reception of Rabi’s test ban advice alarmed Strauss, who also attended the meeting. He told Eisenhower that he and his scientists ques-tioned some of the assumptions and conclusions of the ODM-SAC study. The AEC believed, for example, that the Soviets could always “steal our secrets” or conduct tests secretly. As a compromise, Eisenhower agreed that scientists holding diff er-ent views should get together and try to reach a technical agreement on the pro-posal.47 After Rabi left, Strauss tried to plant more doubts about the Rabi proposal in Eisenhower’s mind. He told the president that Rabi was a brilliant scientist and “a friend of long standing,” but the ODM-SAC proposal was not thought through. It lacked mature and experienced judgment about the broad concerns of national security and international relations. Interrupting him, however, Eisenhower reiter-ated his agreement with Rabi on the need to freeze the U.S. lead.48

The Rabi meeting made a deep impression on Eisenhower. Months later, when reviewing U.S. policy on the test ban, Eisenhower singled out the Rabi meeting as the pivotal event that prompted the administration to enter into serious test ban negotiations with the Soviets.49 It also made Eisenhower keenly aware of the deep division within the scientifi c community over American nuclear policy. At one point in the meeting, Rabi stated bluntly that he thought it a mistake for Eisenhower to have accepted the views of Lawrence and Teller on the clean bomb and the test ban. Strauss later confi rmed that the Rabi and Teller–Lawrence groups had opposed each other “very sharply” ever since the H-bomb decision. What Strauss did not tell Eisen-hower was the impact of the Oppenheimer case and the minority status of the Law-rence and Teller position within the scientifi c community. In his diary, Eisenhower noted, with surprise, that “Dr. Rabi and some of his group are so antagonistic to Drs. Lawrence and Teller that communication between them is practically nil.” Given his own turn toward arms control and his growing antipathy to Teller’s advocacy for continued nuclear buildup, it was clear which scientifi c group was going to gain his trust.50 Thus, even though the Rabi initiative proved technically problematic, it did add to the voice for a test ban and, more important, let Eisenhower know that he could rely on the Rabi and Killian group for assistance on arms control.51

Science in National Security

As the White House sought to respond to the Sputnik crisis with reforms in science advising, the urgency of the situation was underlined by the delivery, on November


4, of the Gaither report, with its gloomy assessment of the Soviet military threat to the United States. Among its recommendations was a proposal for a massive program to defend the population and the nuclear force against a Soviet attack. In contrast to his largely positive reception of the TCP report three years before, Eisenhower reacted to the Gaither report with serious misgivings. Although agree-ing on the need to protect the bombers, he thought the panel underestimated the U.S. off ensive strength, especially the value of its many overseas bases. He concurred with the panel on giving priority to off ensive power but doubted the feasibility of the shelter program.

Above all, Eisenhower’s reservations about the Gaither report derived from his own profound rethinking of the direction of the arms race. Listening to the brief-ing by the Gaither panel, he was fl abbergasted by its fi nding that in a nuclear war, the Soviet Union could infl ict 50 percent casualties on the United States, and vice versa.52 It reinforced his conviction about the absurdity of talking about winning a nuclear war. “You can’t have that war,” he said. “There aren’t enough bulldozers to scrape the bodies off of the streets.”53 When Eisenhower conveyed his conviction forcefully to the Gaither panel, he helped convert several young scientists, such as Jerome Wiesner of MIT and Herbert York of the AEC’s Livermore Laboratory, who already began to question the direction of the arms race during the study, to the cause of arms control.54

In the meeting with the Gaither panel, Eisenhower also lamented the tendency “in our democracies” to await a crisis such as Sputnik to awaken the people about the importance of science and technology. Instead of this “government by crisis,” he wanted to “keep up interest and support without hysteria.” However, hysteria was just what Eisenhower faced when the Gaither report was, to Eisenhower’s dismay, leaked to the press in late November 1957. Part of the uproar came from Congress, which demanded public release of the report, but Eisenhower refused, claiming executive privilege. Although the administration eventually took the Gaither report into consideration in making the FY 1959 DOD budget, the appre-hension it generated lingered on.55

Finally, having undertaken all these steps, Eisenhower was ready to launch a series of “confi dence speeches” to calm the country in the shadow of both Sputnik and the Gaither report. The fi rst one was a radio and television address on November 7, 1957 on “science in national security” from the White House. Its drafting was in part shaped by a report from the ODM-SAC on the need to improve public appreciation of science, strengthen the partnership between sci-ence and the federal government, increase support for basic research, especially in the DOD, and reform science education.56 In his speech Eisenhower emphasized how scientifi c advice and research had in the past shaped the superior American defense strength, complete with an enumeration of the many nuclear weapon and missile systems. Conceding Soviet advantages in satellites and in some other areas, Eisenhower nevertheless declared to the nation that the West still enjoyed overall military strength over the Soviet bloc. “Our scientists assure me that we are well ahead of the Soviets in the nuclear fi eld, both in quantity and in quality.”


In this address, Eisenhower spotlighted science not only as the driving force in the defense of America, but also as a key to the nation’s future security and pros-perity. Following Land’s proposal, Eisenhower took the forum to promote public interest in science. “According to my scientifi c friends,” he warned the millions of households watching him on TV and listening to him on radio, “we could fall behind” the Soviet Union if complacency persisted. He urged Americans to give higher priority to science education and basic research.57 Moderate scien-tists’ interpretation of the Sputnik challenge now reached the public through Eisenhower’s pulpit.

It was in this speech that Eisenhower announced the appointment of Killian as his special assistant for science and technology. His job would be to formalize the science advising process, link government with the scientifi c community, and monitor the defense R&D programs. In particular, Eisenhower emphasized that Killian would help the secretary of defense to curb interservice rivalry in mis-sile development. To facilitate scientifi c cooperation with the Western alliance, Eisenhower also proposed a NATO Science Committee, a science adviser to the secretary of state, and science attachés in important U.S. embassies abroad. In clos-ing, Eisenhower mentioned the peaceful contributions of science—“there is much more to science than its function in strengthening our defense”—and called on the Soviet Union to join the U.S. in disarmament eff orts.58

A week later, in another speech on national security, Eisenhower expanded on the importance of science education and basic research: “My scientifi c advisers place this problem [science education] above all other immediate tasks of produc-ing missiles, of developing new techniques in the Armed Services.”59 It was another powerful indication of the eff ectiveness of American public scientists’ campaign to turn Sputnik into a challenge more in science and education than in military technology. At the same time, by highlighting the importance of science and edu-cation to national security, the speech also subtly accelerated their integration into the Cold War.

The upgrading of the ODM-SAC into the PSAC in the White House pro-ceeded soon after the Killian appointment. In his November 7, 1957 speech, Eisenhower had said that Killian, as his science adviser, would be aided by a scientifi c staff and “a strong advisory group of outstanding experts reporting to him and to me.” Notably, Eisenhower did not mention the ODM-SAC by name, probably because the White House had not yet decided whether to upgrade the ODM-SAC or establish a smaller advisory council modeled after the Council of Economic Advisers, which consisted of three economists working full time in the Executive Offi ce of the president, with the chairman acting as the president’s principal economic adviser. On November 15, Killian wrote Eisenhower that “after careful consideration,” he recommended the upgrading of ODM-SAC. He also suggested the addition of several new members to strengthen the committee. Eisenhower approved the plan and announced the reconstitution and upgrading of the ODM-SAC into the PSAC on November 22, 1957.60 As an indication of their newly acquired status, the science adviser and PSAC were given the best suite in


the Executive Building next to the White House as well as the privilege of using the White House mess for lunch, overcoming a long-standing inconvenience fac-ing the old ODM-SAC.61

In a formal December 2, 1957 letter to Killian that served as the legal founda-tion for his offi ce, President Eisenhower gave the science adviser what Killian later called “remarkable carte blanche.”62 He was asked to keep himself informed of science in government, giving primary attention to “the use of science and tech-nology in relation to national security,” to provide the president with scientifi c and technological “facts, evaluations and recommendations,” to try to “anticipate future trends or developments” in science and technology, especially related to national security, and to facilitate international scientifi c exchanges with allies. Perhaps most important, the science adviser was authorized to attend the NSC and cabinet meetings and “to have access to all plans, programs, and activities involving science and technology in the Government, including the Department of Defense, AEC, and CIA,” refl ecting a striking confi dence from Eisenhower in his new science adviser.63

Notably, the letter emphasized science in policy much more than policy for sci-ence; the latter was implied only when Killian was asked to work closely with the NSF and its director. It was more specifi cally spelled out in a separate set of terms of reference: “to be concerned with maintaining good and close relations with the U.S. scientifi c and engineering community and to further in every appropriate way the strength and morale of the scientifi c community.” The terms for PSAC likewise emphasized science in policy: it should be “broadly representative of those fi elds of science and technology most important to Government and at this juncture, most relevant to national security.” Both the letter and terms of references were, however, so generally worded that they contained the fl exibility for the science advisory system to expand into areas beyond national security in science in policy and into policy for science even under Eisenhower.64

The emphasis on science in policy was also refl ected in the background of the fi ve new PSAC members. Their fi elds of expertise indicated the primary impor-tance of space and missiles as well as the possibility of a move by Eisenhower in the direction of a nuclear test ban. Chemist George B. Kistiakowsky of Harvard had worked on implosion at wartime Los Alamos and had sat on the infl uential John von Neumann committee on missiles. Physicist Herbert F. York, director of the AEC’s Livermore Laboratory and another alumnus of the von Neumann com-mittee, was obviously knowledgeable about nuclear weapons. Both he and another new PSAC member, Robert F. Bacher, professor of physics at Cal Tech and a for-mer AEC commissioner and ODM-SAC member, would play a key role in PSAC deliberations on a nuclear test ban. James Doolittle, then vice president of Shell Oil Company and chairman of both the Air Force Scientifi c Advisory Board and the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics, would naturally advise on both the space and missile programs. Finally, Edward M. Purcell of Harvard, a Nobel laureate in physics and expert on space communication, would chair PSAC’s space science panel.65


In many ways, the reconstituted and enlarged PSAC thus embodied the Ameri-can scientifi c establishment. Not surprisingly, most members were veterans of wartime research under OSRD. However, contrary to common perceptions, the number of former atomic bomb makers (Bacher, Bethe, Kistiakowsky, and York) was dwarfed by that of the radar people (Killian, William O. Baker of Bell Labs, Berkner, Bronk, Fisk, Caryl P. Haskins of the Carnegie Institution of Washington, Purcell, Rabi, H. P. Robertson of Cal Tech, Wiesner, and Zacharias), although it should be noted that several members had worked on both. Continuing the ODM-SAC tradition, the membership fell into roughly three major categories: scientifi c generalists, industry, and medicine and biological sciences. All major forms of scientifi c institutions found representations: about half of the members came from academia (Killian, Bacher, Bethe, Bronk, Kistiakowsky, Purcell, Rabi, Robertson, Wiesner, and Zacharias), several were based in industry (Baker, Doolittle, Fisk, and Land), one (York) directed a government weapons laboratory managed by a university, one (Berkner) headed a university consortium on contract with the government, and three (Haskins, Bronk, and Paul Weiss of Rockefeller Institute, who was added in March 1958) operated from private research institutions. Interest-ingly, the last three also stood out from their physical scientist colleagues for being biologists or physiologists. With this mainly academic cast, it was not surprising that committee meetings often resembled more the freewheeling laboratory or departmental gatherings in the universities than formal bureaucratic aff airs.

In addition to these full members, PSAC also invited several major science administrators, such as the NSF director, director of the National Institutes of Health, and, later, the director of defense research and engineering (DDRE) in the DOD (York became the fi rst DDRE in 1958), to sit in on its meetings as consultants. Almost in a class by himself was Emanuel Piore, who, fi rst as chief scientist of the Offi ce of Naval Research and then as director of research at IBM (a position that Killian helped secure for him), had long been active in ODM-SAC aff airs as a consultant.66 In the wake of Sputnik he became the main troubleshooter for Killian despite the fact that he would not be made a full member of PSAC until 1959. He was, as he saw it, simply an insider:

When Killian took the job, he made it a condition that either Jim Fisk or I would back him up. One of us had to be in residence in Washington. Eventu-ally, I became an offi cial member of the committee, but it was almost irrelevant whether I was a member or not. I was part of the inner circle of the committee from the beginning, welcomed to every meeting.67

In the future, when their terms expired, almost all the chairmen and a few key members, such as Bronk, Fisk, Land, Piore, Harvey Brooks of Harvard, and Colin MacLeod of New York University, would become consultants-at-large and participate in nearly all of the committee’s activities. In the 1960s, these PSAC alumni consultants would play as important a role in the politics of science as current members.68

Inevitably, who sat on the PSAC aff ected what came out of it. Members were more likely to be science administrators than working scientists—department chairs,


college deans, laboratory directors, and university presidents. As historian Rebecca Lowen has illustrated with the case of Stanford University, the interest of science administrators did not always coincide with that of the working scientists.69 Among PSAC’s science administrators, layers of networks overlapped: scientifi c (physicists, e.g., had already formed bonds in their fi eld), institutional (several worked for the same universities or industrial labs), and political (PSAC members would often support the same candidates). “A Cambridge mafi a” dominated PSAC, as a large number of MIT and Harvard faculty and alumni served as committee and panel members, a fact that often subtly colored their science policy advice to favor elite universities. As MIT president, Killian enjoyed especially the respect and loyalty of industrial scientists, such as Land, Fisk, Baker, and Piore, who had played a key role in his TCP investigation and would be most active in the early PSAC. These close connections among PSAC members might have helped make the committee into what Kistiakowsky called a “coherent, thinking organism,” but it also gave them the appearance of an “old boys’ club,” in both a symbolic and a literal sense.70 The com-mittee remained an all-male cast throughout its existence. Some members of its secretarial staff were women, but their critical role in educating the scientists about the inner workings of the White House and Washington has often been neglected.71 Neither was there much racial or ethnic diversity in the committee, except for the presence of a number of Jewish American and immigrant scientists.72

Remarkably, the establishment of the new science advisory system involved only the president, his close aides, and a few prominent scientists, without mean-ingful participation of the scientifi c community at large or the public. Neither did the BOB, which had been largely responsible for the creation of the ODM-SAC in 1950–1951, and Congress, which last spoke on science policy with the NSF Act, play any signifi cant part. Like the NAS, PSAC was a semipublic institution whose establishment derived as much from American public scientists’ desire to promote basic research and expand the role of scientists in the federal government as from the latter’s need for assistance.73 Interestingly, it operated on largely a nonpartisan basis; many of its members were Democrats but Eisenhower refused to intervene even when pressured by other members of his party.74

The new PSAC convened on the same day as the White House announce-ment, at which time Rabi resigned the chairmanship (but remained a member) and Killian was elected to succeed him.75 Although PSAC retained the option of electing a chairman other than the science adviser, the Rabi–Killian transition set a precedent that would be followed in the future to help maintain unity. At the committee’s meeting in early January 1958, members elected Fisk and Bacher as co-vice chairmen.76 With a sense of urgency, most PSAC members devoted sub-stantial time to the committee’s work; York and Kistiakowsky even worked full time on the all-important satellite and missile reports for several months. Killian quickly appointed panels in PSAC to provide advice for Eisenhower regarding space, missiles, a nuclear test ban, and, signifi cantly, science policy. Usually chaired by PSAC members, these (and other) PSAC panels drew their members mostly from outside the committee, thus enabling PSAC to utilize a network of several


hundred scientists and engineers who were experts in their fi elds. In contrast to the massive and semiautonomous Killian TCP and Gaither panels of the ODM-SAC, the PSAC panels were often low-key operations focusing on specifi c issues. Early on, PSAC recognized the problem that its panels, as groups of specialists, could become parochial advocates for a certain policy, or, in the case of policy for science, could become advocates for their own respective fi elds. One way to counter such tendencies was to balance panel membership with people holding diff erent points of view. Another way was to put specialist panel reports and recommendations through a thorough scrutiny by the full PSAC, which, as a gathering of generalists of stature and independence, could bring a broader perspective to the discussion. Thus PSAC created a two-tier system to achieve a kind of functional, collective objectivity not through cognitive purity or a priori elimination of bias, but as the result of a reasoned, balanced clash of ideas and interests.77

The new science advisory system received enthusiastic support from the scien-tifi c community as well as from the public.78 Many regarded it as one of the most signifi cant steps Eisenhower undertook in response to the Sputnik crisis. It marked a new level of centralization of science in the federal government, never before achieved except during wartime, and had far-reaching implications for American defense and science policy. Although the NSF worried, again, that the new sci-ence advisers in the White House would further erode its statutory role in science policymaking, it nevertheless supported the move as giving scientists more control over military R&D.79 A few scientists, most notably Wallace Brode, a veteran gov-ernment scientist and president-elect of the American Association for the Advance-ment of Science, privately lamented the fact that Killian was not a trained scientist, but most scientists found Killian a wise choice for the post of science adviser.80

Conclusion

Thus, only weeks after the onset of the Sputnik crisis, a new, vigorous presidential science advising system was in place. For Eisenhower, having his own scientists meant a better understanding and control of government programs that increas-ingly involved technical considerations. In public relations, they provided a shield to defl ect political criticism, to slow down the space race, and to move toward nuclear arms control. They also helped the White House to resist what it regarded as undesirable reform proposals, such as an expansion of the NSC or the estab-lishment of a Department of Science.81 Although the leak of the Gaither report showed the hazards of an outside group—never again would Eisenhower approve such an autonomous task force—the science adviser–PSAC arrangement proved an eff ective and valuable asset to the White House.82 As Gordon Gray, Eisenhower’s last national security adviser, later pointed out, “the reconstitution and elevation of the Science Advisory Committee in 1957 . . . had substantially eliminated the use of consultant groups which had been put together in the past such as the Technologi-cal Capabilities Panel, the Gaither Committee, etc.”83

Clearly, public pressure, political expediency, and policy considerations prompted Eisenhower to create the presidential science advisory system. But


could he have chosen a diff erent science adviser and brought in a diff erent group of scientists than PSAC? Could he, for example, have appointed Edward Teller or Ernest Lawrence, who had just three months before Sputnik met with Eisenhower to lobby for the “clean bomb” and to argue against a test ban? Teller, in fact, was so ubiquitous in the media in the aftermath of Sputnik’s launch, including appearances on the cover of Time and on Edward Murrow’s See It Now television program, that David Lilienthal noted in his diary that “Teller’s is now the featured face (instead of Oppenheimer’s) in the role of scientifi c statesman.”84 Or could Eisenhower picked Wernher von Braun, the rocket scientist whom the Army had brought from Germany at the end of World War II and who was widely celebrated as a space enthusiast and expert?85 The fact that Eisenhower chose Killian and the ODM-SAC indicated his agreement with the latter in the intense debate and negotiation over the meaning of Sputnik: it represented less a military and technological threat than one in science and education. Furthermore, his awareness of the Rabi–Teller division over a nuclear test ban also confi rmed his desire to bring in scientists who could advance his own eff orts to control, not accelerate, the nuclear arms race. In other words, he was as much attracted by PSAC’s technological skepticism as he was repulsed by Teller and Lawrence’s technological enthusiasm.

Thus, a hope of using PSAC to raise the voice of moderation helped overcome Eisenhower’s considerable worry about the expanding role of scientists in public policy. In contrast to his complaint in July 1957 about “scientists . . . running the gov-ernment,” he openly welcomed Killian and PSAC to “provide him with a scientifi c point of view” in policy matters.86 His wariness about scientists’ policy role in gen-eral did not completely disappear; it would resurface in his warning against the sci-entifi c-technological elite in his farewell speech. However, Eisenhower appreciated PSAC scientists’ technological skepticism enough that he encouraged them to play an active role in public policy, including space, military technology, arms control, and science policy. In contrast, he grew disenchanted with the Teller–Lawrence group. Three days after he reconstituted PSAC, Eisenhower complained to Strauss bitterly about Teller’s Pearl Harbor analogy, commenting wryly that “Scientists have suddenly become military and political experts” and vice versa.87

For American public scientists, the establishment of a presidential science adviser and PSAC marked the achievement of a long-sought goal. From the Steel-man and Stewart reports of the 1940s, to the Golden plan of 1950, and through the ODM-SAC’s Princeton memorandum of 1952 and various other attempts of the committee during the Eisenhower administration, scientists had agitated for an institutional base at the top of the U.S. government. With the PSAC system, they fi nally regained a voice for science in national policymaking. Because of the nature of the Sputnik crisis, it was clear from the beginning that the new science advisers would play a key role in both science in policy and policy for science. How they approached and balanced their dual, and sometimes confl icting, mandates would help determine not only the fate of science advice at the top of the government, but also the science–state partnership for the remainder of the Eisenhower admin-istration and beyond.

88

6 PSAC and the Launching of NASA, 1957–1960

With PSAC’s ascendance into the White House in 1957, American public scientists moved institutionally closer to executive policymaking than ever before in peace-time. The fi rst order of business for PSAC was to help President Eisenhower restore confi dence in the American space program, which appeared technically incompe-tent and organizationally confused. At a press conference on February 5, 1958, the president announced that he had asked Killian and PSAC to “give for the United States a program of outer space achievement.”1 The decision was an unusual one in that it allowed a group of technically private citizens to shape one of the most important public policies of the day. That Eisenhower took such a step and had it accepted by the American public and polity was testimony to the eff ectiveness, in this period of American history, of what political scientist Yaron Ezrahi has called the “depoliticization of executive action” through the “utilization of science and technology.” Symbols of openness and rationality, science and technology func-tioned as political and ideological resources, allowing the president to present his actions as “impersonal, nonarbitrary, and publicly accountable measures to enhance the public good.” 2 It was also a powerful demonstration of what historian Robert Griffi th called Eisenhower’s “quest for a corporate commonwealth in which the contradictions of modern capitalism would be resolved through cooperation, self-restraint, discipline, and disinterested public service.”3

The theoretical attraction of the strategy, however, did not mean that its actual application would be smooth sailing. Sharp clashes and tension soon ensued, as interested parties, including the scientists themselves, sought to protect and advance their often divergent political, ideological, and institutional agendas. At stake were both the organization and direction of the American space program. Should the United States consider space a national security priority and carry out a Manhattan District-style crash project under the military, or regard it primarily as a peaceful pursuit and put it under a civilian organization? Should the United States concentrate on popular and spectacular feats, thus increasing American national prestige and gaining Cold War propaganda eff ects, or follow a scientifi c agenda? Whatever space policy PSAC was to recommend would have to satisfy public and congressional pressure for action, solve—or at least get around—the problem of interservice rivalry in the military, and promote, as much as possible, their own interest in the advancement of science. In other words, space policy encompassed both science in policy—how would science and technology contribute to the achievement of national objectives in space—and policy for science, or how the space program would further progress in relevant scientifi c fi elds.

PSAC and the Launching of NASA, 1957–1960 89

The International Geophysical Year Satellite Investigation

PSAC actually had begun to advise Eisenhower on space even before his public announcement in February. On December 6, 1957, the fi rst American attempt to launch a satellite failed miserably when the Navy’s Vanguard rocket exploded after barely leaving the launching pad. The intense public and media reaction made the aborted attempt a national catastrophe, but the outcome was not entirely surpris-ing, given its low priority and a launching schedule contrived under White House pressure.4 The pressure actually backfi red: the Vanguard fi asco forced Eisenhower to allow the Army, whose ambition to get into the space program he had earlier denied, to launch a satellite using its better tested Jupiter C rocket. Yet, concern over interservice rivalry made him withhold the fi nal go-ahead until the last min-ute. He hoped that Vanguard would prove itself.5

To help the president and the Pentagon decide whether the Navy or the Army had the best chance of launching satellites during the International Geophysical Year, Killian appointed a panel under Herbert York, with George Kistiakowsky and Emmanuel Piore as members.6 Working feverishly, the York panel came up with a preliminary report to PSAC within a week; it reached Eisenhower before Christ-mas. Essentially, the panel found the Vanguard team competent but pressured to meet deadlines. So many key parts of the Vanguard had not been fl ight-tested that York told PSAC on December 11 that he would “bet even money against” its next fi ring. In contrast, the Army team had tested most of its rocket parts and was likely to succeed even on its fi rst try. Thus, the York panel recommended to Killian that instead of expanding the Vanguard program, the administration should shift resources to the Army’s Jupiter C to launch the several satellites for the Interna-tional Geophysical Year. Eisenhower heeded this advice.7

The technical predictions of the York panel proved accurate. Vanguard indeed failed again on its second try on January 26, 1958, and fi ve days later Jupiter C carried the fi rst American satellite, Explorer I, into orbit. The subsequent perfor-mance of the two systems also fell within the scope of the panel’s assessment, with the Vanguard fi nally redeeming itself on March 17, 1958. Through this narrow and yet extremely important example, Eisenhower found in PSAC an indispensable technical arm that could help him make a decision based on sound knowledge. Thus, instead of creating a special presidential commission on space to examine the issue for him, as proposed by the NSF, he entrusted the task to PSAC. Unfor-tunately, however, not all policies were so clearly a matter of technical judgment, not the least of which were the questions of the direction and organization of the space program.8

Space for Science

As Explorer I brought welcome relief to the United States, national attention turned to the administration’s long-range space policy, which in turn intensifi ed an internal space race in Washington as agencies competed to become the orga-nization running the U.S. space program. There was also public pressure for what


Eisenhower viewed as glamorous, expensive, but useless stunts to beat the Soviets in space. Concerned with these developments, Eisenhower asked PSAC to examine for him both the question of direction—what projects should be undertaken by the American space program—and the question of organization—what organizational form the program should take. Often the two questions were intertwined, requir-ing both technical and policy determinations. In response, Killian and PSAC estab-lished a panel on space science and technology under Purcell, with York, Edwin Land, and James Doolittle as members, to study and report on these issues to the full committee from December 1957 to March 1958.9

Key to PSAC scientists’ deliberation on the direction of the space program was its eff ect on the funding for nonspace scientifi c research. Several members felt that the dramatic eff ects of Sputnik had stimulated “undisciplined enthusiasm” for an infl ated importance of space. Kistiakowsky called the situation a “great tragedy”: the uninformed public could easily give space half a billion dollars while leaving other sciences starving. He urged the committee to educate the public about the proper relation between space exploration and science. The former could be useful to the nation only if the latter was vigorously supported as well.10 Rabi thought the clamor for grandeur in space was “outside [the] realm of sci-ence.”11 It distorted national priorities, as space fl ight or beating the Russians to the moon became more important than fi nding a cure for cancer. Space’s share of federal funding, Rabi believed, was out of proportion, especially when compared to that of basic research. In FY 1958, basic research, encompassing all the sciences, received $280 million, whereas space alone garnered $130 million and was expected to receive much more in the future. “Should we as [a] committee go along with this prog[ram] without further exam[ination?]” Rabi asked, adding that “We are likely to have to do explaining.” Killian and Cal Tech physicist H. P. Robertson agreed with Rabi that the imbalance between basic science and space funding was troubling.12 Here, PSAC members clearly linked a national public policy with their institutional self-interest—the funding of science.

Not everyone was, however, pessimistic about space’s impact on science. Hans Bethe believed that it “would be a great mistake for us to oppose popular enthu-siasm even tho[ugh] misguided.” He discounted the fear that space would take money away from science, recalling that many European physicists had originally worried that CERN (the European Council for Nuclear Research) would divert funds from their own fi elds, but in fact the “opposite has happened.” Bethe proposed that PSAC endorse the space program but at the same time advocate increased support for other sciences. Doolittle seconded Bethe’s position, urging the committee to use space as a means to “enhance public interest in science per se.”13

Other members, although not without misgivings, emphasized the many real benefi ts that would come from space explorations. Edwin Land, for example, agreed with Rabi and Kistiakowsky that PSAC should dismiss “stunts” or “athletic contests” with the Soviet Union and give Eisenhower “bona fi de” scientifi c objec-tives for the American space program.14 It should let Congress know the costs involved in going to Mars and let it decide “whether we should buy [a] ticket.”15


But he also believed that the space program could save more than it cost by its contributions to the military strength of the country in the area of reconnais-sance. Likewise, Lloyd Berkner foresaw “saving [the] entire expense simply by meteorological gains.”16 Spiritually, Land thought that space exploration repre-sented “one of [the] best human crusades,” a feeling shared by Jerome Wiesner. Detlev Bronk added that “the prestige factor can’t be ignored.” Bethe and Rabi also thought space provided a great opportunity to engage the Soviet Union in international scientifi c cooperation, although others doubted the feasibility of such an endeavor because civilian and military space programs were so closely tied together.17 Notably, these discussions focused on space as technology; space as science was conspicuously missing, refl ecting perhaps the fact that no astronomer or geophysicist served on PSAC.

For his part, President Eisenhower shared PSAC’s skepticism against “stunts” in the parallel political debate on space. Whereas PSAC worried about space’s adverse impact on science funding, Eisenhower feared that a costly space program would weaken national security and the economy. He took a dim view of lunar probes, for example, because “we didn’t have any enemy on the moon!” This narrow defi nition of national security, however, was challenged at a meeting by Republi-can Senator William Knowland of California, who reminded the president of the great psychological eff ects of Sputnik at home and abroad. Eisenhower grudgingly relented, but only approved the lunar probe project on the condition that “it could be accomplished with some missile already developed or nearly ready.” Overall, Eisenhower vigorously demanded the application of “a rule of reason” in space and a stop of the rush into “all possible glamour performances.”18

To provide this “rule of reason,” he asked his science advisers to examine the specifi c plan for lunar probes before issuing the fi nal go-ahead.19 Such a study was carried out by the Purcell panel. It soon submitted a list of several satellites and lunar probes as the next phase of the U.S. space program. Although one lunar shot, by the Air Force, was recommended to counteract and mitigate the psychologi-cal impact of a possible early Soviet feat in that direction, most of these projects were devoted to scientifi c research.20 A month later the DOD formally proposed to launch these projects, under the Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA), a new agency established to lessen interservice rivalry by centralizing anti-ICBM and space projects in the Pentagon. On advice from Killian and PSAC, Eisenhower approved the projects with the stipulation that those of a civilian nature should be transferred to the new space agency once it was established. He also asked that no money for the lunar probes should come from the armed services. “I desire that the identity of these projects as ARPA projects be maintained throughout.”21

Meanwhile, PSAC’s extensive internal discussions and external consultations with other interested parties served as an eff ective consensus-building process. Eventually, PSAC reached the agreement that it should endorse a reasonably strong civilian space program, but should make sure that nonspace sciences were also adequately supported. Indeed, PSAC hoped that the space program itself could focus on scientifi c research and exploration, with due consideration to prestige and


exploration factors. Above all, PSAC emphasized that the space program’s expected huge expenditure should not be laid at the feet of science and thereby work against science in the federal budgetary process.22 To summarize this consensus, the Pur-cell panel worked out an outline of scientifi c research that could be carried out in space.23 It also compiled a timetable for space exploration, basing it on technolo-gies then foreseen. In terms like “early” (two years), “later” (two to fi ve years), “still later” (fi ve to fi fteen years), and “much later still,” it predicted dates when such specifi c goals as unmanned lunar exploration, man in space, man to moon, and planetary voyages could be realized. Eisenhower enthusiastically embraced the report as a step toward the “rule of reason” in space. Seeing its potential in moderating the space race both internationally and at home, the president asked Killian, Purcell, and York to put on briefi ngs for the NSC, the Cabinet, and the State Department.24 The president personally sat through both the NSC and the Cabinet briefi ngs, commenting at one point, “I think I understand this for the fi rst time”: the satellite was not “up” there, but “out” there.25 The “show on the road” became legendary in the lore of PSAC’s education of presidents and government offi cials. As Purcell later put it, “The people that needed to be educated were not merely the public at large but people in responsible positions in Washington.”26 In March 1958, the White House published these briefi ngs as one of the fi rst PSAC reports, Introduction to Outer Space.

A best seller, the report crystallized PSAC’s and most scientists’ views on space, and became one of the most signifi cant documents of the Space Age, with great impact on the direction of the early American space eff orts. In it, PSAC listed four factors that “give importance, urgency, and inevitability to the advancement of space technology”: human urge for exploration, military applications, national prestige, and scientifi c research. Among the “bona fi de” scientifi c objectives, it enumerated research on the earth’s magnetic fi eld, the van Allen belts, cosmic rays, meteorology, and astronomy—notably all physical sciences; there was no mention of exobiology (research on life outside of the earth), which had been advocated by biologist Joshua Lederberg and others outside of PSAC.27 The committee also mentioned practical space applications such as weather forecasting, telecommuni-cations, and military reconnaissance, but discounted the popular notion of a “satel-lite bomber,” pointing out, as York and Purcell told Eisenhower earlier, that space was not “up” there but “out” there, and that a weapon could not be simply dropped from the sky. After all, the report said, the earth appeared still the best weapon car-rier. In addition, as suggested by Rabi and Bethe, the report called for international cooperation in space. To prevent space endeavors from overshadowing nonspace scientifi c research, the report recommended that the latter “go forward without loss of pace,” or, preferably “at an increased pace,” implying, of course, increased federal funding. Finally, the report called on the public to support space explora-tion “as part of a balanced national eff ort in all science and technology.” In short, space should be explored for the benefi t of science, not to its detriment.28

Eisenhower not only heartily endorsed the report as “a sober, realistic pre-sentation prepared by leading scientists,” but also used it eff ectively to fend off


undesirable space weapons systems or manned space programs. When he was asked, in April 1958, about a declaration by von Braun’s Army group that they could send a man in space within a year and ahead of the Soviets, Eisenhower, clearly unenthusiastic, brought out PSAC as his countering experts:

I have an advisory, scientifi c advisory committee. I have great faith in their sincerity, in their disinterestedness so far as diff erent services and diff erent agencies are concerned, in bringing about the things that they believe should be discovered and accomplished in the space fi eld. . . . [T]hey did not put a manned space vehicle, of any kind, “early.”29

In other words, Eisenhower saw the von Braun team as a parochial “pressure group” that pushed for its own selfi sh institutional interest while upholding PSAC as a model of disinterested professionals serving the common good. His qualifi ca-tions on their disinterestedness, however, indicated that he was not unaware of their possible self-interest beyond matters of interservice rivalry.

Civilian Control of Space

Indeed, as public scientists, PSAC fought for the interest of science not only in the debate over the direction of the American space program, but also in the discus-sion that shaped its organizational form. Whereas PSAC’s discussion on a program for space had focused on the issue of the balance between space and science, its concurrent study on organization pivoted on the matter of civilian versus military control, with much at stake for American science. At the time, four models pre-sented themselves: the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics (NACA), an independent civilian agency with a long tradition of cooperative research in aero-nautics with the military and industry; ARPA; the AEC; and a new space agency. As the Purcell panel examined these options, advocates for each made their case both in private and in public.

The powerful congressional Joint Committee on Atomic Energy ( JCAE) thought the AEC had a claim on space because of its work on nuclear-powered rockets. The agency had great appeal to many scientists and PSAC as well, due in part to its excellent support of basic research and its mature management sys-tem. However, for several reasons the AEC soon dropped out of the race. Despite the JCAE’s rhetoric, the AEC really had little to do with space; the success of the nuclear rockets appeared far in the future. Besides, its important mission in nuclear weapons development prevented it from taking on another huge national enterprise. A new space agency starting from scratch was rejected by PSAC on the ground that, aside from a step in the proliferation of new agencies, it would take too long to set up.30

Thus, PSAC found itself choosing between ARPA and NACA, each with strong advocates and detractors within the committee. Initially many PSAC members were rather skeptical of the technical and organizational soundness of ARPA despite the fact that Killian had played a key role in its creation. At its meeting in January 1958, PSAC questioned the wisdom of ARPA’s taking on both space science


and missile defense while separating them from ballistic missile development in the services. Furthermore, the committee did not think it wise to put the AICBM together with space science. As Land put it, “AICBM [was] urgent—no urgency on Mars.”31 Nevertheless, PSAC agreed to withhold comment about ARPA, awaiting its own comprehensive study of DOD organization.32

The question was not whether the Pentagon should get into space; it already was there and would stay there to pursue legitimate military projects such as reconnaissance. Choosing ARPA would allow for ready utilization of existing hardware and experience within the DOD. Furthermore, the DOD claimed interests even in civilian space sciences, which might have military implications. Thus, signifi cantly, and contrary to the perception of many, President Eisenhower initially leaned toward lodging the space organization within the DOD because it had both “paramount interest” and the necessary hardware and because doing so might help avoid waste on fancy nondefense space projects. If the NSF or other scientifi c agencies wanted to conduct peaceful space research, they could contract with the DOD, which would act as an “operating agent,” following the pattern of the International Geophysical Year project.33 Killian, who consistently sought to strengthen the ties between the Pentagon and the scientifi c community, shared this view in the immediate post-Sputnik days. It seemed to him “entirely feasible for the DOD to be the major sponsor and entrepreneur of space research and development, both military and ‘non-military.’”34 Likewise, York and H. P. Robert-son, chairman of the DOD’s Defense Science Board, made the case for ARPA at PSAC’s December 1957 meeting.35

Other PSAC scientists, however, felt uneasy about making ARPA the main U.S. space agency, suspecting that the military was trying to hold the American space program permanently within its own control. The question was not only one of public policy—was it best to lodge the entire space program permanently in the Pentagon—but also one of science policy. Should civilian scientists be forced to turn to the DOD for support in space research, or should there be a civilian space agency to sponsor such research? At the meeting where York and Robertson made the case for ARPA, many others spoke against it, not so much on moral as on prac-tical grounds. Although recognizing the need for cooperation from the military, which alone had the hardware, they feared that science would be “dominated” in the DOD. Wiesner, Kistiakowsky, Berkner, and Doolittle—a former general but now chairman of NACA—all suggested an agency outside the DOD, “coupled” with the military but not dominated by it. Rabi, who had fought against the militarization of science during World War II, now spoke out most emphatically on the issue.36 The space program, he said, “would thrive best under civ[ilian] org[anization].”37 There was also concern in PSAC that giving space to the DOD might “dilute” vital defense eff orts such as reconnaissance or antiballistic missile projects. Finally, it was felt that a military-controlled space organization would impede international cooperation in space.38

PSAC members’ strong opposition to the ARPA option helped change both Killian’s and Eisenhower’s mind about lodging the space program in the Pentagon.


By the end of 1957, Killian came to share PSAC’s concern that centralization of space R&D in the DOD would restrict and militarize scientifi c research.39 Remark-ably, then, at a meeting between Eisenhower and legislative leaders on February 4, 1958, Killian contradicted Eisenhower and spoke up about his reservations as to “the relative interest and activity of military vs. peaceful aspects.” Vice President Richard Nixon agreed with Killian, expressing his hope that nonmilitary space research would be carried forward by an agency “entirely separate from the mili-tary.” He thought letting the DOD manage the space program would damage the U.S. posture in the world and slight those peaceful projects that had no military value in sight. At this point, Eisenhower conceded that he did not preclude eventu-ally having “a great Department of Space.” In the end, it was agreed that PSAC would tackle the problem, which led to the president’s request cited at the begin-ning of the chapter.40

PSAC’s push in the White House for civilian control of space research refl ected and reinforced a similar movement both inside and outside the government. In a fi ght reminiscent of the scientists’ movement in 1946 for civilian control of atomic energy, several scientifi c organizations publicly opposed what they regarded as military control of space. The NSF called for a new civilian space agency and a large-scale space program “over and above” the military eff orts. In a letter to Killian, Waterman expressed his view that the human urge for exploration, not Cold War rivalry, was the fundamental reason for space activities. Public opinion, he believed, strongly favored “a strictly scientifi c, civilian-managed program” without military overtones. Finally, he argued that space applications like weather forecasting and global communications would be expedited in a civilian agency better than in the DOD, which had to justify activities and expenditures in military terms.41 The Federation of American Scientists, which had led the scientists’ move-ment in 1946, again mobilized itself to lobby Congress and the administration for civilian control of space.42

PSAC, seeking an alternative to ARPA, then focused on NACA. At the com-mittee’s December 1957 meeting on space organization, Bronk was the fi rst to suggest that NACA might be “worth looking into.” Killian agreed, saying that he was enthusiastic for a “NACA type” of organization coupled to the DOD. James Fisk went further, suggesting that NACA itself become the space agency. It would, Fisk said, both satisfy the military needs in space and retain civilian control, just as the AEC did in the nuclear area. The leadership of NACA naturally welcomed the suggestion as an opportunity for the old agency to modernize. Speaking after Fisk, NACA director Hugh Dryden, who sat in PSAC meetings as a consultant, made a low-key appeal on behalf of his agency by highlighting its work in space and its excellent record of cooperating with the DOD and the universities. More force-fully, Doolittle, as both PSAC member and NACA chairman, made clear that it was not only desirable but imperative for NACA to enter into space. Questioned by Killian about space’s possible adverse impact on NACA’s traditional role, Doolittle responded that NACA needed the new orientation to survive.43 Thus by the end of 1957, NACA already emerged as the leading candidate among members of PSAC


in the race to become the American space agency. Moving quickly, on January 27, 1958, NACA staff publicly proposed to take over the leadership of space research in cooperation with existing military and civilian science agencies.44

Facing NACA’s off ensive, advocates for ARPA did not easily give up the fi ght. The presidential request to PSAC for a study on space organization in February 1958 only made the discussions at the committee meetings more charged. Dur-ing that month’s PSAC meeting, York, who would soon become chief scientist of ARPA, defended ARPA against NACA, which, he pointed out, lacked contracting authority and relied on civil-service laboratories. In response, Fisk suggested that NACA could seek authorization to use “captive-contractors,” as did the AEC, which contracted with the University of California to run York’s own Livermore Laboratory. Doolittle agreed, and assured the committee that NACA, if given suf-fi cient authority and support, could “grow up” to administer the space program in coordination with the DOD, AEC, NSF, and the NAS. Dryden was also confi dent that NACA could adapt to the new method, although he conceded that contracting might change NACA’s operating pattern. Waterman supported the NACA team.45

York’s continued advocacy of ARPA within PSAC soon acquired a sinister dimension in the eyes of the NACA leadership, especially after the announcement in March 1958 that he would become ARPA’s chief scientist. Indeed, NACA was suspicious of the new agency from the beginning. Dryden reported to Waterman that ARPA’s new director, Roy Johnson, a former General Electric executive, was “terrible,” with no conception of either science or space and only a strong desire to “classify everything.” Dryden claimed to have spent “an hour and a half to get started on educating him.” York knew science, but disturbed Dryden even more by his “unconcealed ambition” to become the overall manager of the U.S. space program and to build “his own empire” from ARPA. Killian, according to Dryden, was aware of the situation and would soon take Dryden, Doolittle, and York off the space panel to avoid charges of a “rigged” report on space.46 Yet, as if to con-fi rm Dryden’s fear, ARPA did, as mentioned earlier, begin to sponsor nonmilitary space projects in early 1958.47

The worries of Dryden and many other scientists were soon laid to rest, how-ever, as PSAC and Killian recommended to Eisenhower that NACA be expanded into the new American civilian space agency. The Purcell panel had reached such a conclusion in late February and early March 1958. Its organization subpanel, with key participation from the BOB, studied and discussed the matter widely with interested federal agencies and outside experts. Choosing NACA, the panel pointed out, would solve the problems of the militarization of space inherent in the ARPA approach. In addition, NACA had worked well with both military and civilian institutions, conducted space research, and had a high international reputation.48 Following PSAC’s lead, a consensus soon emerged within the administration that NACA indeed could be reconstituted to form a nucleus around which to build the U.S. civilian space agency. The DOD, probably not given the opportunity by the White House to recognize fully the magnitude of the planned NACA assignment, concurred in the plan. McElroy was unhappy about this outcome but Quarles, his


deputy, agreed with Killian and PSAC that putting a man in space was primarily a civilian, not military, undertaking.49 The BOB then drafted, in cooperation with Killian’s offi ce, a memorandum recommending such a move. In early March 1958, Killian, BOB director Percival Brundage, and Nelson A. Rockefeller, chairman of the President’s Advisory Committee on Government Organization, presented the NACA proposal to Eisenhower. By now, as Killian recalled later, Eisenhower “clearly leaned toward a civilian rather than a military agency” and readily approved the recommendation.50

Why did the president change his mind? He was naturally sympathetic toward the move to reduce militarization of American life, especially after the new pro-posal addressed his concern over duplication between civilian and military space programs. He also might have supported a civilian agency as a way to reward the scientists for their help to him in space and other areas of national policy. As Good-paster later commented on Eisenhower’s change of mind on the space program:

He gave a lot of weight to the views of the scientists. At the same time he knew that the scientists would be happier having it [space] in a civilian organization than having it given to the military. He wanted, in a way, to placate the scien-tists. He wanted to draw them closer to his operation.51

After the BOB translated the memorandum into a legislative bill, there followed several rounds of give and take between the White House and Capitol Hill, which fi nally passed the bill with some revisions. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), based on NACA, was established in July 1958.52

The establishment of NASA, of course, did not mean the end of PSAC’s par-ticipation in space policymaking. With Eisenhower’s emphatic agreement, PSAC and the science advisers (Killian and later Kistiakowsky) continued to infl uence space policy toward its dual goals: space for science and civilian control. Partly due to these scientists’ infl uence, space spectaculars were checked, and resources not needed in the military, most notably the Army’s von Braun team, were transferred to NASA during the remainder of the Eisenhower administration.53 In Decem-ber 1960, a PSAC panel under the chairmanship of Donald Hornig of Princeton reported to President Eisenhower that “man-in-space cannot be justifi ed on purely scientifi c grounds,” but it also acknowledged that “international political situa-tion” and “the dream of man’s getting into space” were major motivations for the space program. In any case, it advocated unmanned space programs both for their intrinsic scientifi c values and as necessary support for any manned programs. Based on information from NASA, the Hornig panel believed that the next steps in the manned space program would be expensive: sending a man around the moon would cost about $8 billion and a lunar landing by 1975 would cost between $26 billion and $38 billion.54 The fi gures shocked Eisenhower into talking about a complete termination of the manned space program.55 It did lead him to veto the manned lunar landing project on the grounds that it was neither scientifi cally nor militarily useful.56 In his annual budget message to Congress on January 16, 1961, Eisenhower announced that “further testing and experimentation will be necessary


to establish whether there are any valid scientifi c reasons for extending manned space fl ight beyond the Mercury program.”57 PSAC fully shared Eisenhower’s skep-ticism toward the manned space program but, as discussed later, their stand proved far from the last word on the subject.

Conclusion

More than anything else, it was Killian’s and PSAC’s remarkable eff ort to moderate the space race that earned Eisenhower’s lasting gratitude during the initial post-Sputnik days. When Killian resigned his position to return to MIT in mid-1959, Eisenhower wrote him a warm personal note in which he singled out his role in the space program:

No one did more than you, in those days, to bring reason, fact and logic into our plans for space research and adventure. I shall never cease to be grateful for the patience with which you initiate me into the rudiments of this new science and the part that the government should play in its development, and for the skill with which you assembled a capable scientifi c group of people to take over many resulting responsibilities.58

In his own memoir, Killian gave the credit to PSAC scientists’ technological skepti-cism: “I think it fair to say that when the Sputnik panic was being used to support an orgy of technological fantasies and a speed-up in the arms race, PSAC was a voice of sense and moderation, and that this was one of the reasons it commanded the confi dence of its beleaguered chief.”59

The birth and subsequent development of NASA off ered an interesting con-trast to that of the AEC, both being powerful science agencies. In 1946, it took a scientists’ movement, through grassroots campaigns, public appeals, and congres-sional lobbying, to secure civilian control of atomic energy in the form of the AEC.60 In 1958, the scientists, as represented by PSAC, had direct access to a gener-ally sympathetic president, and worked within the system. Thanks to scientists’ infl uence, via reasoned argument, and also thanks to NASA’s own bureaucratic sensitivities, the resultant space agency was probably freer from military infl uence than the AEC. In its pursuit of civilian control of space, PSAC largely succeeded. However, on the question of space for science, PSAC was not nearly as eff ective when the Cold War dynamics in the 1960s, as we will see in later chapters, increas-ingly drove the American space program toward the pursuit of national prestige. Thus, although PSAC scientists succeeded brilliantly in advising Eisenhower on the technical aspects of the U.S. space program, the desirable conciliation between scientifi c interests and Cold War politics proved more elusive.

PSAC’s successes and failures both point to the new reality of American science policy in the post-Sputnik era. The Soviet achievement in space and its great psy-chological impact linked science directly with national security. National prestige became an important factor in the Cold War struggle. For this reason, satellites with “key political, scientifi c, psychological or military import” were added, at Eisenhower’s personal direction, to the NSC’s “top priority” list, where they joined


rank with ICBMs.61 Concurrently, with their contributions to space policy, scientists rebounded from their “wounds” in the McCarthy era to play a key role in national policymaking and to regain some measure of control of American science policy. PSAC scientists helped Eisenhower to curb what they perceived as “undisciplined enthusiasm” for space spectaculars, emphasizing instead moderation and balance in the program. Out of what they perceived to be both national interest and their own institutional self-interest, they pushed for science to take center stage in American space policy. Yet, the same connections to national prestige that gave science so much prominence in the post-Sputnik era also imposed restraints on science policy. The fact that NASA would, soon after the end of the Eisenhower presidency, adopt the goal of “beating the Soviets” in space glory, over PSAC objec-tions, says as much about the limits of PSAC’s political perception as it does about the unpredictability of American politics of science.

in sputnik’s shadowzywang/wangsputnik5-6.pdfin short order, the sputnik news spread like a wildfi...

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