The scientific capabilities used in the Second World War had foundations built long before it. Universities, practical laboratories, public funding and private gifts helped people acquire the knowledge later governments would mobilise—or destroy through persecution. These foundations developed through different arrangements in different countries. They were not created by one founder, one university or an inherited national superiority. [1] [2] [7] [9]
Building a research institution meant more than putting clever people inside an impressive building. Someone had to pay for their time, provide equipment, teach practical methods and allow findings to be questioned. Access mattered too. Women and Black students faced barriers, while American land-grant education benefited from the dispossession of Indigenous peoples. Expanding knowledge and distributing opportunity fairly were not the same achievement. [9] [11] [12] [13]
This is the first chapter of the prequel, following the completed main series. We return principally to 1809–1911 to ask how the research world encountered in 1933 became possible. Selected examples from German-speaking Europe, Britain, France and the United States show how education, appointments and support created working communities. This is not a claim that science began in nineteenth-century Europe, nor a complete world history of knowledge. It establishes foundations before later prequel chapters follow industrial power and the political crises that brought the main story to its starting point.
Previous in publication order: Main Series, Part 19 — What the Evidence Says About Talent, War and Power. Begin the whole project: Main Series, Part 1 — Prologue. Current stage: Prequel, Part 1. Next chapter: Prequel Part 2 — 1856–1913: When Science Entered the Factory.
22 February 1876: Whom Would the New University Employ?
At Baltimore’s Academy of Music, Daniel Coit Gilman addressed a problem that a generous endowment had not solved. Johns Hopkins University needed distinguished teachers, but established scholars could be difficult to move. In his inaugural address, he recounted asking a physicist how a university could become great without the professors whom only a great university could attract. The answer directed him towards promising younger people. [1]
The exchange survives in Gilman’s public account. We do not need to invent the correspondent’s private thoughts or the audience’s reaction. Its importance lies in the difficulty it identifies: reputation helps an institution recruit, but an institution without that reputation must still find a way to begin.
Gilman also wanted usable facilities rather than a monument to medieval architecture. The future university needed places suited to laboratories, collections and teaching. His address described an undertaking to be built, not a finished scientific system delivered by a benefactor’s will. [1]
The problem should sound familiar. Our main series examined how governments assembled expertise for an emergency. Here, decades earlier, a university was asking how to develop expertise that did not yet have an established home. Recruitment and education were already connected.
To understand the possibilities available in Baltimore, we first turn back to an earlier argument about what a university should do. That argument was influential, but it was not a blueprint that every subsequent institution simply copied.
1810: A University in a Former Palace
Teaching at the new University of Berlin began in 1810. Its first home was a late baroque palace, not a purpose-built complex of modern laboratories. The university’s architectural history preserves that distinction between founding an institution and constructing a specialised physical setting for it. [4]
In his treatise on Berlin’s higher scholarly institutions, conventionally dated 1810, Wilhelm von Humboldt presented knowledge as something still being investigated rather than a completed stock of answers. Teacher and student should participate in that continuing inquiry. His subject was organised scholarship, not only the experimental sciences. [2]
The distinction changes what education asks of a learner. A student can reproduce an accepted answer without knowing how to assess a doubtful one. Research requires the additional ability to recognise a question, examine evidence and revise a conclusion when the evidence does not support it.
This does not make established knowledge dispensable. Someone learning to investigate still needs preparation. It changes the purpose of that preparation: not merely to remember what an authority has said, but eventually to judge something the authority has not settled.
Humboldt’s text is evidence of an educational argument. It does not establish that every Berlin lecture immediately fulfilled it, or that inquiry had been absent from older institutions. An influential proposal and its uneven implementation remain different subjects.
1809: The Researcher Began Before University
Humboldt’s school plan of 1809 divided education into elementary, secondary and university stages. He wanted general education to develop a person’s capacities before specialised occupational preparation. At the university stage, independent learning would become central. The plan also recognised that further study required time and the means to sustain it. [3]
This gives the history a necessary beginning below the professor’s appointment. A university cannot assume that every new student arrives able to interpret a difficult text, use mathematics confidently or distinguish an observation from an explanation. Earlier education helps determine what later teaching can accomplish.
It also helps explain why opportunity is not measured only by whether a door is officially open. A person may be eligible to enter and still lack the preparation or financial support required to remain. Establishing a demanding course without a usable route into it can leave much ability undeveloped.
We should not turn Humboldt’s preferences into a timeless verdict against practical education. They belonged to a particular debate about the order and purposes of learning. The question they leave us is more useful than a slogan: what should somebody learn first so that later knowledge becomes understandable rather than merely repeatable?
Freedom Required Support—and Limits on Its Supporters
Humboldt wanted the state to supply the conditions for scholarly work without directing every intellectual result. Yet he assigned the appointment of university professors to the state. He also recognised that scholarly institutions themselves could obstruct new ideas. His argument was not simply that government was always the enemy and professors always the protectors of freedom. [2]
The tension is practical. Research needs resources, but the person supplying them may want an answer useful to an immediate purpose. A secure appointment can give someone time to investigate; control over appointments can also determine which questions receive an institutional home.
Independence therefore cannot mean the absence of every relationship. A researcher may depend on salaries, colleagues and facilities while still needing room to reject a preferred explanation. The institutional task is to support the work without making agreement with the sponsor a condition of a valid finding.
This is one foundation of the later story, not a claim that the nineteenth century solved it. When we return to the dismissals of 1933, we are looking at decisions made through institutions in which appointments and authority had long been connected. The existence of an ideal did not ensure that it would be defended.
1813: A Bookbinder Entered a Different Institution
Michael Faraday’s route did not begin with a university professorship. After an apprenticeship in bookbinding, he became an assistant at London’s Royal Institution in 1813. He later directed its laboratory. The institution’s collections preserve the practical record of his work alongside the discoveries for which he became famous. [5]
His example prevents the university from swallowing the whole history of science. An institution outside a degree programme could provide instruments, employment and contact with experienced investigators. A person could develop through practical work as well as through a formal course.
Faraday’s 1827 book, Chemical Manipulation, addressed the practical instruction of students. The title itself points towards something easily lost in a history organised around breakthroughs: people must learn how to handle the work, not only how to describe its theoretical purpose. [5]
A procedure written down can help a learner. It cannot guarantee that the learner notices a contaminated sample or understands an unfamiliar result. Instruction, practice and correction remain necessary even when information is available in print.
This is not proof that formal education is unnecessary. It shows that useful ability can develop through more than one route—and that access to a suitable working environment can matter greatly to someone whose earlier opportunities were limited.
1824: A German Laboratory Had a French Connection
Justus Liebig studied in Paris before his appointment at Giessen in 1824. Alexander von Humboldt helped bring his work to the attention of those able to support his career. This was Alexander, the naturalist and traveller, not his brother Wilhelm, whose educational proposals we have just examined. The University of Giessen’s history places the Paris experience within Liebig’s development. [6]
The distinction between the brothers is small but important. Assigning every contribution to a single famous surname would make the history appear tidier while making it less accurate. Different people supplied different connections.
The journey also complicates a national ownership story. An institution in a German state could grow through experience acquired in France. What later appeared to be a national strength might partly depend on people having been able to learn elsewhere.
A recommendation could open a door, but it could not supply all the resources needed after the appointment. The next stage required somewhere to work, students to teach and an arrangement for paying the continuing costs.
This distinction matters when we later follow refugee appointments. Recognising a person’s promise and providing a sustainable setting for that person’s work are connected acts. They are not one act completed when the appointment letter is signed.
1826–1838: The Teaching Laboratory Grew in Stages
Historian Alan Rocke reconstructs a slower development than the familiar image of a fully formed research school appearing with Liebig’s arrival. A pharmaceutical-chemical institute began as a private venture in 1826. Intensive practical instruction followed. Only in 1835 was the laboratory institute formally brought under the university, with improved financial and material support. Its student body and coordinated research work changed further during the late 1830s. [7]
The sequence matters because each stage solved a different problem. An appointment allowed someone to teach. Practical instruction required access to a workspace. A regular budget could sustain materials and maintenance. More advanced projects required learners prepared to participate in them.
Rocke identifies the later emergence of projects in which several workers contributed to a connected line of investigation. The famous model was therefore an organisational development, not merely the expression of an individual’s intelligence. [7]
In general terms, such an arrangement can make teaching and research reinforce each other. Beginners learn established techniques; more experienced participants investigate unresolved questions; the teacher gains collaborators and trains people capable of working elsewhere. But those benefits depend on supervision and suitable tasks, not simply on increasing the number of students in a room.
The later reputation can conceal the years in which these conditions were incomplete. Keeping those years in the story helps explain what successful institution-building actually required.
1837: A University Appointment Could Still Be Taken Away
In Hanover, King Ernest Augustus’s repudiation of the constitution led seven Göttingen professors to protest. They were dismissed on 14 December 1837; three were ordered to leave the kingdom. The group included the physicist Wilhelm Weber as well as scholars associated with history, law and language. Göttingen’s account records a particular act of resistance, not unanimous defiance by the entire university. [8]
The event demonstrates that scholarly distinction did not put an appointment outside political authority. A government could value an institution and still punish people within it for conduct it regarded as disobedient.
It would be wrong to collapse this constitutional dispute into the Nazi racial and political purge almost a century later. The regimes, purposes and scale were different. Nor does one dismissal episode establish an inevitable path to 1933.
What it establishes is a question that remained open: how much protection would a learned institution provide when a scholar’s judgement conflicted with political demands? The answer could not be read from the quality of its teaching alone.
Scientific accomplishment and the security of those who produced it were separate achievements. An institution could possess the first while finding the second vulnerable.
1862: Land Became an Educational Endowment
In the United States, the Morrill Act of 2 July 1862 provided federal land or land scrip whose proceeds would support colleges. Its principal educational objects included agriculture and the mechanical arts, without excluding scientific and classical studies; military instruction also appeared in its remit. The mechanism concerned an enduring fund and its income, not simply land on which every college would build a campus. [9]
This was another answer to the support problem. A benefactor might finance one institution. A public policy could create a basis for support across many states. Neither mechanism determined the quality of instruction by itself, but each changed what institutions could attempt.
The funding also had a history outside the classroom. The National Archives identifies the removal of Indigenous peoples from lands used to support the programme, through seizures and coerced or violated agreements. The educational benefit cannot honestly be separated from the dispossession underlying it. [9]
These facts do not require us to deny the value of later education. They require us to identify whose resources and losses helped make it possible. A public institution can serve many people while carrying obligations arising from the circumstances of its creation.
1874: Learning Physics Included Learning to Measure
Cambridge’s Cavendish Laboratory opened in 1874 under James Clerk Maxwell. Its history distinguishes earlier experimental activity in the colleges from the new arrangements for university experimental teaching. Under Lord Rayleigh, who succeeded Maxwell in 1879, systematic practical instruction developed further. The building’s opening and the subsequent development of teaching were not the same event. [10]
A calculation and a measurement can disagree for several reasons. The explanation may be wrong, the instrument may be unsuitable, or the procedure may introduce an error. Learning experimental work means becoming able to distinguish those possibilities rather than treating every unexpected reading as a discovery.
A teaching laboratory can make that learning repeatable. It provides instruments and supervision through which successive students can practise, fail and improve. Its importance is not limited to the particular results obtained during an exercise.
This helps explain a form of continuity that national histories often overlook. When trained people move, they can carry habits of measurement and judgement as well as written knowledge. But the next institution still needs equipment and an arrangement through which others can learn those habits.
The contribution lies partly in developing people who can evaluate work not yet imagined when the laboratory was founded.
Back in Baltimore: Borrowing Was Not Copying
Gilman’s 1876 address treated European institutions as varied and still contested. He warned against importing German defects along with strengths. His proposed university drew on more than one example, rather than presenting a completed foreign model ready to be installed in Baltimore. [1]
That approach identifies a problem faced by any institution learning from another. An observed success may depend on arrangements that are not visible in the most admired feature. Copying the laboratory’s shape cannot guarantee the preparation of its students or the stability of its support.
Adaptation requires asking which part performs the useful function. Does a practice improve supervision? Does a fellowship give a young researcher time to learn? Does a shared facility make work possible that separate departments could not sustain? Those questions are more informative than whether the copied institution acquires a prestigious label.
They also prevent a misleading retrospective story in which American research appeared suddenly after European refugees arrived in the 1930s. Receiving institutions had earlier histories of their own. The later arrival could strengthen or redirect work without creating every condition for it from nothing.
1890: Expanding Support Did Not End Segregation
The Second Morrill Act of 1890 provided direct federal support and required states either to show that race did not determine admission or to designate separate colleges for African Americans. The Capitol’s presentation of the subsequent expenditure records explains that segregated states divided the funds between their Black and white institutions. The law extended support while allowing segregation to continue. [11]
A description limited to the number of supported colleges would miss that distinction. Educational provision could grow without giving every prospective student the same institutional choices.
The arrangement also illustrates why the phrase “public investment in talent” is incomplete unless we ask who could use the investment. Funding, admission and the conditions inside the institution are separate questions. A favourable answer to one does not establish a favourable answer to all.
For this chapter, we do not infer an exact comparison of resources from the existence of an expenditure table. The narrower point is already clear from the policy: racial separation was an accepted route for meeting its requirements. Access to knowledge was being organised through political choices, not merely through differences in individual aptitude.
1893: A Gift Could Change Who Was Admitted
The Johns Hopkins School of Medicine opened in 1893. Mary Elizabeth Garrett’s support and the work of the Women’s Medical School Fund helped make admission of women on the same terms as men a condition of the school’s establishment. The library’s documentary exhibition links those conditions with the requirement for substantial prior preparation. This concerned the medical school, not the immediate opening of every university programme to women. [12]
The consequences reached back into preparation. A letter from John Goucher, preserved in the exhibition’s account, described women asking where they could complete the preliminary studies required for admission. An available advanced course could affect what learners sought from institutions earlier in their education. [12]
This provides a small, concrete connection between a rule and behaviour. The evidence records enquiries about preparation; it does not prove that every interested woman subsequently enrolled or became a physician. Preserving that limit makes the example useful rather than merely inspirational.
It also shows that a donor’s influence need not take only the form of naming a building. Conditions attached to support can alter participation. Whether such influence serves a defensible purpose must be examined in the particular case, rather than assumed from the fact that a gift is generous.
1901: Industry Needed Measurements It Could Trust
The United States established the National Bureau of Standards in 1901. Its founding history describes the growing need for reliable measurement and the calibration of instruments, including those used in electrical work. This was a public laboratory serving problems that could not be reduced to the teaching responsibilities of one university. The contemporary name was National Bureau of Standards, not the later name NIST. [14]
Consider the general problem of two manufacturers whose instruments disagree. Each may believe that a component meets an agreed specification. Without a trustworthy basis of comparison, the disagreement can persist even when neither intends to deceive the other.
A shared measurement service does not manufacture every component. It makes it easier for different people to establish whether their work is comparable. That can support cooperation across organisations whose employees never meet.
This expands our definition of scientific capacity. It includes not only discovering an unfamiliar effect but establishing dependable ways to test claims about familiar things. Calibration, reference standards and consistent procedures can be enabling work rather than peripheral administration.
The connection to the main series is direct at the level of the problem, not a claim that this bureau alone caused a later victory: large technical undertakings require the results of different organisations to fit together.
1908: Berlin’s Door Opened Further
Women could become regularly matriculated students at Berlin’s university from 1908. Some had attended earlier as auditors, but that was not the same status. The university’s historical exhibition places the change almost a century after the institution began teaching. An institution associated with freedom of inquiry had not offered equal access throughout its history. [13]
The date concerns Berlin and its Prussian setting; it should not be treated as the date on which every German-speaking university first admitted women. Different jurisdictions and institutions changed at different times.
Nor did matriculation by itself establish equality in appointments or professional careers. It changed one consequential condition: the formal opportunity to enter as a student. Further barriers required further changes.
The broader implication follows without speculation about how many discoveries had been prevented. The abilities visible inside an institution depend partly on its entry rules. Looking at the people already admitted cannot establish that those excluded lacked the ability to contribute.
Our history must therefore follow both the creation of research opportunities and the decisions limiting participation in them. Otherwise, an account of national accomplishment risks mistaking a selected population for the whole society.
1909: A Theologian Proposed Another Kind of Research Institution
In 1909, Adolf Harnack proposed independent research institutes operating alongside universities. The Max Planck Society’s historical account describes his memorandum to Kaiser Wilhelm II as an argument for specialised investigation, particularly in the natural sciences. Harnack connected the increasing demands of industry with the need for deeper chemical and physical understanding. [15]
Harnack was a theologian, librarian and organiser of scholarship. The proposal did not require its author to be the person who would perform every experiment in the institutions he advocated. Identifying an organisational need and carrying out the research were different contributions.
The proposed relationship was supplementary, not a declaration that universities had become useless. Teaching institutions had obligations to students as well as research. A specialised institute could organise resources around a different balance of responsibilities.
Such a division can create opportunities and new difficulties. Concentrating resources may support work otherwise hard to undertake. Separating research from regular teaching may also require deliberate arrangements through which newcomers learn and results circulate.
The institutional question is therefore not which single form must replace all others. It is how different forms can contribute without allowing the connections between discovery, education and practical use to weaken.
11 January 1911: A Society Before Its Laboratories
The Kaiser Wilhelm Society was founded at the Berlin Academy of Arts on 11 January 1911. Its supporters included leading industrial figures and Jewish donors; the Kaiser supplied patronage, and Harnack became president. The society sought to supplement universities and academies while strengthening Germany’s international scientific position. [16]
Its founding date must not be confused with the opening of every institute. The first institutes in Berlin-Dahlem opened in 1912, beyond this chapter’s principal endpoint. An association, its financing and an operating laboratory were successive achievements, not different names for the same event. [16]
The combination of support also complicates any later claim that scientific distinction belonged to an isolated or homogeneous national community. People with different positions in society helped sustain institutions that would acquire a national reputation. The reputation could obscure those contributions if later histories counted only directors and prizes.
At the same time, international prestige was an aim of the organisation, not a reason to assume that every investigation began as preparation for war. Funding, curiosity, industrial concerns and political ambition could intersect without being identical motives.
We have reached a research world containing several kinds of institution. None was sufficient alone. Their usefulness depended partly on whether people, results and support could move between them.
What Had Been Built?
The examples establish more than an expanding collection of buildings. They show arrangements for developing learners, sustaining investigators, making practical methods teachable and allowing different organisations to compare results. Those arrangements made repeated work possible beyond a single person’s private effort.
They also show why no founding date explains everything. A charter can precede a reliable budget. A laboratory can precede a mature teaching programme. An admission rule can change before professional appointments become accessible. Institutional development is a sequence, and its stages do not always advance together.
This chapter’s argument is that scientific capacity grew through these connections. It does not offer a new statistical estimate of how much each institution added to national wealth. The primary documents establish proposals and rules; the historical accounts establish developments whose wider implications we have examined.
It is also an account of selected foundations, not a contest for the first institution ever to conduct research. Earlier traditions and other regions belong to the larger history of knowledge. The cases here were chosen because they help explain the particular communities and receiving institutions encountered in the main series.
Building Capacity Did Not Decide Its Future Use
A well-trained researcher can serve different purposes. So can an institution capable of coordinating difficult work. The ability to investigate does not, by itself, determine whether a government will protect intellectual freedom, whom it will exclude or what it will ask researchers to produce.
That distinction is why this prequel is not a story in which nineteenth-century progress automatically culminates in twentieth-century virtue—or inevitably becomes catastrophe. The institutions created possibilities. Later decisions altered how those possibilities were used.
The main series’ account of the 1933 purge now acquires an additional dimension. What was damaged was not simply a collection of talented individuals. It included relationships whose development had required teaching, travel, support and repeated institutional choices.
Likewise, receiving a displaced scholar later meant more than acquiring a mind. It meant fitting a person’s knowledge into a setting with colleagues, equipment and opportunities of its own. The earlier history helps explain why some destinations could offer those circumstances—and why an appointment without them could remain insecure.
Before the Laboratory Became Part of a War Effort
Gilman’s recruitment problem provides a useful ending as well as a beginning. An institution could not wait indefinitely for its reputation to become great before supporting people who might help make it so. It had to create workable opportunities before their full results were known.
Across the century examined here, support took different forms: a public appointment, practical instruction, an endowment, a conditional gift, a measurement service and a specialised research association. The variety matters. The later scientific world was assembled through more than one model.
The next chapter, Prequel Part 2 — 1856–1913: When Science Entered the Factory, follows knowledge beyond the teaching laboratory and into industrial production. It traces the route from an unexpected dye to a factory, from an electric lamp to a supply network and from a small ammonia experiment to an industrial plant. The people who built those systems created possibilities that governments would later seek to mobilise.
For now, the central point is established: before a state could recruit expertise on a wartime scale, generations had to create places in which people could acquire and develop it. Before a state could destroy a research community, people had to build that community.
The inheritance was not merely a body of answers. It was the capacity to prepare people to ask questions whose answers were still unknown.
Reading order: Main Series, Part 19 — Conclusion → Prequel, Part 1 — How societies built the capacity to discover. Continue to Prequel Part 2 — When Science Entered the Factory. The publication sequence remains main series → prequel → sequel towards the present → final hub. Later chapters and the final hub are not represented as already published.
Sources and Chapter Notes
The principal period is 1809–1911. The 1876 opening is followed by an explicit return to the earlier foundations; the reference to 1912 distinguishes founding an association from opening its institutes. Present-day institutional names identify source custodians, not the names used in every historical year. Primary texts are read as arguments or rules rather than proof of uniform practice. The chapter draws on published research and institutional archives; it claims no new archival discovery and reconstructs no unrecorded dialogue.
[1] Gilman, Daniel Coit (22 February 1876). Inaugural Address, Johns Hopkins University transcription, especially the sections on institutional models, faculty and buildings. The recruitment exchange is Gilman’s reported account, not an independently inspected private letter.
[2] Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1810). On the Internal and External Organization of the Higher Scientific Institutions in Berlin, translated by Thomas Dunlap, German History in Documents and Images. Used for inquiry, state support and appointments; Humboldt’s national-character language is not adopted as an empirical explanation.
[3] Humboldt, Wilhelm von (27 September 1809). The Königsberg and the Lithuanian School Plan, translated primary text, German History Intersections. Educational ideals are distinguished from the actual provision or accessibility of every school.
[4] Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. Architectures of Science: The Universities of Berlin in European Perspective, opening section. Used for teaching beginning in 1810 and the repurposed palace. The text description was consulted; no independent architectural measurement is claimed.
[5] Royal Institution. Michael Faraday, 1791–1867. Institutional biography and collection description, used for apprenticeship, the 1813 appointment and practical instruction. No claim that university education was unnecessary for science generally is inferred from one career.
[6] Justus Liebig University Giessen. Justus Liebig. Institutional account of education in Paris and the 1824 appointment. Alexander and Wilhelm von Humboldt are distinguished.
[7] Rocke, Alan J. (1993). The Quiet Revolution: Hermann Kolbe and the Science of Organic Chemistry, University of California Press, opening chapter, especially printed pages 21–24 in the HTML edition. The gradual development of Liebig’s institution qualifies accounts that project its later success onto 1824.
[8] University of Göttingen. The Göttingen Seven. Historical account of the 1837 protest, dismissals and banishment. The episode is not equated with Nazi persecution or treated as making the later purge inevitable.
[9] U.S. National Archives. Morrill Act, 1862, primary statutory transcription and historical introduction. The funding mechanism, educational remit and Indigenous dispossession are considered together; no aggregated acreage estimate is required for the argument.
[10] University of Cambridge, Department of Physics. Our History. Used for the Cavendish opening in 1874, earlier college experimentation and the subsequent organisation of practical teaching. Later discoveries are not treated as achievements already present at the opening.
[11] U.S. Capitol Visitor Center. Division of Agricultural Fund between White and Colored Schools, 1892–93. Archival exhibit describing the Second Morrill Act and records held by the National Archives. The historical catalogue title is retained; the chapter uses the explanatory text, not numerical estimates derived from the displayed table.
[12] Johns Hopkins University, Sheridan Libraries. Mary Elizabeth Garrett: Chronology and Medical Education and the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. Documentary exhibit on the 1893 opening, conditions of support and preparatory education. Goucher’s enquiries are reported through the exhibit’s account of his 13 March 1896 letter; the original manuscript was not independently inspected.
[13] Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. Frauen in Bewegung, historical exhibition. German text paraphrased in English. Regular matriculation in 1908 is distinguished from earlier attendance as auditors and later professional access.
[14] National Institute of Standards and Technology. Founding Overview, centennial history. Used for the National Bureau of Standards’ 1901 establishment and measurement mission, not contemporary technical standards or present-day institutional arrangements.
[15] Max Planck Society. Adolf Harnack’s Memorandum for a Reform of German Science. Institutional account of the 1909 proposal. The original memorandum is not presented as independently inspected.
[16] Max Planck Society. The Founding of the Kaiser Wilhelm Society and History of the Kaiser Wilhelm Society, 1911–1912 entries. The association’s foundation, patronage and first institute openings are distinguished; the later history of the organisation is not assumed from its founding purposes.