The Man Who Stalked Einstein (22 page)

As his opening gambit, Stark petitioned Frick to appoint him president of Germany’s
Reich Physical and Technical Institute, a title he had long coveted. However, his
troubles in Wuerzburg and the long memory of his ill-advised 1922 publication of
The Current Crisis in German Physics
had caused him to be passed over for the position on two occasions during the preceding
decade. The institute was a central resource for all of German science, doling out
equipment, personnel, and money for research throughout the German university system.
Despite the unanimous opposition of every scientist consulted, Minister Frick appointed
Stark as president in May 1933.

Lenard celebrated Stark’s appointment by writing an opinion article for the politically
sympathetic newspaper
Voelkischer Beobachter
entitled, “A Big Day for Science: Johannes Stark Appointed President of the Reich
Physical and Technical Institute.” Noting that the appointment represented a political
reversal from the norm during the Weimar Republic, he wrote that Stark becoming president

signifies a renunciation of the apparently already inescapable predominance of what
briefly might be called Einsteinian thinking in physics, and it is a move towards
reaffirming the scientist’s old prerogatives: to think independently, guided only
by nature. . . . Stark, one of the remaining untouched examples of this thinking is
himself at the top in such an important post. . . . Not only science may rejoice in
this way. Technology also is done a great service in now having Stark at the head
of the Reich Physical and Technical Institute. For he is not only an outstanding scholar
and accomplished researcher but also, at the same time, a practitioner. . . . In all
likelihood, never before has such a suitable choice been made for president.

The institute’s interim administration had presaged the new president’s expected actions
by firing all Jewish employees, which freed Stark to take immediate steps toward further
Aryanization of its faculty. He reduced the institute’s investment in theoretical
physics, instituted a rigid hierarchical organizational structure with himself as
the chief of the natural sciences, and fired the Jewish members of the institute’s
advisory committee. The subsequent dissolution of the committee gave Stark absolute
authority. He developed plans for a massive expansion to further accrue power for
his domain.

By the time the German Physical Society met in Wuerzburg in September 1933, Lenard
and Stark had leveraged their relationships with the National Socialists so they could
effectively control access to all university appointments, as well as the share of
governmental research funding distributed through Stark’s institute. A presentation
by Stark at the meeting introduced his idea for organizing research in the natural
sciences. Noting that his Reich Physical and Technical Institute already was charged
with communicating with and servicing the needs of all of the other physics departments
in Germany, he proposed that—for the good of the country—the institute extend its
responsibilities:

It is from this central, comprehensive, and leading position that its responsibility
arises to organize physical research for the benefit of both science and industry.
Some of my listeners may well immediately object to the term “organization of scientific
research.” The question might be raised: Can scientific research be organized at all?
Surely, scientific progress is always the independent achievement of individuals.
. . . These statements are certainly correct. But they misinterpret the purpose of
scientific organization.

Stark wished to reorganize science in the Reich by adopting the “Fuehrer principle,”
Already implemented in a number of spheres, the Fuehrer principle emulated the steeply
vertical hierarchy of the highest level of the German government. Stark proposed that
the Reich Physical and Technical Institute be greatly expanded to centralize and manage
resources across the expanse of Germany. Among a long list of responsibilities he
felt the institute should assume were to unite the various institutes and academic
departments of physics throughout Germany; serve as the necessary mediator between
them and as the intended source of ideas or support; greatly increase its size and
scope, with a goal of quadrupling its capacity in order to “exercise its duty to science
and the economy”; serve as a central resource for equipment and manpower for investigations
that were beyond the capabilities of individual departments; and “act as an agent
between physical research and industry.”

He saved the best for nearly the end. Much to the chagrin of his audience, in the
last few minutes of his address to Germany’s physicists, Stark suggested the following:

Furthermore, the Reich Physical and Technical Institute will be involved in the monitoring
of physical literature, since changes must be made to protect German physics within
Germany, as well as to maintain its influence abroad.

After once more invoking the beneficence of Minister Frick and his hope for the support
of Fuehrer Hitler, he asked for his audience’s understanding and assistance:

But I also need your support, gentlemen. You, my colleagues also can assist directly
or indirectly in the organization [and funding decisions] of the German Research Foundation
and in the reorganization of publication in physics. I ask for your cooperation in
the projected organization of physical research for the benefit and honor of the German
people.

Somewhat obtusely, Stark was proposing a central clearinghouse for all research manuscripts
seeking publication in German journals. This was very much along the lines of what
Goebbels had established for the lay press, where the Fuehrer principle was firmly
entrenched. In the end, Stark was not so much asking for his audience’s assent as
informing them of his plans. He quoted a verse of Goethe’s “Erlkoenig”: “. . . and
if you are not willing, I will use force.” To further clarify his intent, he stated,
“The Fuehrer now takes over the responsibility for the Fatherland, I will now take
over the responsibility for physics.”

Although Stark assured those attending that the purpose of his plan was to ensure
freedom of research and publication, his speech provoked considerable unease, especially
on the part of the theoretical physicists. Max von Laue challenged Stark, comparing
his crusade against Einstein and relativity to the Catholic Church’s efforts to silence
Galileo and to ban Copernicus’ view that the earth revolved around the sun. Regardless
of
Deutsche Physik
, and as hard as Stark might try to suppress them, Einstein’s theories were still
correct. An angered Lenard attributed the supportive applause for von Laue to “Jews
and their fellow travelers present.”

While the disrespect of his peers doubtlessly offended him, Stark persisted in his
ambitions. He had further developed his relationships with individuals at the top
levels of government. Like Lenard, he had direct access to Hitler. Hitler gave his
preliminary approval to Stark’s grandiose plans for expanding the Reich Institute.
However, academic infighting and a lack of available moneys eventually proved to be
insuperable barriers, and Stark’s plans never were actualized.

In the spring of 1934, Stark realized the second of his major goals. He was appointed
chair of the German Research Foundation, which had succeeded the Emergency Foundation
as the principal national funding agency for research grants in the natural sciences.
Hitler himself gave the order for the dismissal of Friedrich Schmidt-Ott from the
post, “because the Fuehrer wishes it,” and Schmidt-Ott’s replacement by Stark.

Lenard rejoiced at the news. For all practical purposes, Stark now controlled both
faculty hiring and access to the funds necessary for German faculty to conduct research.
Lenard had Hitler’s ear and was to become the “kingmaker,” the one to decide which
professors were suitable for employment and where they should be assigned. Together,
he and Stark could continue to develop the natural sciences in German universities
according to the principles of
Deutsche Physik
.

Stark used his new power without restraint. As his first action, Stark ceased research
funding for all theoretical work and even restricted what experimental work got funded
to “Aryan” topics. He frequently reversed committee recommendations to fund a project
with a terse “President Stark requests rejection,” with no further explanation.

For the next several years, as
Deutsche Physik
held sway, Lenard and Stark were riding high. In December 1935, when the two colleagues
were enjoying their greatest influence, Stark was offered the chance to speak about
how far the tenets of
Deutsche Physik
had taken Germany. On the occasion of the University of Heidelberg renaming its Institute
of Physics the Philipp Lenard Institute, Stark revived the face of villainy that had
weathered so many of his speeches to personalize his fears for German society. Stark
took the opportunity to revile Albert Einstein and, by proxy, Jewish science:

A large group of people, primarily in physics, believe that to be able to arrive at
results, or at least to come up with impressive articles . . . they must produce a
mathematically lavishly dressed theory. . . . This type of approach is consistent
with the Jewish peculiarity of making their own opinion, their own desires and advantage
into the measure of all things and thus of scientific knowledge, as well.

Stark’s remarks to this point were covering familiar ground. Well into his address,
Stark decided to take a chance by naming possible new targets for his future attentions:

Jewish physics . . . has been practiced and propagated by Jews, as well as their non-Jewish
students and emulators, which logically have also found its high priest in a Jew,
Einstein. Jewish propaganda has tried to portray him as the greatest scientist of
all time. However, Einstein’s relativity theories were basically nothing more than
an accumulation of artificial formulas based on arbitrary definitions. . . The sensation
and propaganda of the Einsteinian relativity theory was followed by Heisenberg’s matrix
theory and Schroedinger’s so-called wave mechanics, one as impenetrable and formalistic
as the next . . . however, it has contributed no important new knowledge. This could
not have been otherwise, since its point of departure, formalistic human opinion,
was false.

Except for the younger timbre to his voice, an observer listening with eyes closed
would be forgiven for mistaking Stark for Lenard. The day fairly bristled with the
rhetoric of
Deutsche Physik
. There was a self-congratulatory air that must have given Stark a special level of
confidence. He lauded Lenard for publicly facing down Einstein in the
Einsteindebatte
at Bad Nauheim and spoke of Einstein’s flight from his homeland. He spoke out against
several respected scientists whom he called Einstein’s “German friends and supporters”
and won encouraging cheers from his sympathetic audience by accusing them of continuing
to act “in his spirit.”

Stark pointed out that Einstein’s main supporter, Planck, was still at the head of
the Kaiser Wilhelm Society; his expounder and friend, Max von Laue, was still permitted
to act as referee in physics at the Berlin Academy of Sciences; and the theoretical
formalist, Heisenberg, whom he depicted as the essence of Einstein’s spirit, was supposed
to be honored with a professorship. In view of these regrettable circumstances, which
contradicted the National Socialist spirit, Lenard’s struggle against Einsteinianism
should have been a warning. The responsible official advisors at the Culture Ministry
had erred. It would have been much better if they had consulted with Philipp Lenard
before filling professorial chairs in physics, including those in theoretical physics.

By this time, Planck and von Laue were so well established as to be untouchable, but
Heisenberg was not. In designating Heisenberg the essence of Einstein’s spirit, and
later calling him a “white Jew,” Stark was telegraphing a battle that had already
begun. In choosing Heisenberg as his foe, Stark unknowingly had imperiled both his
own standing among the National Socialists and the continued influence of
Deutsche Physik
.

At 10:45 on the morning of May 16, 1933, Max Planck’s driver helped the dean of German
physicists from the backseat of his car. Planck stepped onto the curb of Berlin’s
Wilhelmstrasse, running alongside the Chancellery. Despite a cold, gusting wind tickling
his memory of what had been a harsh winter, Planck stood motionless for a brief moment,
surveying his surroundings. The Chancellery was an impressive Rococo palace that had
served as the seat of German government since 1875. Planck once thought its graceful
symmetry a harmonious example of Prussian architecture. That was no longer the case,
not since the Weimar government had erected the crass, modern south wing in 1930.
It was a stain that was impossible to ignore. For better or worse, change was inevitable.

As president of the Kaiser Wilhelm Society, Germany’s most prestigious scientific
organization, Planck had sought the opportunity to speak with Adolf Hitler, the newly
appointed Chancellor, “on the current situation and future plans of the Society.”
He had made certain to arrive at the Chancellor’s offices a few minutes early so he
could settle his nerves and think about several issues that had arisen since Hitler
had taken office. Chief among his concerns was a new law that mandated the dismissal
of “non-Aryan civil servants.” The word “non-Aryan” was a euphemism for “Jewish.”
Since all faculty and staff of German universities were classified as “civil servants,”
the law threatened the continued employment of all Jewish professors. Indiscriminate
enforcement of the new law would result in the dismissal of many of Germany’s elite
physicists, chemists, and mathematicians and irreparably hinder the progress of German
science for years to come. This would be Planck’s only chance to reason with Hitler.
He would need to keep his wits about him if he were to have any chance of getting
through to him.