Scientists and their cultural heritage: Knowledge, politics and ambivalent relationships

Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 44 (2013) 643–651

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Scientists and their cultural heritage: Knowledge, politics and ambivalent relationships Soraya Boudia a, Sébastien Soubiran b a b

University of Paris-Est Marne la Vallée, LATTS – Université Paris-Est, Bat C, Bois-de-l’Etang, Champs-sur-Marne, F-77454 Marne-la-Vallée cedex 2, France University of Strasbourg, Jardin des Sciences, 12 rue de l’Université, 67000 Strasbourg, France

a r t i c l e

i n f o

Keywords: French scientific heritage management Academic heritage Scientific culture Scientific community identity Public of science Science communication

a b s t r a c t For many years, scientific heritage has received attention from multiple actors from different spheres of activity—archives, museums, scientific institutions. Beyond the heterogeneity revealed when examining the place of scientific heritage in different places, an authentic patrimonial configuration emerges and takes the form of a nebula of claims and of accomplishments that result, in some cases, in institutional and political recognition at the national level, in various country all around the world. At the international level, the creation of the international committee dedicated to University Museums and Collections (UMAC) within the International Council of Museums (ICOM) certainly testified from this raising interest in academic heritage and the existence of a specific community concern with it. This article presents numerous initiatives for the preservation of scientific heritage in France, with the goal of analysing the relationship scientists have with their heritage. We argue that scientific communities have a special relationship with heritage, which is characterized by a number of ambiguities. We show that such ambivalences allow analysis of identity, discipline, professional, and social issues operative in defining heritage and being redefined by heritage. To explore these dimensions, we have chosen to present three different case studies. The first traces the institutional uses of heritage by a scientific institution, the Commissariat à l’énergie atomique (CEA), through the transformation of the first French atomic reactor (ZOE) into a museum. The second example describes the initiatives of French astronomers from the mid-1990s to construct a national programme for the protection of astronomy heritage. Lastly, we recount the case of universities, with the example of the Université de Strasbourg. Ó 2013 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

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Since 1980 the notion of heritage has been the subject of countless analyses and comments, evidenced in the abundant literature on its origins, semantic mutations, actors, and shifting social meanings, as well as its role as a revealer of our society’s relationships with the past and with our collective memory.1 This ‘‘heritage fever’’ is also found in scientific communities and institutions where, for several years now, a growing emphasis on the importance of heritage has been witnessed. There, heritage is a focus of attention by multiple actors belonging to various spheres of activity, including archives, museums, and scientific institutions. In the name of the urgency of safeguarding it, these actors engage in a series of actions concerning the identification, preservation, inventorying, and promotion of our heritage. Along 1

with this activity we witness the development of reflection of a professional nature, to design comprehensive policies for safeguarding the material and intangible heritage, its management and the modalities by which it is made public. Reflection has likewise developed within the International Council of Museums (ICOM), which leads to the creation of a new international committee in 2002 dedicated to university museums and collections (UMAC). At the time the UMAC was created, another network, Universeum, was structured around the same project on a European scale. Conference proceedings, the creation of national and international databases, and annual symposiums facilitated the structuring of a heterogeneous community of heritage professionals, museums, researchers, and academics. The recommendations

E-mail addresses: [email protected] (S. Boudia), [email protected] (S. Soubiran) Poulot (2006), Hartog (2003), Hunter (1996), Lowenthal (1998) and Arnold et al. (1996).

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published in January 2011 by the Wissenschaftsrat, the German national scientific council, show that the creation of a network bolstered by structuring projects can lead to recognition by national authorities.2 Within this movement, scientific heritage has an important place. In recent years, many scientific institutions in France (including universities) have created their own archive departments, in many cases with the help of curators of the French national archives.3 The question of objects, instruments and place is one of the core issues examined by several think-tanks and groups devoted to safeguarding heritage, under programmes funded by the French ministries of research and of culture.4 In Europe, this activity, which receives the support of various European institutions, including the European Commission and the Council of Europe, promotes the universities’ heritage as a significant part of the European cultural heritage, and is emerging in various academic and professional fields. Scientific museums and collections are one of the main focuses of action and reflection in connection with university heritage.5 A quick look at the modes of management and promotion of university collections implemented in France shows a wide diversity. This is of course related not only to the variety of collections but also to their mobilization or otherwise in a research or teaching dynamic. Such recognition of the importance of heritage and museums is accompanied by actions on the ground aimed at preserving and making them public, and at promoting academic research designed to further understanding on them, to describe them and to draw up a typology. Together these actions contribute to the development of our knowledge on what the heritage of universities encompasses. This article aims to analyse the relationship scientists have with their heritage and to explore the issues and challenges that prompt the active engagement of scientists and heritage professionals. To that end, our analysis is based on three different, albeit complementary, case studies in the French context. We first examine a national institution, the French atomic agency (Commissariat à l’energie atomique—CEA),6 with regard to its activities of conservation and promotion of the first French nuclear reactor, Zoé. Few sites combine as many symbols of French post-WWII science. The second example concerns the inventorying of the French astronomical heritage. This process, undertaken on a national scale, involved numerous actors from the scientific and heritage communities. It was supported and funded by the ministry of research and higher education and the ministry of culture, which marked a form of recognition by the state of this ambitious action in the scientific heritage field. It exposed a number of tensions within the astronomical observatories in which it was deployed. Our third example is the University of Strasbourg. This example enables us to analyze the rapid growth of university heritage in the late 1990s, and to grasp more fully the range of actors, issues, and time-scales concerned. With these three case studies, we would like to highlight two aspects, corresponding to our two main objectives. The first is that, apart from the diversity of local situations, the growth in interest and heritage policies can be grasped fully only in relation to the sea changes that scientific disciplines and institutions have undergone since the 1980s. These changes are described in several studies on transformations in knowledge production and legitimization.7 The authors of these studies point out that relations between 2

scientific institutions, states and markets have been undergoing significant changes linked to the rapid growth of criticism of the technosciences, and the power of civil society, as well as to the increasing role of the market in all scientific activity. These changes affect the ways in which scientific institutions publicly legitimize their activities. This is the background against which the upsurge of interest in heritage is set. As we will see, using heritage as a form of cultural action stems from the wish to make the social trajectories of a professional group intelligible at times when it is undergoing change, or even at times of institutional, disciplinary and identity crisis. From this point of view, the use and making public of heritage seem to reveal profound changes, the outcomes of which tend to challenge the role of higher education and research institutions, the redistribution of the hierarchy of disciplines, and the definition of new criteria to legitimize socially a form of knowledge, along with the need to respond to the increasingly insistent demands of the media. The second important objective of this article is that it highlights the ambiguous relationships that scientists often maintain with the past. Despite scientific communities’ and institutions’ keen interest in heritage8, and the gradual translation of this interest into measures to preserve and promote it, we argue that theirs is a particular relationship with heritage, characterized by a number of ambiguities and tensions. We think that such ambivalences are worth studying and that they allow analysis of the identity, discipline, professionalism, and social issues operative in the defining of heritage and the fact of being redefined by heritage. We would therefore like to analyze the attitudes that seem to oscillate between a certain attraction and a repulsion that is expressed on specific occasions, more or less patently. By exploring these two dimensions—(i) the link between the rise of heritage and changes in the social status of scientific communities and institutions, and (ii) those communities and institutions’ ambiguous relations to their heritage—we would like to show the advantages of developing research on scientific heritage, which is not limited to an engagement to safeguard heritage or to its use simply as a historical source for academic works. 1. Case 1: a nuclear reactor as a historical monument In 1976 the CEA decided to terminate the functioning of the first French nuclear reactor, Zoé. The history of this nuclear reactor is at once scientific, institutional, and political. Zoé was presented as the outcome of the research of a group of physicists led by Frédéric Joliot-Curie, and as the first French technological and scientific achievement of the post-WWII period. It symbolized France’s entry into the nuclear era and was a sign that this nation could assert itself among the world’s great nations. Like any reactor that has generated radioactive sources, it had to be cleaned and dismantled so that the irradiated material could be treated with the appropriate techniques. These operations in the reactor and the building lasted for two years. The plan was to dismantle the entire infrastructure, once it had been decontaminated. ‘‘At the time, on the floor plans, there was nothing on Zoé’s position, just a nice lawn.’’9 Yet both were preserved in their original state. The director of Zoé and the Head of Communication and Visits lobbied the CEA directors to save the reactor from destruction. No real project seems however to have accompanied this first act of

http://www.wissenschaftsrat.de/download/archiv/10464-11-11_engl.pdf (Accessed 12 July 2012). Charmasson (1999) and Welfelé (1999). 4 Lourenço (2005), Maison (2004), Roth (2000) and Sanz & Bergan (2007). 5 The history of museums and history of scientific communities are deeply connected. For an overview see Alberti (2005). 6 This study draws on interviews with various senior officials at the documentary section, and on the archived documents that they conscientiously preserved and made available to me. 7 Pestre (2003, 2006) and Bonaccorsi, Daraio, & Geuna (2010). 8 Abir-Am & Elliot (1999). 9 Interview with Claude Legendre, head of communication at the Fontenay Centre until 1990, 25 February 2003. 3

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conservation of a historical building belonging to the CEA. The fact of safeguarding it seemed to correspond primarily to the wish of the Fontenay staff to preserve a memory, as Zoé was an integral part of their history. Behind the big names and the noteworthy historical events, Zoé characterized above all the success of a collective effort. The facility employed people from diverse backgrounds and research fields. Many of them had started and ended their careers at the centre or elsewhere at the CEA, and the institution’s development was largely owing to them. Although the reactor block, the control room and some instruments were maintained, a lot of space remained that could be devoted to science in the making. A new research group, the corrosion department, was housed in the building until 1983, when the history of the centre and of the reactor were gradually mobilized to prepare the commemoration of the CEA’s 40th anniversary. This commemoration relied on the new department of archives and history, created in 1982, whose members included historians, archivists and scientists.10 This mobilization had two remarkable effects. First, it led to the signing of an agreement with the directors of the Archives de France in 1985, authorizing the CEA to benefit from total autonomy in the management of its archives,11 provided that it created a service to guarantee their preservation, management, and availability to the public. This was the first initiative of this kind concerning a public scientific institution. It was to be followed by others. In 1984 the director of the Fontenay-aux-Roses centre took the decision to turn Zoé into a museum. He asked two architects to carry out a study on the renovation of the building and the creation of a museum. On 3 December 1986 the Association des amis du Musée de l’atome (‘‘Friends of the Nuclear Museum’’) was founded on the initiative of the then deputy-director of the centre, a chemist who had worked on Zoé from its inception in 1948. The association’s management committee consisted of the director and deputy-director of the centre acting as, respectively, the chairman and vice-chairman of the association, and the head of communication acting as the secretary of the association. The name of the museum, Musée de l’atome, is significant. It reflected the fact that the main idea was not so much to conserve Zoé’s heritage, as to consecrate a scientific concept and the research activity that was conducted in that place. Musée Zoé was not meaningful enough for the public, commented the Head of Communication at the time.12 In 1988 the CEA agreed to earmark funds for the renovation of the building. The entire budget went into rehabilitating it. The work lasted two years: the building was renovated, the roof and floors redone, the annexes were converted to receive the public (conference room, sanitary facilities), and the reactor was repainted in its original ‘‘boat’’ colours, at the request of the head of communication (there were many naval officers in the organization). No funds were left for the creation of a museum, and no expert seems to have been approached in this regard. As a result, in 1990 the CEA had no museum, only a rehabilitated building in which conferences and other scientific or communication events could be held. Zoé appeared above all as proof that a nuclear site could be rehabilitated and open to the general public. In fact, this symbol of total control of the dangers linked to radioactivity was important for the CEA, as the end of the 1980s 10

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was a turning point for the French nuclear industry. The Chernobyl accident in April 1986 had triggered profound changes in public opinion,13 compelling the authorities to develop new expertise and public communication tools. The CEA was no longer in a position to monopolize discourse in the public arena; other institutions were also seeking to express themselves independently, with the concern not to lose credibility, but rather to gain legitimacy.14 Additionally, the state cut back on its investments in large research facilities.15 The implications of making the CEA public were thus evolving: in addition to informing and reassuring, it had become necessary to defend the institution’s usefulness. In the early 1990s the Fontenay Centre’s communication service was reorganized and expanded. The head of communication retired and was replaced by a team: two people responsible for public relations (one for the general public, the other for industry) and a third person responsible for visits. In 1994 the new director of the centre gave Zoé new legitimacy: this Mecca of French science was to serve as a vehicle for a vast communication campaign initiated in the early 1990s and embodied in the CEA’s 50th anniversary in 1995, that of the Fontenay site in 1996, and that of the reactor in 1998. Contrary to the action carried out for the 40th anniversary, the spirit of this event was no longer one of celebration. Zoé had become a hub of communication targeting the largest public possible. The director of the centre seemed to see Zoé as an effective tool for promoting nuclear energy in general and the Fontenay centre in particular. The major communication campaigns were entrusted to a scientist (earth sciences) who was working at the CEA on nuclear waste. Particular attention was paid to the treatment of waste and nuclear safety. Old instruments were replaced by models of modern equipment. The historical aspect, the leading figures, the heritage: everything served to support a discourse oriented towards the present and the future. The nuclear museum, a symbol of the changes under way, was renamed Espace Zoé (‘‘Zoé space’’). The intention was to create ‘‘events’’ around Zoé. If, as the project emphasized, ‘‘Zoé was currently a place of memory,’’ and had ‘‘to remain the testimony of scientific, political, and industrial adventure spawned by the ideals of a handful of people,’’ the purpose of the site was also to ‘‘represent what the CEA is, and to illustrate the full potential of nuclear power, a young industry that is actually still in its first generation.’’16 The aim was thus to ‘‘transform the site into a new exhibition and communication centre, and to promote and highlight the value of objects of the scientific heritage, in addition to the challenges of nuclear power.’’17 The 50th anniversary of the reactor, coupled with ‘‘heritage days,’’ afforded a unique opportunity to launch a large-scale communication campaign. Thousands of visitors enthusiastically visited Zoé during the heritage days in 1998. No means were spared to lend visibility to the operation. The national radio station France Culture broadcast a special programme on Zoé,18 which received a major prize, the SCAM, for the best sound documentary of the year in 1999. Zoé thus appeared to be an ideal object for promoting the CEA/ Fontenay-aux-Roses: proof of perfect mastery of the dangers of radioactivity; an effective educational tool to inform the layperson; a symbol of the innovativeness of research carried out at Fontenay in the tradition of founding fathers as renowned as Irène and

Interview with Odile Frossard, archivist at the CEA, 30 October 2003. There are two forms of management autonomy, partial and total:- partial when the management applies only to current and intermediate archives;- total when the management also applies to historical archives. 12 Interview with Claude Legendre, head of communication at the Fontenay Centre until 1990, 25 February 2003. 13 Chateauraynaud & Torny (1999). 14 Boudia, Rasmussen, & Soubiran (2009). 15 Krige (1993). 16 ’’Le réaménagement de Zoé, pourquoi?’’ (‘‘Converting Zoé: why?’’), project by Marie-Claude Maghontier (1997). 17 Ibid. 18 ’’Zoé, the nuclear reactor’’, programme broadcast on France Culture Radio on 3 February 1998, in the series Le temps des sciences. 11

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Frédéric Joliot-Curie. These were the new objectives in the 1990s that endowed Zoé with heritage value and that legitimized its preservation in the eyes of the heads of the CEA. These objectives were underpinned by contingent needs, which were likely to change with time and therefore offered no guarantee of Zoé’s long-term preservation. In fact it seemed that the very idea of such preservation triggered multiple resistances, judging by the CEA’s reluctance to classify Zoé as a historical monument. Two counter-arguments were put forward by the CEA that highlight the administrative complications generated by classification of this nature: the addition of a new supervisory authority, the ministry of culture, in addition to the ministries of defence, of research, and of the environment; and the establishment of a 500 metre perimeter of protection around all classified buildings. Heated negotiations resulted in an agreement in 2002 between the Ile-de-France Direction régionale des affaires culturelles and the CEA, guaranteeing the preservation of the site, provided that the perimeter of protection did not apply. Although Zoé’s classification provided a guarantee of its preservation, it was not part of a clearly affirmed policy by the CEA to safeguard its heritage. The institution’s attitude in this respect was actually ambiguous. While it celebrated the goal of preserving the scientific heritage, the idea that the past represented a risk of ‘‘death’’ and that science was living only when it was turned towards the future remained prevalent. Preserving Zoé by maintaining a scientific activity around and within the building made it possible to avoid setting it definitively in the past. This example thus highlights two characteristics of the symbolic construction of a scientific institution as heritage. First, it raises the question of the compatibility between, on the one hand, a historical heritage space and, on the other, a scientific centre that is still in operation, whose research remains the absolute priority, and where the necessary scientific turnover is accompanied by a growing need for space. How can the promotion of heritage compete with the need for space and innovation associated with a developing research centre? In the case of the CEA, the urgent need to communicate in an environment that had become hostile was crucial. Second, this case shows scientists’ reluctance to allow other, non-scientific actors, that is, heritage professionals, to take over the administration or promotion of their heritage. These activities that reflect the wish to control the process of preservation or promotion of the scientific heritage are likewise found in the case of the scientific instrument heritage, as we are now going to see in our second example. 2. Case 2: safeguarding and promoting the astronomical heritage The birth of widespread interest in heritage in the field of astronomy has been concomitant with changes in the discipline. From the 1960s, as spatial astronomy surged ahead and the first generation of large computers appeared, nineteenth-century astronomical instruments which had become obsolete were dispersed, dismantled, destroyed and, often, forgotten. Interest in this heritage was born only later, while French earth observation astronomy was increasingly rivalled by spatial astronomy and by the construction of very large instruments by international consortiums. From the 1990s, astronomers came together to discuss questions on the relationship between astronomy and society. These gatherings stemmed from a wish, in certain scientific groups, to share their

knowledge more widely and to infuse new meaning into their activity by redefining their social role. This was the context in which questions were raised on the situation and future of the astronomical heritage, and of its use in a public mediation of astronomy. Spawned by the initiative of a few astronomers, including Françoise Leguet-Tully in 1992, the project to survey the content and situation of the astronomical heritage was funded by the Mission musées of the ministry of research, with the support of the Institut National des sciences de l’univers of the Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS) Le Guet Tully and Davoigneau (2005). In 1993, following this survey, the Mission musées created a think-tank on the archives and instruments of the astronomical heritage. The scope of the group’s work rapidly broadened, informally, to include a panel of specialists.19 After a period of exploration and consultation, this ‘‘astronomical heritage group’’ proposed the launching of a pilot operation to draw up an inventory of the French astronomical heritage. It considered that the basic research necessary for drawing up inventory sheets would serve as a basis for recommendations on the conservation, safeguarding, and possibly the restoration of instruments and objects. Finally, it considered that this same research would then constitute basic material indispensable for the promotion of this heritage and for popularization and education in the field of astronomy. In discussions on the methodologies to use, and following a proposal by Bruno Jacomy, then deputydirector of the Musée des arts et métiers, relations were forged with Claudine Cartier, in charge of the inventory of industrial heritage at the ministry of culture. The similarity between technical objects and large scientific instruments, on the one hand, and industrial machines and tools, on the other, explains this approach. It was therefore decided to adopt the methodology of the ministry of culture’s inventory, which was relatively new in the field of science and technology. An inter-ministerial agreement was signed in 1995. The first phase of the inventory could then begin. Subsequent to a change of government in 1997, the operation lost momentum, but in 1999 a second inter-ministerial agreement was signed and the inventory could be resumed. In these operations, two people played a key part: Jean Davoigneau of the ministry of culture, and Françoise Leguet-Tully of the Nice-Provence-Côte-d’Azur observatory. During the experimental phase of the inventory—which concerned 200 objects—the instruments of the observatories at Marseilles, Nice (partially), and Meudon, some of those of the Paris observatory (50), and those of the Bureau des longitudes were inventoried. The study and inventory of a few instruments of the Musée des arts et métiers and of the Cité des sciences et de l’industrie served to complete this first sampling. In the second phase, started in 2000, the instruments of the operational observatories of Strasbourg (180) and of Bordeaux (90), as well as those of the former observatories of Montpellier (40) and of Hendaye (40) were inventoried. This inventory was then extended to the sites of Besançon, Lyon, Saint-Michel-de-Haute-Provence, and then Toulouse/Pic du Midi, Lille and Nancy.20 The inventory of the astronomical heritage contributed decisively to the appearance of scientific instruments in the culture ministry’s inventory objectives. Numerous difficulties were encountered in having the existence of this heritage acknowledged by authorities that until then had generally kept themselves removed from such issues. In these operations, the networks of the ministry of culture proved to be invaluable. The case of Strasbourg is a perfect illustration. The inventorying of this city’s observatory, engaged in collaboration with the Mission de culture scientifique of

19 List of members who participated more or less regularly in the heritage group’s reflection between 1993 and 1997: Louis André, Paolo Brenni, James Caplan, Claudine Cartier, Thérèse Charmasson, Nandou Daliès, Suzanne Débarbat, Jérôme de la Noë, Benoit Dufournier, Jean Eisenstaedt, Gérard Emptoz, Ginette Gablot, Bruno Jacomy, Claudine Laurent, Colette Lénard, Gérard Lelièvre, Denise Ogilvie, Jacqueline Pochon, Emmanuel Poulle, Marie-Louise Prevot, Alain Roux, and Jean-Dominique Wahiche. 20 Most of the inventory sheets of equipment and buildings were put into the French culture ministry’s databases, Mérimée & Palissy. http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/ inventai/patrimoine/ (Accessed on 12th July 2012).

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the Université Louis Pasteur (now the Jardin des sciences of the University of Strasbourg) took place under good conditions owing to the involvement of the Service régional de l’inventaire (the regional inventory service) which, apart from making available its photographic services, co-financed the inventory. This type of situation is conducive to dialogue between research institutions and heritage and culture professionals—each of which generally knows very little about the other’s world. The inventory process was then extended to all the University of Strasbourg’s collections of scientific instruments. It thus encouraged a policy of preservation and promotion of this heritage.21 This approach also led to the labelisation as historical monument of many scientific objects of the astronomical observatories or the buildings in which they were housed. In this respect, the astronomers proved to be less reluctant than the scientists of the CEA. The question of the broad public use of this heritage nevertheless remained unanswered. While relative consensus was reached on the advantages of preserving old objects, tensions arose at certain sites as soon as the first operations were launched to make the heritage public. The case of the Nice observatory is a fine illustration of these tensions. The Observatoire de Nice is situated on a plot of 35 hectares at the summit of Mont-Gros, a hill overlooking the city of Nice. In the grounds, surrounded by walls, we find an architecturally unique set of buildings designed by Charles Garnier (1825–1898), architect of the Opéra Garnier in Paris. Originally these buildings consisted of instrument rooms on the crest of the hill, library, housing, and annexes lower down.22 The main building housed the large telescope—the largest in the world when it was inaugurated in 1887. The building made in freestone was designed by Garnier, while the 24-metre metallic dome was designed by Gustave Eiffel (1832–1923). Intended to house the world’s largest telescope, this dome23 was naturally the biggest in the world when it was built. Weighing roughly 100 tonnes, it was designed to move easily so that the astronomer could quickly and without too much effort direct the hatch in the direction chosen for his or her observations. It was equipped with a very ingenious floating system that Eiffel had initially invented for a Parisian dome project that was never carried through.24 During the 20th century, various buildings completed the original facilities. Two new domes were built in the 1930s to house new instruments, but other buildings remained more or less abandoned due to obsolete equipment. In the 1960s the observatory benefited from the development of research, and a number of young astronomers arrived from Paris. Gradually the original homes for staff were transformed into offices, certain instruments of the 19th century were restored and others dismantled, and new buildings were built (restaurant, administrative building, computing centre). The Observatoire de Nice is thus distinguished by its exceptional position overlooking the city, offering a magnificent view, and visible from the city. Moreover, its large surface area on France’s most popular coastline gives it undeniable real estate value, which can generate a temptation to sell it. This set of assets, reinforced by the presence of an architectural heritage associated with great names (Garnier and Eiffel) and a significant instrumental heritage, has everything it takes to facilitate a large opening to the public. Yet from the outset the question arose of how to show this heritage while taking into account the key concern of exhibiting current 21

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knowledge in astronomy. This concern became a source of latent conflict between the majority of astronomers and the heritage and culture professionals. Clear opposition was expressed by the astronomers, which can be summed up in the following sentence: ‘‘you’re not talking about us.’’ This ‘‘us’’ is in no way a narcissistic claim, but a constant concern to highlight current scientific production and perspectives for the future of astronomy. It is a key concern for these astronomers, like the majority of scientists, to represent the dynamism of their production and to convince a broad public of their importance. They usually think that the presentation of Garnier or Eiffel’s architecture, or of the history of former instruments, still gives too much of a ‘‘cultural’’ tone at odds with the public’s perception of current science. 3. When a university is concerned about its heritage One of the ways in which the University of Strasbourg has managed its heritage over the past thirty years is very instructive with regard to the first two examples above and to their evolution over time. The University of Strasbourg has twelve large scientific collections: mineralogy, zoology, botany, palaeontology, ethnology, Egyptology, plaster casts, normal and pathological anatomy, and scientific instruments (especially pertaining to astronomy, physics, seismology, earth magnetism, and medicine).25 These collections are above all educational tools for teaching or are used for research. The zoological and mineralogical collections come from the natural history collection that the famous eighteenth-century naturalist, Jean Hermann, built up from 1762 until his death in 1800. Herman also contributed to the growth of the botanical gardens.26 Their history, and that of the premises on which they are housed today, remains profoundly marked by the university’s German past; the Kaiser Wilhelm Universität was founded between 1871 and 1918, when the Germans annexed Alsace and Moselle after the French defeat in 1870. Most of the collections have survived to this day, despite two world wars. Some are conserved in museum institutions open to the public. These museum were built as places for the production of knowledge in the late nineteenth century: the botanical gardens, the mineralogy museum, and the zoology museum (comanaged with the city of Strasbourg). During the 1980s and 1990s, two new museum structures appeared within the Université Louis Pasteur, Strasbourg,27 for the collection and safeguarding of scientific instruments in a historical building devoted to scientific research: a museum space in the basement of the historical building of the astronomical observatory connected to a planetarium in 1987, and the seismology and earth magnetism museum set up in the former seismology station and opened to the public in 1996. While a ten-year interval separated the creation of these two spaces, they were driven by the same dynamics that had existed since the early 1980s, for promoting the heritage within scientific communities. These dynamics can be grouped into three sets, according to the ground in which they drew their resources and legitimization.28 The development of a policy devoted to heritage at the University of Strasbourg initially drew on the commemorations movement in France from the 1980s. The wish to foster the memory

Soubiran (2009a, 2009b), Boura, Issenmann, & Soubiran (2009, 2011) and Boura, Burgmeier, Issenmann, & Pottecher (2012). Garnier (1892). 23 Today this dome is still the largest in Europe. 24 Abandoned during the restauration work undertaken in the 1960s, Eiffel’s system effectively functioned from 1887 until the death in 1917 of the instrument’s first owner. After that it was used very little, due to a lack of staff able to operate it, and rust set in. 25 http://collections.u-strasbg.fr/ (Accessed on 12 July 2012). See also: Collin (2011), Boura, Issenmann, & Soubiran (2009) and Soubiran (2008, 2009a, 2009b, 2010). 26 Wandhammer & Filliquet (2008), Rusque (2007). 27 Between 1970 and 2009, the University of Strasbourg was divided into three independent universities. The mainly scientific one was called the Université Louis Pasteur, Strasbourg 1. 28 Soubiran (2009a, 2009b). 22

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of the past and its public staging culminated in a wave of commemorations orchestrated in the 1980s and 1990s by research or higher education organizations. These commemorations transcended the field of community commemoration as they had existed previously, and emphasized a need to open scientific institutions to other social worlds.29 In Strasbourg, the 1980s and 1990s were thus marked by the centenaries of several institutes founded by the Germans in the late nineteenth century.30 The year 1981 witnessed the 100th anniversary of the astronomical observatory and the creation of a planetarium, while 1992 marked the anniversary of the Institut de sismologie, the date of the creation of the seismology and earth magnetism museum before its opening in 1996.31 This heritage approach was often the result of the initiatives of individuals or groups of individuals, and remained above all an internal affair based on the action of alumni. While there may have been certain actions made public, either during an exhibition,32 or more lastingly in a museum, these initiatives remained the doing of scientists.33 In Strasbourg a group of scientists formed an association in 1982, the Association pour un Musée de Science à Strasbourg—AMUSS (Association For the Science Museum of Strasbourg) to enhance their visibility and safeguard the heritage in a more organized and official character.34 Their aim was to ‘‘promote and animate the existing museums and scientific collections, and to create a museum for science and techniques in Strasbourg.’’35 A second dynamic accompanied these heritage approaches. It stemmed essentially from the wish to promote scientific knowledge and disseminate it in the general public. The 1980s and 1990s were consequently marked by the development of a scientific, technical, and industrial culture. The framework law of 1982 for research and technological development, for example, established scientific dissemination as one of the researcher’s missions, and a law in 1984 added the dissemination of culture and of scientific and technical information to the universities’ mission.36 Heritage and scientific mediation were mutually reinforcing in legitimizing one another and seeking funds from the state. Yet this joint development seemed to have limits: scientific mediation tended to be distinguished from heritage in so far as it promoted an innovative, attractive and dynamic science. This can be witnessed in the various forms of theJardin des sciences project since the emergence of the concept in the late 1980s. Originally this project ‘‘aimed to create a place of communication, dialogue and exchange between the university community and the public at large.’’37 The three main missions were: the dissemination and promotion of scientific and technical culture; the conservation, ‘‘promotion and development of Strasbourg’s and its region’s scientific and technical heritage’’; and finally research in the history of science, associated with the creation of a ‘‘regional conservatory for scientific archives.’’38 Developed in the form of a non-profit organization, this project was never really implemented. New life was breathed into the Jardin des sciences project in the late 1990s when Jean-Yves Mérindol was president of the

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

university (1997–2002). A study was commissioned from the Cité des sciences et de l’industrie, which issued a set of guidelines in August 1999. This time, while the idea was still to ‘‘create a synergy between the scientific and technical culture facilities brought together around the university garden,’’ the Jardin des science was to be materialized as a flagship on the site of the zoological institute in which the zoology museum was housed. This institute was to be converted to host ‘‘a renewed museographical concept, on the theme ‘from inertia to the living,’ based on the collections, mainly, but also integrating spaces for debate and presentations on science in action. The intention was to allow for questions and reflection on the consequences of discoveries under way, and on their cultural and social influences.’’39 The heritage, that is, the museums, were reviewed, altered, renovated, even rebuilt to ‘‘equip Strasbourg with facilities for scientific popularization,’’40 but also to create a showcase for the university’s scientific research. Virginio Gaudenzi, the project promoter from the Cité des sciences in Paris, highlighted ‘‘[a] gap between what museums show and Strasbourg’s academic competencies. For the moment our researchers can’t express themselves in the museums. In other words, the facilities to create must address issues that mobilize Strasbourg’s scientists so that they can bring them to public attention, especially in the fields of cellular and molecular biology, as well as matter.’’41 This project was finally shelved in 2003. While the reasons for the failure to implement this new version of the Jardin des sciences are complex, it is nevertheless interesting to note that some of the tensions seem to have crystallized around the compatibility of such an undertaking with the preservation of collections and especially that of the zoology museum. The third and last dynamic that has been boosted by the University of Strasbourg’s heritage policy has stemmed from significant reforms to EU universities’ mode of governance. In recent years, throughout Europe, universities have been at a turning point. With the Bologna Process,42 changes in their mode of governance (competition through ‘‘ranking,’’ incentives to diversify financing, increased role of regions) have pushed for the construction or reassertion of a strong ‘‘identity’’ for each university. This has often resulted in the heads of these institutions wanting to develop or reinforce their university’s openness towards society, and in new or at least increased attention to the processes of identity construction and their potential instruments. Culture, history, and heritage have been mobilized as tools to help in the construction or reconstruction of an identity, and have afforded the universities a means to be de facto players in the territory sharing that history, heritage, and culture (an approach reminiscent of the one encountered in France in the 1980s, with the industrial heritage43). In France these changes in universities’ mode of governance and the reconstruction of identities have resulted in a new law reinforcing universities’ autonomy and proposing a more entrepreneurial type of management. They have also led to the adoption of a policy of strong incentives to create large universities (by merging institutions in the same city) or research and higher

Roth (2000). L’université impériale de Strasbourg, la porte des pêcheurs, Parcours du patrimoine, n°375, Lieux-Dits Editions, 2012. Issenmann (2011). ’’Objets de science’’ exhibition, Strasbourg Hall, 3–20 novembre 2000. Chaumier (2003). Glevarec & Saez (2002). http://misha1.u-strasbg.fr/AMUSS/assos1.htm (Accessed on 18 October 2009). Bergeron (2009). Minutes of the ULP board meeting, 27 February 1990, p. 11. Idem, p. 12. Ibid.; see also Le Jardin des sciences, Etude de définition, University Louis Pasteur, April 2002. Le Jardin des sciences, Étude de définition, ULP, April 2002, p. 13. Strasbourg magazine, 131, May 2002, p. 17. For general and institutionnal description see http://ec.europa.eu/education/higher-education/doc1290_en.htm, (Accessed 12 July 2012). Choffel-Mailfert (1999).

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education cluster grouping together universities and all the research and higher education institutions in the same region. This policy has been accompanied by two funding programmes in the form of calls for project proposals called ‘‘future investments’’: (i) the ‘‘campus operation,’’ to support projects for the renovation of the campuses of fifteen universities, and (ii) the ‘‘excellence initiative’’ (also found in Germany) focusing more on projects pertaining to research and large scientific facilities. This is the context in which a heritage policy was consolidated at the University of Strasbourg. In 2008 the Jardin des sciences became a part of the university in its own right, with actions revolving around the planetarium, mediation projects in scientific culture throughout the region, and management of the university’s museum and heritage policy. It was defined as ‘‘a resolutely cultural project with educational, scientific and recreational dimensions.’’44 This need to invest in the cultural sphere was highlighted by the president of the ULP between June 2002 and June 2007, for the purpose of legitimizing the Jardin des sciences project. He presented it as a means to promote the university’s collections and museums: ‘‘I am convinced that this dimension of scientific culture and rich heritage relating to the University of Strasbourg’s rich history, combined with the need for the university’s openness towards the city and society, which is already crucial in each of our universities, will necessarily be so tomorrow in our reflection on the construction of a new university.’’45 Even if this concerned far more than the universities’ heritage, it was expressed largely in terms of heritage. On 1 January 2009 the three Strasbourg university campuses merged, thus inaugurating a movement on a national scale. The newly created University was one of the ten that were awarded funding as ‘‘investments for the future.’’ One of the projects selected for Strasbourg was dedicated to the theme ‘‘culture, science and society.’’ This project led by the Jardin des sciences, revolved around three main elements: (i) a new planetarium; (ii) the renovation of the zoology institute to host museum spaces, animation, interaction, and reserves for collections; and (iii) the creation of a sign-posted path on the historical campus, starting from a centralized reception area. This new project appeared to be a key action for the university to host a new public and to become part of the landscape of regional cultural institutions. The new orientations of the Jardin des sciences in the framework of the campus plan gave these university collections and museums a less peripheral position. They incorporated them into research and education policies and recognized their heritage value, which was indispensable for embedding them in the cultural field. 4. Ambiguities concerning heritage The case studies presented here highlight the relations that scientific communities and institutions form around their heritage. Apart from their differences and despite a definite craze, heritage often still has an image of obsolescence. This is the perception underpinning the theory of the ‘‘museum without collections,’’ conceived and formulated by scientists in the late 1930s. The idea behind this theory reflects the general attitude of scientists to the activity of preserving collections, and warrants closer inspection. The Palais de la découverte,46 inaugurated in 1937 at the Grand Palais on the occasion of the international exhibition, stemmed from the activities and will of scientists who wanted to foster direct relations with the public. On the instigation of physicist Jean Perrin, its design and creation involved dozens of the most brilliant scientists 44 45 46 47

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of their generation. Its creation accompanied the movement of institutionalization and professionalization of scientific research that resulted in the creation of the CNRS during the same period. The Grand Palais made its place on a Parisian museum scene dominated by two institutions, the Muséum d’histoire naturelle and the Conservatoire des arts et métiers, both of which had large collections. Part of the museum’s collections, created in the framework of research activities, was opened to the public. Their conservation and public display had been organized on the basis of scientific classification for a long time. The collections of the Musée des arts et métiers were established on a different basis. Founded in 1794 by the Convention on the orders of Abbé Grégoire to ‘‘develop the national industry,’’ this museum housed collections of scientific instruments, machines, models and technical apparatuses. It functioned as a conservatory of technical innovations before being overwhelmed by their weight at the end of the nineteenth century. Hence it became a conservatory of obsolete and historical objects in the sense of a museum in the early twentieth century. From the outset, the designers of the Palais de la découverte wanted it to differ from these two institutions. Jean Perrin repeatedly emphasized the importance of having a ‘‘modern museum for life sciences’’ as opposed to the Conservatoire des arts et métiers, a ‘‘temple of the obsolete.’’ The intention was to exhibit the most recent important scientific work and to show research in action in the best laboratories. The fear of a ‘‘dead museum’’ based on old collections led to a radical solution: the Palais would have no collections. Its function would not be to conserve the memory of science but, on the contrary, to highlight its evolution and innovations by showing experiments, encouraging scientific practice, and remaining as close as possible to the most recent scientific work. A permanent palace of discovery would serve a purpose only if, far from being a sort of museum that was rapidly sterile and frozen, it fostered direct contact with science continuously in the making, thanks to researchers’ constant efforts. This new museum paradigm was very successful and inaugurated a new generation of exhibition places without collections: the San Francisco Exploratorium, the various centres of scientific and technical culture, and the Cité des sciences et de l’industrie. Inaugurated in 1986, the latter institution granted only a marginal place to collections of scientific instruments, even though many were collected and stored in a facility built nearby, and despite the involvement of historians of science and the creation of a centre for research on the history of science and techniques.47 Only the submarine exhibited in the park attested to the initial heritage project. The large angled astronomical telescope of the Observatoire de Paris, taken from that observatory to be one of the totem objects of the park, was stored for over twenty years under the périphérique (the Paris ring road), next to the storage containing collected instruments, before it was finally restored to the Observatory. It is this mistrust that scientists have of things old and obsolete which is found in their contemporary attitudes regarding heritage. Even though scientific communities’ interest is real, they are clearly also uncomfortable and reluctant Boudia (2009). And it is therefore almost with relentless determination that these scientists point out their ability to innovate, when they engage in conservation activities. Today, attempts are made to integrate heritage into scientific and technical culture. The call for this integration reflects a number of assumptions: for instance, ‘‘the old heritage is usually not dynamic,’’ ‘‘it gives science an outdated image,’’ and ‘‘history is fine but we have to talk about today’s science’’ are some of the clichés that many actors of heritage hear in scientific institutions. This wish to integrate heritage into the actions of

Le Jardin des sciences, op. cit., p. 25. Interview with Bernard Carrière, President of the University Louis Pasteur from 2002 to 2007, Lettre de l’OCIM, 109, 2007, pp. 40–41. Eidelmann (1988a, 1988b). On the difficult relationship of historians with science museums, see Macdonald (1998), Gieryn (1998 and Harwit (1996).

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scientific culture is still largely the result of discourse, especially since the perimeter and content of what scientific culture actually is, is difficult to define. Thus, scientists see heritage as a means to make themselves intelligible, whereas their relations with heritage are tainted with ambiguity. While their engagement in this field has constantly been reinforced, their mistrust of anything ‘‘old’’ remains just as strong as it ever was and there is little reason to believe that it will weaken. Scientists’ mistrust of heritage can be explained by the modalities of the constitution and functioning of science itself. Jean-Marc Lévy-Leblond qualifies science as amnesic, in so far as it is constantly recreating its own foundations, deleting, or reformulating past knowledge in new terms. 5. Conclusion In this article we have examined the growing interest in scientific heritage. We argue that the preservation and safeguarding of scientific heritage does not stand to reason; instead, like all human activity, it can be seen as a logic underpinning the action of those concerned. To explore these action logics, we have analyzed various situations. This has enabled us to explain their specific characteristics and the range of motivations driving them. We found that the heritage-related actions in scientific institutions provoke several struggles: a struggle to deal with the identity crisis facing these institutions in a society in which profound political, economic, and social change has been under way since the 1980s; a struggle to assert their existence and legitimacy and to reinforce their visibility in the face of competition reinforced by globalization; a struggle to demand a cultural dimension, necessary to reassert their place in society; a struggle to overcome the antagonism between heritage and the past, on the one hand, and research and innovation, on the other. The tensions and ambiguities found in the field appeared to be the best angle from which to analyze the various aspects of heritage. Despite these tensions, which can be intense, a scientific heritage is being constituted and is receiving investments in various forms: conservation, museums, exhibitions, research, and so on. The appeal that heritage has in a growing number of communities probably stems from its polysemy.48 It is at once a tool for mediation and an instrument for action for a given group, and therefore opens a range of uses corresponding to various expectations: means for legitimizing and reinforcing an identity and/or discipline for example, or the embedding of knowledge in the social, cultural, or public promotion of a group. ‘‘Heritage’’ is not the only case of a notion capable of structuring activities and affording the means for new actions. Other catchall words can be analyzed from the same perspective, such as ‘‘risk’’ or ‘‘sustainable development,’’ to cite but two recent concepts. These notions stem from all the conceptions, expectations and multiple intentions in a situation. Heritage also conceals several contradictions which tend to drive actions rather than inhibit them. Even if scientific communities, like other social groups, have not escaped the appeal of heritage, they are not the only ones to show ambivalence or mistrust in its regard. ‘‘I believe in the present, the ephemeral. Out of the field, all those cold paintings hanging in gloomy museums like the women of Barbe Bleue’s cabinet! They were paintings; they no longer are’’49 commented Dubuffet to express his opinion on museum conservation. His opinion is shared by numerous contemporary artists. Many of them show an attitude of believing ‘‘in the present, the ephemeral,’’ which refuses conservation in the name of a capacity for renewed creation. The fear of that which was and no longer is, of the deathly 48 49 50 51

weight of obsolete objects of the heritage, has often caused rejection or the wish to eliminate it. The diffuse concern for the necessary revitalization of heritage was evident from the first signs of the heritage wave in the 1980s. In an influential report in France, Max Querrien emphasized the necessity to ‘‘infuse our heritage with the breath of life and put a stop to the over-prevalent view that heritage is simply a collection of lifeless things.’’50 This type of attitude reflects both a change in the relationship to time, and a growing manifestation of a focus on the present, highlighted and analyzed by historian François Hartog.51 With the issue of heritage, scientific institutions and communities manifest a particular form of attachment to the past, and a wish to revitalize it in the present. The choice of that path is in many cases a challenge or experiment whose results, if not conclusive yet, are an interesting indicator of what scientific communities and institutions are. References Abir-Am, P. G., & Elliot, C. A. (Eds.). (1999). Commemorative practices in science: Historical perspectives on the politics of collective memory (p. 14). Osiris. Alberti, S. (2005). Objects and the museum. Isis, 96, 559–571. Arnold, J., Davies, K., & Ditchfield, S. (Eds.). (1998). History and heritage: Consuming the past in contemporary culture, proceedings of the interdisciplinary conference. York: University of York/Donhead Publishing Ltd.. Bergeron, A. (2009). Patrimoine et culture scientifique: sur l’inscription culturelle des savoirs. In S. Boudia, A. Rasmussen, & S. Soubiran (Eds.), Patrimoine et communautés savantes (pp. 209–223). Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes. Bonaccorsi, A., Daraio, C., Geuna, A. (Eds.), 2010. Universities in the new knowledge landscape: Tensions, challenges, change. Special issue Minerva, 48, 1–4. Boudia, S. (2009). Communautés savantes et ambivalences patrimoniales. In S. Boudia, A. Rasmussen, & S. Soubiran (Eds.), Patrimoine et communautés savantes (pp. 61–76). Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes. Boudia, S., Rasmussen, A., & Soubiran, S. (Eds.). (2009). Patrimoine et communautés savantes (pp. 241–258). Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes. Boura, F., Burgmeier, F., Issenmann, D., & Pottecher, M. (Eds.). (2012). L’université impériale de Strasbourg, le site de la porte des pêcheurs, parcours du patrimoine n°375. Lyon: Lieux Dits Editions. Boura, F., Issenmann, D., & Soubiran, S. (Eds.). (2009). L’observatoire astronomique de Strasbourg, parcours du patrimoine n°352. Lyon: Lieux Dits Editions. Boura, F., Issenmann, D., & Soubiran, S. (Eds.). (2011). Mesurer les séismes, la station de sismologie de Strasbourg, parcours du patrimoine n°363. Lyon: Lieux Dits Editions. Charmasson, Th. (1999). Archives institutionnelles et archives personnelles. Cahiers de l’École Nationale du Patrimoine, 3, 13–23. Chateauraynaud, F., & Torny, D. (1999). Les sombres précurseurs, une sociologie pragmatique de l’alerte et du risque. Paris: Éditions de l’EHESS. Chaumier, S. (2003). Des musées en quête d’identité. Écomusée versus technomusée. Paris: L’Harmattan. Choffel-Mailfert, J. (1999). Une politique culturelle à la rencontre d’un territoire: Culture scientifique et industrielle en région Lorraine, 1980–1995. Paris: L’Harmattan. Collin, F. (2011). Comment la création d’une ‘‘bibliothèque de papyrus’’ à Strasbourg compensa la perte des manuscrits précieux brûlés dans le siège de 1870. La revue de la BNU, 2, 25–47. Dubuffet, J. (1991). L’homme du commun à l’ouvrage. Paris: Folio essai (First published 1973). Eidelman, J. (1988a). La création du Palais de la Découverte, professionnalisation de la recherche et culture scientifique dans l’entre-deux-guerres. PhD thesis, Université Paris V. Eidelman, J. (1988b). Culture scientifique et professionnalisation de la recherche. In D. Jacobi & B. Schiele (Eds.), Vulgariser la science (pp. 175–191). Champ Vallon: Seyssel. Garnier, Ch. (1892). Monographie de l’Observatoire de Nice. Paris: André, Daly et Fils. Gieryn, T. F. (1998). Balancing acts: Science, Enola Gay, and history wars at the Smithsonian. In S. Macdonald (Ed.), The politics of display: Museums, science, culture (pp. 197–228). London/New York: Routledge. Glevarec, H., & Saez, G. (2002). Le patrimoine saisi par les associations. Paris: La Documentation française. Hartog, F. (2003). Régimes d’historicité, présentisme et expérience du temps. Paris: Éditions du Seuil. Harwit, M. (1996). An exhibit denied: Lobbying the history of Enola gay. New York: Copernicus. Hunter, M. (Ed.). (1996). Preserving the past: The rise of heritage in modern Britain. Stroud: Alan Sutton.

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