Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, Vol. 51(1), 78–92 Winter 2015 View this article online at Wiley Online Library (wileyonlinelibrary.com). DOI: 10.1002/jhbs.21701

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THE PEDAGOGICAL PURPOSES OF INTERDISCIPLINARY SOCIAL SCIENCE: A VIEW FROM AREA STUDIES IN THE UNITED STATES DAVID C. ENGERMAN

“Interdisciplinarity” is widely praised in modern academe for its apparent ability to generate important research results and contribute to scholarly innovation. This essay examines a crucial case of interdisciplinary work in the humanities and social sciences: the area studies complex that emerged in the United States after World War II. Examining both celebrations and critiques of area studies, this essay concludes that the enterprise made a major contribution to national life not through the production of scholarship (the usual focus of historians of higher education) but through the innovative model of undergraduate teaching and graduate training that expanded the geographic and linguistic horizons of American undergraduate and graduate life. A final section of the essay suggests the relevance of this C 2014 Wiley pedagogical focus for contemporary debates about the future of area studies.  Periodicals, Inc.

Area studies received lavish praise and even more lavish funding during its meteoric rise in the two decades after World War II. By the late 1960s, though, the enterprise faced sharp criticism from social science “disciplinarians” who saw interdisciplinary area studies as unscholarly because its practitioners were unable to formulate the sorts of generalizable hypotheses that were becoming the social scientists’ stock in trade. In one such attack, the usually insightful disciplinarian Richard Lambert argued that area studies had ended up in American universities only because of a seemingly “accidental decision” in the 1940s. Elsewhere in the essay, he insisted that the area studies enterprise had little to show for itself. Area studies had made minimal contributions to scholarship, and it could not be defended on the basis of solving any “public concerns” since only one-sixth of area specialists’ publications had “any policy relevance, [even] using a very broad sense of that term” (Lambert, 1991, pp. 173–194, 194). Lambert’s conclusions—a common refrain among histories of interdisciplinarity in general and area studies in particular—reveal a narrowness of vision that has contributed and still contributes to misunderstanding both the historical trajectory and contemporary place of interdisciplinarity in the American academy. There are two fundamental problems with Lambert’s claims, and they stem from the same point. Simply put: area studies was, first and foremost, a pedagogical enterprise, not a research one. Accepting this point makes it seem entirely unsurprising—hardly mysterious or “accidental”—that area studies ended up in higher education; after all, colleges and universities have long been the principal American institution for educating undergraduate students and training graduate students. And similarly, the lack of policy-relevant scholarship hardly means that area studies faculty members were neglecting public service; they were doing so by teaching in their classrooms, not by writing articles and books in their offices.

DAVID C. ENGERMAN is Ottilie Springer Professor of History at Brandeis University and a research associate at the Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies at Harvard University. His previous work focused especially on Russia in American intellectual life: Modernization from the Other Shore: American Intellectuals and the Romance of Russian Development (2003) and Know Your Enemy: The Rise and Fall of America’s Soviet Experts (2009). He is currently researching “Planning for Plenty: The Economic Cold War in India,” with support from the American Council of Learned Societies, the American Institute of Indian Studies, the National Council for Eurasian and East European Research, and the Guggenheim Foundation.

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This brief essay examines area studies, one of the largest efforts to hoist the flag of interdisciplinarity in American academic life, in order to show how the field came about to serve instrumental purposes. This claim is not to posit a fictitious realm of pure scholarship, only to draw attention to the ways in which proponents of area studies made frequent and explicit reference to ways in which such work served external constituencies and purposes; they emphasized how area studies would not just help understand the world but help shape it. Area studies proponents, furthermore, defined the external purposes, at least in the enterprise’s early years, in terms of pedagogy, not publication. There are, of course, various limits of and exceptions to these claims. First, area studies itself was hardly the only cross-disciplinary effort of mid-twentieth-century America; others took different institutional forms and held different intellectual content. Other interdisciplinary projects in the social sciences were more successful, as recent scholarship has emphasized. Second, area studies was not a unified whole, but a constellation of different regional studies programs, each of which had its own specific concerns and trajectories; interdisciplinary approaches, for instance, enriched scholarship in some but hardly all corners of the area studies complex. (Szanton, 2004). This point aside, though, there is a justification for examining area studies writ large: crucial discussions about the founding and funding of area studies from the early 1940s through the early 1950s—and, in many quarters, through the 1960s—treated the enterprise as serving a single set of aims. Histories of interdisciplinarity are quick to credit boundary-crossing for major innovations in the natural sciences, social sciences, and humanities. In the surprisingly robust field of interdisciplinarity studies (replete with its own Oxford Handbook as well as a Center for the Study of Interdisciplinarity), claims for success typically refer to research agendas enriched or even invented by excursions across disciplinary boundaries. Yet these arguments focus resolutely on scholarly output, much as Richard Lambert’s essay had. Perhaps typical is the writing of Julie Thompson Klein, who celebrates the cosmopolitan epistemologies of interdisciplinarity—but supports her point by listing a number of teaching programs, and primarily for undergraduates at that; research projects barely appear on her list (Klein, 1990, pp. 22–28). Even thoughtful scholars such as Craig Calhoun and Diana Rhoten explain that the utilitarian aspects of area studies remained “in the background,” a claim that makes sense only if the utility is defined in terms of scholarly output—like their reference to “scientific knowledge [that] could help avert war.” Yet Calhoun and Rhoten also note rightly that “area studies programs responded to a widespread sense that Americans – and in particular American intellectuals and academics – were too ignorant of other world regions to adequately shoulder the burden of world leadership the country was assuming.” (Calhoun & Rhoten, 2010, pp. 106–107) Interdisciplinary enterprises produce not just new forms of knowledge (and hardline disciplinarians might prefer to drop the “just”), but broader students and better-trained specialists. Yet in a range of fields, including interdisciplinarity studies, intellectual history, and the history of the social sciences, historians take the principal purpose of academic life to be scholarship and publication. What sociologist Andrew Abbott calls “‘regression’ into professional purity” may shape—or perhaps misshape—our view of interdisciplinarity as something driven and defined by scholarship rather than by teaching or training (Abbott, 2001, p. 146). Even sharp criticisms of philanthropic support for area studies—for its contributions to American global hegemony—focus solely on scholarship and related activities, not on undergraduate teaching or graduate training (e.g., Parmar, 2011). This tendency to focus on scholarship is evident even in the best historical scholarship on postwar American social science. Incisive essays by Hunter Heyck and Jamie Cohen-Cole, JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs

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for instance, offer impressive and original perspectives on the expansion of interdisciplinary work in the behavioral sciences but do not address graduate training, let alone undergraduate teaching (Crowther-Heyck, 2006; Cohen-Cole, 2007, 2009). By the same token, a remarkable new book on “Cold War rationality,” written by six leading historians of science, devotes a great deal of attention to scholars’ efforts to define and measure rationality—but none to these same scholars’ work explicating their conceptions in lecture halls or seminar rooms (Erickson et al., 2013). The fruits of extensive editorial labors by Roger Backhouse and Philippe Fontaine—on the history of economics and on postwar American social science—demonstrate a similar limit (Backhouse & Fontaine, 2010a, 2010b). Similarly an Isis Forum on “Cold War Science,” edited by Hunter Heyck and David Kaiser, devoted little attention to pedagogy1 (Heyck & Kaiser, 2010). This absence is especially surprising given Kaiser’s remarkable insights into the history of postwar physics by examining the relationship between training and scholarship (Kaiser, 2002, 2004, 2012). The neglect of pedagogical agendas in the history area studies has led to a basic misunderstanding of its place in American academic life, especially during its heyday from the start of World War II through the end of American involvement in the Vietnam War. Critics of interdisciplinary area studies, in other words, focused so much on the potential threat to disciplinary research agendas that they neglected the complementarity with departments in the realm of teaching. This misunderstanding, in turn, has hobbled efforts to defend area studies during and after its anni horribiles of the 1990s, when it came under attack from groups both within and beyond the academy. KNOWLEDGE FOR USE IN THE 1930S Mid-twentieth-century American intellectual life was hospitable to the instrumental purposes at the core of interdisciplinary work. Historians have long emphasized the impact of Pragmatic notions of ideas’ “cash-value” in American thought, and key Pragmatic philosopher John Dewey remained near the center of American intellectual life in the interwar years (Jordan, 1994; Westbrook, 1991). And as Joel Isaac has shown, an influential group of Harvard scholars in the human sciences began to conceive of their scholarship in terms of the practices of research, and did so without reference to the Pragmatists. Isaac highlights the relationship between concepts and institutional structures in his work, and indeed it is easy to see the 1930s and 1940s as especially propitious for interdisciplinary work. While this tendency is certainly a different sort of “instrumentalism” than that applied by the Pragmatists, it suggests an intellectual climate open to considerations of the practical (Isaac, 2012). The Social Science Research Council (SSRC, founded in 1923) sought to bring together scholars from different disciplines to shape policy (Fisher, 1993). Wartime mobilization of university-based scholars (and indeed the university campuses themselves) made notions of relevance and social contribution all the more central to universities’ self-definition (Buck, 1985; Lowen, 1997). The interwar trends, bolstered by the experience of World War II, left university administrators and faculty alike all the more interested in connecting their institutions to broader social and political activities, leading to the rise of what Ethan Schrum has aptly termed “the instrumental university” (Schrum, 2009). Starting in the 1960s, the connections between scholars and national security organs came under intense criticism, some of which remains unabated even decades later. At the heart of the criticism is the notion that by serving external goals, the 1. In the interests of full disclosure (and autocritique), my own essay in that forum, on “Social Science in the Cold War,” made only passing mention of pedagogical agendas. (Engerman, 2010).

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scholars compromised academic standards (Roszak, 1968; Chomsky, 1969; Wallerstein, 1997; Cumings, 1998). Crossing disciplinary boundaries was a priority for scholars interested in practical application. As SSRC board members defined their organization’s aims in 1930, “the Council’s thinking thus far has largely been in terms of social problems which cannot be adequately analyzed through the contributions of any single discipline.” (Millis, 1931, p. 286) Similarly, as the University of Chicago’s group of path-breaking social scientists—many of whom played key roles in the SSRC—gathered to celebrate ten years of their new collective enterprise in the late 1930s, they bemoaned disciplinary boundaries (Wirth, 1940). And at Columbia, Robert Lynd’s impassioned call for using the social sciences as tools of social change contained an important if neglected challenge to disciplines. Social sciences’ “utility as human tools of knowledge” had been “crippl[ed],” Lynd wrote, by disciplinary boundaries. Lynd chided social scientists also on intellectual grounds: “despite our protestations that everything is interdependent, preoccupation with our specializations tends” to “make us state our problems as if they concerned . . . isolated economic, or political, or sociological problems” (Lynd, 1939, pp. 15–16). Public utility required boundary-crossing. The name of the game in the 1930s, both in New York (where both Columbia and the SSRC were located) and Chicago, was not the pursuit of interdisciplinarity but what they called the “integration of the social sciences.” Their terminology suggests certain optimism that the various social scientists could be meaningfully unified into a single enterprise. In contrast, even the most dewy-eyed proponents of interdisciplinarity celebrated any crossing of disciplinary boundaries but did not imagine a single mode of social-scientific investigation. But in other ways, the 1930s efforts were highly suggestive. The main impulse was not intellectual but utilitarian—solving “social problems” not intellectual ones. Disciplines came in for criticism from these scholars because they impeded the solution of such problems. Yet even some of the staunchest supporters of the SSRC and Chicago social sciences had their doubts. As Louis Wirth wrote in a 1937 evaluation of the SSRC, “problems of knowledge are not necessarily identical with problems of policy and action.” Even as he questioned the need for such heavily guarded borders between the disciplines, Wirth cautioned that mixing disciplines in an effort to solve social problems was not necessarily in the best interests of scholarship. Indeed, Wirth went so far as to demean the SSRC’s efforts to integrate the social sciences as a “delusion”: integration offered colorful language helpful for grant proposals, but little more. What optimists celebrated as “cross-fertilization” between disciplines, Wirth cleverly mocked as “cross-sterilization” (Wirth, 1937, pp. 5–6, 135, 146; Fisher, 1993). One concern was organizational: what structures best promoted interdisciplinary work? Those in favor of collective enterprise, such as psychologist Rensis Likert, saw the benefits of a laboratory arrangement with clear lines of coordination and indeed control. Without such control, integration across disciplines would be loosely achieved at best (Wirth, 1940, p. 145). Economist Wesley Mitchell was even willing to name names, referring to largescale projects such as the Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences as based on the na¨ıve hope that “propinquity will produce wonders.” Printing chapters by different social scientists in a single book is hardly integration; “they may be held together by nothing but the binding,” in Mitchell’s derisive phrase (Wirth, 1940, p. 116). Even in organizations committed to the integration of the social sciences for practical use, then, enthusiasm was joined by skepticism.

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ON THE SOCIAL SCIENCE FRONT DURING WORLD WAR II World War II provided an opportunity for social scientists who wanted to be useful to their nation. Calls for applied scholarship expanded in both extent and intensity during the war. Social scientists entered new hierarchical institutions along the lines of what Likert—who spent the war conducting surveys at the U.S. Department of Agriculture and elsewhere—had proposed. A wider range of disciplines stood ready to contribute to the war effort. Economics still mattered, of course, as it had in the 1930s; a young and confident Paul Samuelson even called World War II the “economists’ war” (Samuelson, 1944, p. 298). Yet the war presented new problems that social scientists believed they could solve or at least study: the motivation of soldiers, for instance, or successful forms of popular mobilization. These projects occupied scholars in the nascent behavioral sciences, especially sociology and psychology (Buck, 1985; Herman, 1995, chap. 4). Studies of human behavior were joined in WWII by studies of human cultures. Because detailed knowledge of America’s allies and enemies was all but absent from government circles at the time of Pearl Harbor, regional studies expanded dramatically soon after the United States declared war. Indeed, for most of 1940 and 1941—even before the “day which shall live in infamy”—scholarly experts in foreign cultures began to organize themselves for the “national emergency” (Mosely, 1942; Graves, 1943; Columbia University Russian Institute, 1948). The Ethnogeographic Board set itself up in the basement of a Smithsonian Institution building and began developing rosters of experts on foreign cultures, languages, and countries (Bennett, 1947). While regional expertise was not centralized in the rapidly expanding wartime state, the most significant concentration could be found, by 1942, in the Research and Analysis Branch of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS, the wartime predecessor to the CIA). Nicknamed by one wag the “chairborne division,” Research and Analysis brought together historians and social scientists to provide background intelligence for “customers” across the war effort, most notably the State Department and the military chiefs (Katz, 1989, p. xii). In its original incarnation, the OSS was structured in a mix of regional and disciplinary groupings; there was a distinct USSR Division, for instance, that had to work in conjunction with the Economics Division on problems that touched on the Soviet economy. The prickly head of Soviet Studies at OSS, historian Geroid Tanquary Robinson, complained frequently and loudly about this situation. He insisted that economics knowledge alone was woefully insufficient for understanding the USSR; it had to be connected with detailed knowledge of Soviet politics and society. And then there was the question of language. “It goes without saying,” Robinson protested, “that today no American university of standing would tolerate the preparation of a dissertation on a French subject by a student who could not use the materials in the French language.” And yet the U.S. government was content to make life-and-death decisions resting on analyses of the USSR by those who did not know Russian. Robinson ultimately won the bureaucratic battle; as the winning argument had it, the military was “not interested in the production of principles of social sciences, neatly departmentalized”; military strategists instead needed answers to questions that “involved all the disciplines” (quoted in Dessants, 1995, pp. 48–50). With Robinson’s victory, a handful of economists moved from their disciplinary grouping into the USSR Division—and marked the formation of what one clever historian termed “social science in one country” (Katz, 1989, chap. 5). Yet this form of interdisciplinary research relied on a coordinated effort; gathering different forms of expertise into a team to complete a collective research project. This tempest in a bureaucratic teapot became central to a larger-than-life myth that emerged years later. OSS alumni, many of whom went on to become renowned scholars,

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harkened back to their wartime work to celebrate the virtues of cross-disciplinary research. Famously, Harvard dean-turned-White House advisor McGeorge Bundy savored the curious fact of academic history that the first great center of area studies in the United States was not located in any university, but in Washington, during the Second World War, in the OSS. In very large measure, the area studies programs developed in American universities in the years after the war were manned, directed, or stimulated by graduates of the OSS—a remarkable institution, half cops-and-robbers and half faculty meeting. Bundy went on to celebrate the uses of area studies and its connections to national security: “It is still true today, and I hope it always will be, that there is a high measure of interpenetration between the universities with area programs and the information-gathering agencies of the government of the United States” (Bundy, 1964, pp. 2–3). In a few smug sentences, then, Bundy outlined the ways in which the interdisciplinary nature area studies was connected to service of broader national aims. Even if interdisciplinary area studies at the OSS was doggedly instrumental, some scholars in the wartime years saw scholarly benefits accruing from this new concept of area research. The great Chicago anthropologist Robert Redfield, for instance, circulated a paper to the Rockefeller Foundation—a deep-pocketed proponent of area studies even before the war— making the case for the intellectual benefits for American social scientists. Lambasting the parochialism of the social sciences, Redfield noted that most generalizations were rooted only in “the civilizations and experience of the Western European and North American world.” A commitment to area studies, he hoped, might overcome the “cultural provincialism of the social sciences.” Yet even Redfield was not averse to utilitarian appeals, noting that the war had already created a situation in which “a much larger number of regional experts will be needed than in the past” (Redfield, 1944). These wartime discussions of the contribution of area studies to social science research focused primarily on the OSS, with cameo appearances by the anthropologists at the Foreign Morale Analysis Division of the Office of War Information (OWI), most notably Ruth Benedict. But whichever institutions they depicted, those celebrating area studies in the 1940s (such as Robinson at OSS and Redfield outside it) or in the 1960s (most notably Bundy) chose to emphasize the smallest and ultimately least influential aspects of wartime area studies. “AMERICANS, AWAKE TO LANGUAGE NEEDS!”—WARTIME LANGUAGE/AREA STUDIES TEACHING Area studies did begin as an organized enterprise during World War II—but not at OSS, OWI, or for that matter any other Washington agency. The largest and ultimately longest-lasting aspect of wartime area studies took place in classrooms and language labs on American university campuses all over the country. Wartime language training was the largest interdisciplinary enterprise in the United States in both quantitative and geographic terms. And it was the military’s pedagogical agenda that defined area studies and marked its most significant contribution during the war and after. By far the largest wartime program was the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP). It came into being in September 1942 in order to train the ever-increasing influx of draftees in a variety of specialized fields, including engineering and medicine as well as language/area studies. The designers of ASTP envisioned a full complement of programs to teach 50,000 soldiers-turned-students at one time in short but intensive courses. About 15 percent of those students would be in the area studies. Between spring 1943, when the first students enrolled, and February 1944, when the program was drastically reduced because of personnel shortages on JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs

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the front lines, ASTP taught roughly 150,000 soldiers (Palmer, Wiley, & Keast, 2003 [1948], pp. 18, 30–39). While area studies was not the largest component of ASTP, about 13,000 students studied 31 languages at some two dozen university campuses (U.S. Congress, House Committee on Military Affairs, 1944, pp. 10–15). The Army also ran a smaller Civil Affairs Training Schools, similar to ASTP but designed for officers, along very much the same lines. Navy programs were much smaller in scale and scope: its Oriental Languages School (OLS), located first in landlocked Boulder Colorado before moving to the aptly named Stillwater, Oklahoma, taught Japanese, Chinese, Russian, and what one newspaper called “Thai-ese” to students numbering in the hundreds (Axelrod, 1945a, 1945b). Each service also had a School for Military Government and Administration, the Navy’s at Columbia, the Army’s at the University of Virginia. These schools offered instruction in many languages, also producing area guides and curriculum guides for the larger teaching programs. While there was some interservice rivalry between OLS and ASTP—the Navy teachers considered their program more intensive and effective—the two programs shared similar purposes and methods. Both programs, for instance, placed a heavy emphasis on language teaching—which comprised 50–60 percent of the instructional time—but also included substantial work in the histories, cultures, economies, and politics of a region. In teaching languages, both Army and Navy programs emphasized oral communication rather than grammatical knowledge or reading skills. Both of these aims emerged out of experiments in intensive language instruction that had been introduced into university summer schools in the 1930s, under the sponsorship of the American Council of Learned Societies (ACLS). The key innovation emerging from the ACLS programs was the use of “native informants” as oral drill instructors, thus freeing up doctorate-bearing instructors to lecture on grammatical structures. This basic structure, still a core element of language instruction in most American colleges to this day, was exactly what the services needed: their soldiers and sailors did not need to parse sentences, but to communicate with foreign military liaisons and with local civilians. This lecture-plus-drill format was ideally suited to wartime use since it allowed a relatively small number of trained scholars to teach large numbers of students. The drill leaders were untrained native speakers; each was to act, in the blunt phrase of one organizer, “not [as] a teacher, but [as] an animated phonograph record” (Kurz, 1943, p. 463). While one critic of the approach protested that the ASTP’s lecture-plus-drill method reduced language instruction to “industrial mass production,” it was likely that Army officials might take that comment as a compliment (Waxman, 1945, p. 555). Though based on university campuses and employing university faculty in the humanities and social sciences, the programs remained under direct military control. Their purposes were unabashedly applied: to prepare soldiers and sailors to serve on the front lines in enemy (or neutral) territory as well as in occupied nations. The approach was easily scaled up to allow for large numbers of language learners with only a handful of faculty members. The approach, finally, came at a time when pedagogical trends and linguistic scholarship wer oriented toward oral communication and cultural contextualization—exactly what the armed services themselves desired. Well before the war ended, the Modern Language Association and many of its members lauded the language programs. They appreciated the emphasis on oral/aural training and cultural context; they gladly reduced the emphasis on learning to write in a foreign language (no doubt seared by years of grading such efforts), and responded enthusiastically to Army and Navy methods that would “assure results” (Berrien, 1943, pp. 318, 321; Rogers, 1943, p. 307; MLA Commission on Trends in Education, 1944, p. 14). Not surprising given the sponsors, wartime area studies pedagogy was about practical application. Language teachers made the JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs

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most of this newfound interest; the MLA’s own journal emblazoned cheerleading slogans on its pages: “Americans, Awake to Language Needs,” for instance, and “Foreign Languages for Global War and Global Peace.” But language teachers were hardly the only proponents of interdisciplinary teaching programs in area studies. The president of Rutgers University, for instance, called upon universities to replicate the broad vision of area studies plus liberal arts that defined the Army and Navy curricula. Universities should be mobilized for national service because, as he put it, “knowledge used for common good is a higher goal than knowledge ‘for its own sake.’” Or, as he concluded: “There will be no room in our educational architecture . . . for ivory towers” (Clothier, 1943, pp. 301, 305). POSTWAR CELEBRATIONS OF INTERDISCIPLINARY AREA STUDIES The years after World War II saw American scholars reflecting upon—or, more often, celebrating—wartime experiences. Whole forests were sacrificed to produce reports of various wartime programs on which scholars had worked. The OWI anthropologists were an especially prolific lot, as alumni issued programmatic calls, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, about the possibility—even the necessity—of applying insights from the social sciences (Kluckhohn, 1949; Leighton, 1949; Lerner & Lasswell, 1951). Former OSS analysts were silent in these discussions, perhaps because of the highly classified nature of their work and the continued existence of the Research and Analysis Branch after the war. Invoking the same language of “national emergency” heard since 1940, these scholars envisioned a broad version of crossdisciplinary area studies and a prominent place for area studies in the university curriculum. Exhortations for cross-disciplinary area studies emphasized its application, primarily in teaching. Those promoting area studies highlighted two related but distinct realms of application: first in general education and second in advanced training of area specialists for work beyond the university. The idea that area studies might make curricula of four-year colleges less provincial was repeated with breathless excitement in a raft of education reports in the late 1940s. Expanding the curriculum to cover more of the world, and in more depth, was a constant refrain—and was always connected to the “national emergency” of those years: responding to the Soviet threat. An alphabet soup of educational organizations joined the MLA in supporting interdisciplinary area studies in the undergraduate curriculum. Area studies were justified as an effort to prevent isolationist forces from limiting American overseas involvements after World War II—as, in the standard narrative, they had after World War I (Engerman, 2007, pp. 607–611). With its first major area studies grants in 1944, the Rockefeller Foundation aimed to prepare students for international careers and promote a cosmopolitan sensibility that would help students “learn to live in the crowded world of the second half of the twentieth century.” As one scholar put it, a college without courses on various world areas “is simply not equipped to educate students for life in the late nineteen hundreds.” Intensive exposure to another culture, the official concluded, would teach young citizens the “tolerance” necessary to “make life possible in a spherical world” (Graves, 1943, 1944a, 1944b; Wallace, 1944, Appendix 5, p. i; Fenton, 1945; Herge, 1948). While many saw area studies as a route to general cosmopolitanism, others had American overseas interests as the fundamental concern. An early account of Columbia’s School of International Affairs (SIA, built on the literal and figurative foundations of the Naval School for Military Government and Administration), for instance, noted how the SIA and its component area studies programs were essential to “meeting the need for training in the world JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs

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responsibility which has been the lot of the United States in the postwar period” (Cowan, 1954, p. 21). Mortimer Graves, longtime head of the ACLS, promoted area studies as a “neglected facet of . . . national security” and called upon American humanists and social scientists to start “retooling the academic structure to meet present needs” (Graves, 1950, p. 2). Similarly focused on the undergraduate curriculum was a report for the American Council of Education, hoping that the armed services programs would help make area studies an essential part of a liberal arts education (Grace, 1948, pp. 229–231). While this may appear to have been a move away from direct application, the ACE report, like most of the others, saw the internationalization of college curricula as a contribution to American national interest: educating Americans for global responsibility. Educators also identified the direct practical benefits of cross-disciplinary area studies in terms of training of experts, typically at the Masters level. Many of the same organizations looked back to the wartime Army and Navy programs with an eye to training those suited for work in a foreign region. An official at the SSRC, for instance, wanted universities to consider how they could best “meet the anticipated government requirements for area trained personnel” (Bennett, 1951, pp. 36–37). Similarly, Columbia’s SIA considered it “of paramount importance” to train students for “technical and managerial posts in those agencies of the government which maintained a foreign service” and in “international agencies.” But Columbia–like other programs—also saw area studies as a crucial institution for the continued globalization of American business. SIA would also train managers for “American business firms or corporation participating in foreign trade” and in “the legal departments of large corporations” (Cowan, 1954, p. 28). Indeed, even the Russian Institute, which sent roughly half of its MA graduates into one form or another of government service, had a student in its inaugural class who worked for Pan American Airlines (Robinson, 1948; ACLS, 1953). The Rockefeller Foundation, which convened a conference on the future of area studies in 1944, had reversed the priority, emphasizing business needs before alluding to “certain agencies of Government” (i.e., intelligence agencies) that might also employ area studies graduates (Rockefeller Foundation, 1944, p. 12). While these reports typically focused on the linguistic and cultural expertise taught through area studies programs, they also noted the need for an interdisciplinary approach: education in what one Columbia administrator called “the art of government and administration” needed to “cut across fields” rather than limit itself to a single discipline (Cowan, 1954, p. 20). Aiming for a comprehensive summary, a 1950 report from the SSRC cited eight objectives that ranged from student knowledge to communications skills to inculcating student sensitivity and a more cosmopolitan worldview. Taken together, these purposes demonstrated that “area instruction is vital to national interests and intercultural understanding” (Heindel, 1950, pp. 17–21). Many of these same institutions celebrated the research possibilities of interdisciplinary area studies along with its pedagogical contributions. Here the language was remarkably similar to wartime calls for area studies research in the OSS and elsewhere. Almost precisely echoing Geroid Robinson’s argument for the USSR Division in OSS’s Research and Analysis Branch, one SSRC report concluded that “area research keeps reminding American scholarship that the world and its peoples do not sort their fundamental questions by departments or disciplines” (Heindel, 1950, p. 56). By the same token, another report saw the value of “research knowledge about every part of the world”—a value that should be “evident to anyone who reads the daily papers” (Bennett, 1951, p. 3). Practical concerns, then, were just as present in the promotion of interdisciplinary area scholarship as they were in promotion of teaching. The new programs offered the potential for a new kind of social science expertise, one who was well versed in a range of disciplines. Clyde Kluckhohn, a Harvard anthropologist JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs

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who served in OWI before returning the direct Harvard’s Russian Research Center, declared that interdisciplinary research should aim not to “have several skulls under one discipline, but rather to have several disciplines under one skull” (Inkeles, 1971 [1966], p. 432). Training interdisciplinary scholars, ten, would take place in cross-disciplinary environments but that collaboration need not extend into research projects. Assessments of the intellectual benefits of interdisciplinary area research were more mixed. Proponents of the research produced through interdisciplinary area studies echoed the criticisms of disciplines heard in prior decades: the “inadequacy of excessive compartmentalization,” the benefits of “cross-fertilization,” and the need for a “universal and general science of society and human behavior” made area studies “a natural and progressive step toward the development of an objective science of man” (Wagley, 1948, pp. 5, 48; Steward, 1950, pp. 153, 15). Even those citing the intellectual benefits, though, had practical application in mind. An SSRC report on area research, for instance, insisted that interdisciplinary area studies would accrue intellectual benefits—indeed, the report opens with an endorsement of crossdisciplinary approaches in general. But ultimately, the better knowledge produced by breaking down disciplinary boundaries had utilitarian aims: “practical needs,” the report declared, “will be better served by better science” (Steward, 1950, p. xiii). Yet as in the 1930s, interdisciplinary had its skeptics in the postwar years—and the skepticism increased in both quantity and intensity through the 1950s and 1960s. The principal concern was that scholarly rigor was available only through the disciplines, so that interdisciplinary programs were by definition less rigorous. One participant at an SSRC convocation put it bluntly: “I can imagine a man trained in areas as being a most charming gentleman and interesting conversationalist but not as being a scholar” (Hall, 1949, p. 29). Even one report generally enthusiastic about area studies research conceded: It is possible that here and there the scientific pretensions of area research have been exaggerated. One participant [in an SSRC workshop] contended that “area research cannot be expected to contribute directly to the advance of pure science in any of the disciplines concerned with human behavior.” (Heindel, 1950, p. 33) As the initial enthusiasm for interdisciplinary area programs in the abstract gave way to actually existing area programs in the 1950s, concerns about the value of interdisciplinary area research mounted. In the field of Russian/Slavic Studies—a pioneer among the area programs, with wellestablished funding for university-based centers as well as graduate student fellowships— skepticism about area research abounded. As Ford Foundation officials met with Slavic Studies leaders in 1953 to discuss how to best shape that field with the foundation’s millions, the conversation revolved around practical and pedagogical benefits. Even in this group of enthusiasts—some investing substantial funds, others their careers—conceded that “programs of systematic research” along the OSS lines had already given way to individual research projects rooted in individual disciplines (Joint Committee on Slavic Studies, 1953). The demise of cooperative research in area studies meant that area studies centers, even those established to promote interdisciplinary research had become (in historian Hunter Heyck’s felicitous phrasing) “places where research was done” rather than “places that did research” (Heyck, 2008; Engerman, 2012). By the late 1950s—as Sputnik led to the National Defense Education Act and funding for area studies teaching and training programs—a committee charged with charting the future of Slavic Studies noted the limits of interdisciplinarity: area knowledge, the committee concluded, was to be an addition to, not a substitute for, “disciplinary competence” (Black et al., 1959, p. 431). (Indeed, the emphasis of the federally funded JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs

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area studies centers was on education, not research: Foreign Language and Area Studies grants for graduate students; support for undergraduate and graduate course offerings, and “outreach” programs that would educate not just students but the broader citizenry.) Even the greatest proponents of area studies, then, saw it as a complement, not a competitor, for disciplinary structures. Battles between discipline and area expanded through the 1960s. Political science was at the heart of the dispute, in large part because the discipline was moving more toward universal generalizations while many of its members were active in area studies centers. Yet even this debate was connected to the application of scholarly research. Those favoring interdisciplinarity were, generally speaking, more attuned to external needs and uses for their scholarly work. Lucien Pye, an Asian Studies scholar with close ties to government agencies— and a president of the American Political Science Association—considered the tension between discipline and area a side-effect of addressing larger questions of relevance. Area studies programs, Pye concluded, “came about because of changes in the world, and raised in very vivid form such questions as: How responsible should universities be to public problems? . . . In a rapidly changing world what can guide those who seek only integrity in the cause of knowledge?” (Pye, 1975, p. 4) Pye, sympathetic to the instrumental university and hopeful about the contributions that scholars could make to national security, saw interdisciplinary area studies as a contribution to the national interest. Others in area studies disagreed. Most succinct was Richard Lambert, a South Asia expert who conducted a number of important quantitative analyses of area training, who summed up the whole discipline vs. area debate succinctly as one of “rigor versus mortis” (Lambert, 1973, p. 138).

CONCLUSION With Richard Lambert’s reflections on interdisciplinary area studies, this essay has come full circle. Focused primarily on the scholarly output of area studies scholars, Lambert not surprisingly concluded that the enterprise was not successful in intellectual or utilitarian terms. It contributed “mortis” (not “rigor”) and precious few policy-relevant publications. Yet to focus on the scholarly output of area studies is, fundamentally, to miss the point of how the field came into being, the interests it served, and its eventual impact. Ten of thousands of undergraduates earned their degrees with a major in one or another area studies program; even after the heyday of area studies had passed in the 1970s, as many as 900 students per year earned MA degrees in area studies (U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Educational Statistics, 2011, Table 283). Beyond quantitative measures of degree production, the presence of area studies program in American universities widened course offerings on non-U.S. topics in ways that affected much larger (if not precisely calculable) numbers of undergraduate students. Identifying and quantifying the impact of area studies as a pedagogical enterprise itself has important applications. Defining the contributions of interdisciplinary and area studies to teaching and training is essential to defending it against critics within and beyond the academy. In the 1990s, as the Cold War receded and “globalization talk” (breathless if misdirected celebrations of a borderless world) accelerated, area studies came under attack. In some cases, the criticisms were aimed against specific fields—Middle Eastern Studies was challenged as essentially anti-Israel, Soviet Studies criticized for not predicting the demise of the USSR, etc. (Malia, 1992; Rutland, 1993; Kramer, 2001). But more surprising was the shift away from area studies at the SSRC, which had since the mid-1940s been a stalwart promoter, JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs

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2

indeed the institutional home, of interdisciplinary area studies. The tide has shifted even further away from forms of local knowledge promoted by area studies toward transnational, transregional, or global trends that have further undermined area studies. In this debate, the critics of interdisciplinary area studies have accused such work as lacking scholarly rigor, a familiar accusation. Here, unfortunately, the proponents of area studies chose to fight on critics’ territory, defending interdisciplinary area studies on the grounds of the scholarship it produced rather than drawing attention to pedagogical impacts. Historians of the social sciences have followed suit, elucidating with great sophistication the intellectual contributions of their subjects, but marginalizing the work of scholars in the classroom. In some ways, then, this account of justifications and criticisms of interdisciplinary area studies suggests that little was new in the 1990s debates—except that the criticisms had a more substantial impact, contributing to the decline of area studies funding. Yet the search for the value of interdisciplinary programs need not be restricted to the work scholars complete during summers and sabbaticals; interdisciplinary projects can be as much about teaching as research—that is, the primary occupation of most professors for most of each year. And for historians conducted research into the social and behavioral sciences, whether boldly transgressing disciplinary boundaries, or nestled comfortably within the confines of a single discipline, the area studies case suggests a similar lesson. Much as most of us balance research and teaching in our own scholarly lives, historians of the social sciences should investigate the tensions and synergies of these enterprises in the social sciences we study. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS An early version of this essay was prepared for the 4th ANR Workshop “Cross-disciplinary ´ research ventures in postwar American social science” at Ecole normale sup´erieure de Cachan in June 2012. I am grateful to Philippe Fontaine for the original invitation and for his useful comments. Thanks also to Roger Backhouse, Joy Rohde, and anonymous readers for their suggestions and criticisms. REFERENCES Abbott, A. (2001). Chaos of disciplines. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. ACLS (American Council of Learned Societies). (1953). Survey of placement experience of university area centers. ACLS Records, box E-87. Axelrod, J. (1945a). The Navy Language School program and foreign languages in schools and colleges: Aims and techniques. Modern Language Journal, 29, 40–47. Axelrod, J. (1945b). The Navy Language School program and college foreign language departments: Personnel and organization. Modern Language Journal, 29, 127–132. Backhouse, R., & Fontaine, P. (Eds.). (2010a). The history of the social sciences since 1945. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Backhouse, R., & Fontaine, P. (Eds.). (2010b). The unsocial social science? Economics and neighboring disciplines since 1945. History of Political Economy (Vol. 42). Durham and London: Duke University Press. Bennett, W. C. (1947). The ethnogeographic board. Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collections (Vol. 107). Whitefish, MT: Literary Licensing (llc). Bennett, W. C. (1951). Area studies in American universities. New York: Social Science Research Council. Berrien, W. (1943). Indictment or challenge to constructive advance? Remarks suggested by major Rogers’ paper. Modern Language Journal, 27, 310–322. Black, C. E., Byrnes, R. F., Jelavich, C., Roberts, H. L., Ruggles, M. J., Shulman, M. D., Treadgold, D. W., & Thompson, J. M. (1959). An appraisal of Russian studies in the United States. American Slavic and East European Review, 18, 417–441.

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