The Man Who Stalked Einstein (24 page)

As the resignations of Haber and Franck and the mounting dismissals of Jewish professors
began to attract worldwide attention, Johannes Stark, by this time ensconced in the
presidency of the Reich Physical and Technical Institute, went on the offensive. It
infuriated him that although Jews accounted for less than 1 percent of Germany’s population,
they held over an eighth of professorial chairs in German universities and a quarter
of the Nobel Prizes awarded to German citizens.

In a letter to the journal
Nature
, Stark argued that Germany’s fight was not against its scientists, but rather against
the Jews, who, in his view, had gained an inappropriate level of influence in the
sciences during the Weimar years. The reform of the German civil service was not to
intervene in the freedom of scientific inquiry but to restore the level of academic
freedom that had existed in the past, before the establishment of the “Jewish tyranny.”
The Jewish scientists who had been dismissed or forced to immigrate had simply been
caught up in what was really an effort to restore proper order to science in the Reich.

The Nazi campaign to eliminate Jewish professors from German universities drew a
strong negative response from Jews around the world. In Stark’s mind, this reaction
was still further evidence of the Jewish cabal that had taken over science and that
he and Lenard felt so desperately required a correction—not just in Germany but also
elsewhere in Europe. For the most part, Stark aggressively enforced the law, but there
were idiosyncratic exceptions where Stark personally interceded on behalf of affected
Jews.

One example of Stark’s unpredictable interventions was the case of Gustav Hertz.
The impending dismissal was brought to Stark’s attention by the German University
Lecturers Association in November 1934, along with the case of Richard Gans. On Hertz’s
behalf, Stark ruled,

There is nothing Jewish in Professor Hertz’s outward appearance, behavior, and scientific
activity. . . . He is one of our few first class German physicists and is also a Nobel
Laureate. He is, in addition, the nephew of the great physicist Heinrich Hertz [with
whom Lenard had studied and for whom he bore a fondness] and is thus the bearer of
this famous name. It would be a blunder without parallel to deny this man the right
to examine students because his grandfather was a Jew. I am convinced that he would
not possibly accept such a personal insult but would resign from his office, leave
the country, and be welcomed everywhere with open arms.

On the matter of Gans, Stark argued that while he “cannot boast of any accomplishments
as important as those of Hertz, nevertheless, his scientific papers are of value.
He also has steered clear of the Einstein circle.”

It seemed at times like these that Stark was making up his own definition of who
was and who was not subject to penalties under the 1933 law. At least on this particular
day and for these particular supplicants, Stark saw the risk in dismissing a pair
of valuable Jewish scientists. As reflected in the Gans case, an important criterion
in his decision making was where a scientist stood with respect to his views of Einstein’s
theories. However, the dismissal of most Jewish professors did not receive this level
of attention. Two years later, the Nuremburg Laws relieved both Hertz and Gans of
their responsibilities to examine students, effectively removing both men from their
university posts. Hertz and Gans found positions in industry. Although they were threatened
by deportation to concentration camps, they ultimately were protected by their companies
as essential to the war effort. Both remained in Germany throughout the war.

Relatively few German scientists truly agreed with Stark and Lenard’s extreme ideological
position, but it was suicidal for even the most accomplished German academics to disagree
and risk drawing their predatory attention.

One example of how Stark and Lenard could place a scientist in a dangerously awkward
position occurred early in Stark’s administration. Stark was asked by the Ministry
of Propaganda to organize a demonstration of support for Hitler by having a dozen
Nobel laureates sign a brief declaration, which read, “In Adolf Hitler, we German
natural researchers perceive and admire the savior and leader of the German people.
Under his protection and encouragement, our scientific work will serve the German
people and increase German esteem in the world.” The University of Goettingen’s Werner
Heisenberg diplomatically responded that while he had no problem with the document
itself, he felt it inappropriate for scientists to involve themselves in political
affairs. The remainder of the laureates followed suit. Stark personally reported the
outcome of the fiasco to Reichsminister Goebbels. Stark would not forget the embarrassment.
Eventually, he would center his crosshairs directly on Heisenberg.

The behavior of the less well-known, rank-and-file, university professors proved more
reliable. By removing ambitious and talented Jews from the competition, the law effectively
made the path to a university job much easier for the “true Germans” who remained.
Even so, Lenard’s 1934 publication of
Deutsche Physik
met with general consternation in the scientific community, particularly among younger
physicists who had developed the mathematical skills necessary to understand Einstein’s
theories.

Writing at a later time, one doctoral student wrote, “When Lenard’s book,
Deutsche Physik
, was published, it met with headshaking and amazement among colleagues. We young
physicists read a few pages out of curiosity, and then put it aside.” The student
recalled admiring one of his professors for having the courage to say, “‘This is all
very strange. One cannot do away with the facts of physics just like that.’ We students
got the message. I remember that I was glad to have this assurance and confirmation
of my own thoughts.”

Nevertheless,
Deutsche Physik
attracted a small but dedicated coterie of adherents whose speeches and writings
proved valuable to Stark and Lenard. The 1933 civil service law had provided the leverage
they needed to effectively rid German universities of Jewish professors. About twelve
hundred professors from all disciplines lost their jobs in the immediate aftermath
of the law’s implementation. Among these were one hundred six physicists, eighty-six
chemists, and eighty-five others involved in scientific investigation or the development
of technology. Hundreds of others considered insufficiently supportive of the new
regime were transferred to lesser positions.

All told, about sixteen hundred natural scientists summarily lost their jobs as a
result of the institution of the 1933 civil service law. In the absence of any means
of supporting themselves and their families, the only option for many was to leave
Germany. Among them were a sampling of elite physicists, mathematicians, and chemists
who eventually would assist the Allies in developing technologies that would help
tip the balance of World War II against Hitler’s Germany.

The scientists were part of a much larger movement. Between 1933 and 1935, enforcement
of the Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service caused 65,000 Jews
to leave Germany. Of the remaining 562,000 Jews residing in Germany following this
first wave of departures, another 300,000 emigrated because of racial or ideological
discrimination. The fate of those who stayed mirrored the horrors enacted by the German
armies in their sweep through Europe: 227,000 German Jews perished in concentration
camps. Only a tiny enclave of 25,000 Jews remained in Germany after the war.

The emigration of German scholars did not come easily. Virtually all of the countries
that might have provided safe haven had restrictive immigration policies toward Jews.
In response, a number of organizations sprung up to provide money, legal assistance,
and bureaucratic support for displaced German academics. Founded in London in 1933,
the Academic Assistance Council had, by the end of 1935, placed sixty-two professors
in tenured positions and helped one hundred forty-eight others to find at least temporary
employment outside of Germany.

In 1933, the German anatomist Philipp Schwartz founded the Switzerland-based
Notgemeinschaft Deutscher Wissenschaftler
, an emergency services organization that ultimately relocated two thousand displaced
German and Austrian university teachers, mostly in Great Britain and the United States.
The board of the
Notgemeinschaft
was a “Who’s who” of Jewish German physicists, including, at one time or another,
Max Born, James Franck, and Fritz Haber. Aid societies sprung up in France and the
United States as well. The American Emergency Committee in Aid of Displaced Scholars
compiled lists of dismissed Jewish academics and guided as many of them as it could
through often-complex processes to positions in U.S. universities. The trickle of
would-be refugees quickly became a torrent, overwhelming the capacity of relief organizations
to respond to the crisis.

The events in Germany, and especially his own banishment from Europe, strengthened
Einstein’s self-identification as a Jew. Referring back to the tumult of those times,
Einstein wrote in a 1952 letter to Israeli prime minister David Ben Gurion, “My relationship
to the Jewish people has become my strongest human bond ever since I became fully
aware of our precarious situation among the nations of the world.” Einstein had learned
the hard way that his lifelong disavowal of biblical Judaism in no way exempted him
from the genetic, cultural, and ethical qualities that identified him as a Jew.

Einstein gave a lecture to help raise funds for the work of the Academic Assistance
Council that drew ten thousand people to London’s Albert Hall. He continued his quest
with Chaim Weitzmann to build what is now Hebrew University in Jerusalem and referred
potential immigrant scholars to Palestine. He became personally involved in the immigration
cases of his many friends and colleagues. However, over time, even Einstein’s reputation
could not address the demands of such a large number of dismissed German scholars.
He received and responded to so many requests and wrote so many affidavits on behalf
of stranded Jewish scientists that, by the late 1930s, his overused signature had
lost much of its influence.

In a 1933 letter to his friend Max Born, Einstein despaired,

Two years ago I tried to appeal to Rockefeller’s conscience about the absurd method
of allocating grants [to displaced scientists], unfortunately without success. Bohr
has now gone to see him in an attempt to persuade him to take some action. . . . I
am firmly convinced that all those who have made a name already will be taken care
of. But the others, the young ones, will not have the chance to develop.

Max Born and his wife Hedi were among Einstein’s closest friends, and he had conducted
a regular correspondence with both of them since 1916. Like James Franck, the Borns
were well-assimilated, secular Jews who had no thoughts of leaving Germany prior to
the rise of Adolf Hitler. In the end, they had no choice. Stark and Lenard knew of
Born’s relationship with Einstein. They begrudged his support for Einstein during
the events surrounding the 1920 anti-Einstein lectures at the Philharmonic and the
debate at Bad Nauheim. As a friend of Einstein and a theoretical physicist to boot,
Born could expect no quarter.

Born had considered following Franck’s example in resigning from his post at Goettingen.
However, the matter was taken out of his hands when he received a telegram on April
25, 1933, dismissing him from the faculty. Like Franck, Born had been advised that
little would come of the new laws. A much-belated June 1933 letter from Werner Heisenberg,
also a member of the Goettingen faculty, suggested that he and Max Planck could intervene
on Born’s behalf. The letter mischaracterized Planck’s visit with Hitler as having
been reassuring that the “Government will not undertake anything that might impede
our science” and that “the political changes could take place without any damage to
physics at Goettingen.” Heisenberg reassured Born that “only a very few are affected
by the law—certainly not you and Franck.” In time, Heisenberg would personally suffer
from Lenard and Stark’s malevolence, but at this point he provided nothing but encouragement.
He concluded, “Therefore, I entreat you not to make any decisions now but to wait
to see how our country looks in the autumn.”

Heisenberg had misread the tea leaves. With Stark at the helm and Lenard pulling
strings with Hitler, the Nazis pursued the elimination of Jews from academic life
with ever-increasing vigor. Hordes of brown shirts roamed the streets and grew more
aggressive. Born became desperate about the increasing threat of violence to himself
and his family. “After I had been given ‘leave of absence,’ we decided to leave Germany
at once. We had rented an apartment for the summer vacation in Wolkenstein in the
Groedner valley [of Northern Italy] . . . from a farmer by the name of Peratoner.
He was willing to take us immediately. Thus, we left for the South Tyrol at the beginning
of May [1933].”

The Borns and their three children became academic nomads. They first settled temporarily
in Cambridge, where Born had obtained a visiting lectureship. From there, he sought
Einstein’s assistance in securing a permanent position while becoming involved in
the quest to place other scientists who were even less fortunate than he. In June
1933, he wrote Einstein,

Almost every week some unfortunate wretch approaches me personally, and every day
I receive letters from people left stranded. And I am completely helpless, as I am
myself a guest of the English and my name is not widely known;

I can do nothing except advise the Academic Assistance Council in London and the
Notgemeinschaft
in Zurich. But neither of these institutions has any money.