With borders closed and lockdowns in place, it can seem as though some of the key supports of academic research are crumbling.
For centuries, the face-to-face interaction of researchers has been crucial to how fields advance. Scientific fora such as the Royal Society were set up to test people’s experiments in public and, thereby, transform observations into accepted fact. One did not need to attend every meeting in person to witness the growth and honing of knowledge since the absentees could trust that some of their peers were meeting somewhere to query methods and replicate findings.
Governments, too, have long appreciated the importance of attracting scientists and inventors to their countries – rather than merely waiting to adopt innovations made abroad. In the 16th century, English monarchs began poaching German metallurgists and their families, offering them denizenship rights (akin to modern permanent residency) and patent monopolies over the crafts that they would bring. France and Russia, in the early 18th century, tried to entice British watchmakers. In an attempt to stem the flow of talent abroad, Britain in 1719 even banned the emigration of skilled artisans. And in the 20th century, both the Soviet Union and the US poached thousands of German engineers after the Second World War; it was a von Braun, not a Brown, who helped pioneer the American space programme.
But for all that effort, the real lifeblood of research since the 17th century, if not earlier, has been ink. Scholars’ letters criss-crossed Europe and North America, with many reaching as far as India or China, all sent in the cause of pursuing and sharing knowledge. A “Republic of Letters” emerged, occasionally transcending sociopolitical barriers and even the ravages of war. In an era of religious conflict, the members of the early Royal Society thought that anyone, of any class, nation or religion, could become citizens of this republic. They had only to write to other scholars with something to contribute.
Indeed, before the Royal Society was founded in the 1660s, the likes of Samuel Hartlib, a London-based refugee from western Poland, served as international switchboards, receiving and re-disseminating scholarly correspondence from all over Europe. And Hartlib’s role as an “intelligencer” has persisted. The Republic of Letters is no long-lost civilisation but a thriving and all-encompassing empire. It has simply switched ink for pixels.
In our modern Republic of Emails, researchers must surely send more messages to one another than at any time in human history. Their communications shoot across the globe instantaneously, with the republic accepting more and more citizens than ever before. No introduction to a Hartlib is necessary; one simply gets in touch with one’s peers directly.
But we may now be seeing a fresh transformation. We may have been forced by the pandemic to recognise the communicative opportunities in online video technology, but we are coming to see them as more than just quick fixes while we wait for normality to resume.
Teaching over Zoom is not quite the same as the real thing, of course. But we are already witnessing a great levelling of the pedagogic playing field, as smaller and poorer institutions suddenly find themselves able to attract more prominent lecturers and seminar speakers.
Researchers’ public platforms are being extended far further than ever before. Recently, for instance, I gave a talk to a high school in New York. The school would never have afforded to fly me out from London, and I probably would have declined its invitation anyway. Yet there I was – virtually, at least. For many more like me, a costly, days-long commitment has, in a matter of months, been transformed into a hour-long stint in the comfort of my study.
Even after the pandemic is over, we can expect many more talks and seminars to be given online. It gives an opportunity to scholars pursuing careers outside formal academia, as well as complementing the careers of those within it. And with the rise of monetised online newsletters, podcasts, videos and even conversations, we can expect to see many more “alt-academia” careers being forged, catering to the interests and passion for learning of people all over the world. The pandemic has not just allowed us to explore the potential of our supply of such things, but has made obvious the demand.
The most exciting opportunity for scholars is their greatly enhanced ability to inspire schoolchildren, university students and the public at large to become contributors to their fields – to become new citizens of the Republic of Emails. If we can perfect the online class and the online talk while our alternatives are restricted, then we will come out of the crisis with a larger and more vibrant academic ecosystem than ever before.
Anton Howes is an economic historian who focuses on the history of invention. He is head of innovation research at the UK-based thinktank The Entrepreneurs Network and writes the Age of Invention newsletter.
