Project Camelot Solovey2001

Social Studies of Science
http://sss.sagepub.com/
Project Camelot and the 1960s Epistemological Revolution: Rethinking the

Politics-patronage-social Science Nexus
Mark Solovey
Social Studies of Science 2001 31: 171
DOI: 10.1177/0306312701031002003
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Special Issue: Science in the Cold War
ABSTRACT Project Camelot, a military-sponsored, social science study of revolution,

was cancelled in 1965 amidst international and national discussion about the study’s
political implications. Subsequently, Camelot became the focus of a wide-ranging
controversy about the connections between Cold War politics, military patronage,
and American social science. This paper argues that following Camelot’s demise,
efforts to rethink the politics–patronage–social science nexus became an important
part of what historian Peter Novick has called ‘the epistemological revolution that
began in the 1960s’. Novick claims that ‘strictly academic’ considerations provided the
categories of analysis that challenged the scholarly mainstream’s commitment to
objectivity and related ideals, like value-neutrality and professional autonomy. In
contrast, my analysis – which discusses post-WWII military patronage for the social
sciences, Camelot’s origins and cancellation, the ensuing controversy, and some long-
term implications of this controversy – underscores the centrality of political
developments and political concerns in that epistemological revolution.
Keywords counter-insurgency, ideology, objectivity, SORO, value-neutrality
Project Camelot and the 1960s

Epistemological Revolution:
Rethinking the Politics–Patronage–Social
Science Nexus
Mark Solovey
The influence of political decisions and climates on social research is not
new, but the fact that this can no longer be ignored is. Camelot, a
proposed international social science research project sponsored by the
Army Research Office of the United States Department of Defense, was
the turning point.1
(Anthropologist Ralph L. Beals, 1969)
Project Camelot, a 1960s military-sponsored study of the revolutionary

process, had a curiously brief existence, yet it also left an important legacy.
Camelot’s projected cost of six million US dollars would have made it the
largest social science project in US history, but international complaints
about this study’s imperialistic implications led in mid-1965 to its can-
cellation, before Camelot had even moved beyond the planning stage.
Camelot’s full importance became manifest only in the following years, as
this study became the focal point of an extensive controversy about the
relationship between American politics, military patronage, and American
social science.2
Social Studies of Science 31/2(April 2001) 171–206

© SSS and SAGE Publications (London, Thousand Oaks CA, New Delhi)
[0306-3127(200104)31:2;171–206;019095]

172 Social Studies of Science 31/2
Camelot thus became an important episode in the long-standing (and

still ongoing) debate about the nature of the social science enterprise. Ever
since the emergence of professional social science in the United States
during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, scholars, patrons and
consumers of social research have argued about the relationships between
inquiry and politics, research and reform, scholarship and ideology.3 From
the 1940s until the early 1960s especially, the dominant sentiment held
that the social sciences were junior partners to the natural sciences.4 This
position implied that the former needed to follow in the footsteps of the
latter, which, by further implication, required a clear-cut, impermeable
boundary between science and politics. But as the decade of the 1960s
unfolded, the social sciences became major participants in what historian
Peter Novick has called ‘the epistemological revolution that began in the
1960s’.5
At the heart of this revolution, according to Novick, was a multi-
faceted scholarly challenge to the dominant post-WWII model of social
science inquiry based upon an idealized positivist and empiricist image of
the natural sciences – an image that posited an objective, value-neutral
scholarly enterprise whose intellectual practices and products were well
insulated from ‘extra-scientific’ or ‘external’ social influences. Novick
suggests, for example, that currents in the history and philosophy of
science, including Thomas Kuhn’s work on scientific revolutions, some-
times helped to undermine commitments to mainstream academic para-
digms that looked to the natural sciences for guidance. Elsewhere, schol-
arly interest in literary theory and hermeneutics drew attention to the
problems involved in interpreting the meaning of human action, problems
whose proper study seemed to require tools of analysis that the natural
sciences could not provide. Focusing on these and other scholarly develop-
ments, Novick argues that
. . . although the highly charged political atmosphere of the period some-

times raised the stakes of controversies about objectivity in the social
sciences, it was for the most part ‘strictly academic’ considerations which
initiated debates, and contributed the categories in which heterodox views
were advanced.6
Without denying the importance of these ‘academic’ contributions, I

suggest that this historical interpretation needs to be revised, for as the
Camelot controversy reveals, political developments and political concerns
had a central place in the 1960s challenge to scientific objectivity, and to
related ideals like value-neutrality and professional autonomy in American
social science.
My analysis of the Camelot controversy highlights the importance of
the politics–patronage–social science nexus in the epistemological revolu-
tion. I want to make three main points. First, far from being an internal
scholarly affair, the 1960s challenge to the then-dominant view of the
social sciences, which suggested that they should follow the lead of the
natural sciences, became by mid-decade a national political affair. In this

Science in the Cold War: Solovey: Project Camelot & the Social Sciences 173
turn of events, the Camelot controversy played a key rôle by making the
intellectual status and political import of the social sciences the subject of a
wide-ranging national controversy, thus accomplishing what scholars crit-
ical of orthodox social science had by themselves not done. Second, this
public context inspired changes in the parameters of discussion, as scholars
(together with politicians, and sometimes other observers) now focused
on the importance of Cold War politics and military patronage in shaping
(and perhaps distorting) American social science. Third, in the wake of
Camelot, critical consideration of the politics–patronage–social science
nexus helped to strengthen opposition to the orthodox understanding of
social science as an objective, value-neutral scholarly enterprise immune to
extra-scientific (and especially political or ideological) influences.
At the outset I should note that although the ways in which the
particular disciplines participated in, and were affected by, the epistemo-
logical revolution varied significantly – a point emphasized by Novick – this
paper largely puts aside questions about variation across the disciplines.
This is because my main focus is on salient changes in the politics–
patronage–social science nexus during the 1960s that were not limited to a
single discipline, and on efforts to criticize and analyse this nexus (and thus
to rethink the nature of American social science) in a global manner.
Military Patronage and the Quest for Scientific Legitimacy in

the Early Post-WWII Period
Since the problems concerning Project Camelot and the politics–
patronage–social science nexus were rooted in developments since the
1940s, it is important to begin by considering the creation of a post-war
partnership between the social sciences and the military. In the early post-
WWII years, social scientists faced widespread scepticism about their
political significance and scientific credentials. In this context, the develop-
ment of a partnership with the military helped social scientists in their
quest for public respectability and scientific legitimacy. Although, in retro-
spect, it seems clear that military support left a deep imprint on the
institutional conditions, intellectual orientation and political significance of
academic social research, the threats of political subordination and loss of
intellectual independence seemed at the time to be manageable; it seemed,
to many key players at least, that social research carried out with military
funding could contribute to important Cold War goals without losing its
objectivity and other ‘scientific’ characteristics. In fact, the military took a
special interest in social research that appeared to be rigorously scientific –
meaning, much like natural science research.
Following World War II, a new politics of American science presented a
number of difficulties for social scientists as they sought funding and
public support.7 Although social scientists had participated extensively in
the Allied war effort, their contributions were overshadowed by the re-
markable achievements of natural scientists, especially physical scientists
whose work led to the atom bomb, radar, and other weapons used against

the Axis powers. By the end of the war, preparations to establish adequate
post-war support for American science concentrated on the natural sciences
as well.8
The early history of the US National Science Foundation made the
peripheral status and questionable scientific credentials of the social sci-
ences painfully evident. In an effort to create a comprehensive, post-war
federal science agency, the question of whether or not the social sciences
should even be included generated extensive controversy, as a variety of
critics doubted that the social science were more than distant cousins of
the natural sciences. After more than half a decade of national debate on
this and other matters, a 1950 legislative act created the National Science
Foundation, or ‘NSF’. Permissive wording in NSF’s charter left the
support of the social sciences up in the air, a matter to be (re)considered by
the Foundation’s predominantly natural-science leaders. Though this
agency was much smaller than originally envisioned, its legislative history
still demonstrated just how far the social sciences were from the centre of
national concern. Subsequently, NSF’s hesitating, cautious entry into the
social sciences helped to confirm their marginal position.9
So did the overwhelming natural-science bias in post-war military
science programmes. These sprang up during the late 1940s to fill the gap
created by the delay in NSF’s establishment.10 The case of the Office of
Naval Research (ONR) is revealing. By the end of the first post-war
decade, ONR had become the most important federal patron of academic
science: but, from the social sciences, only psychology received substantial
support from ONR.11
Social scientists also had to confront the fact that physical scientists
dominated the key federal wartime and post-war science advisory posts. In
NSF’s origins, it became clear that few if any natural scientists were
committed to the notion that the social sciences deserved comparable
public support, recognition or influence. By occupying top positions in
such important settings as the Office of Scientific Research and Develop-
ment, the National Academy of Sciences (NAS), NSF, and the President’s
Science Advisory Committee, these same natural scientists of the Man-
hattan Project generation exercised substantial influence over the nation’s
scientific development.12 Within this élite circle, social scientists were
notable mainly by their absence.
Considerable scepticism about the intellectual foundations and polit-
ical meaning of social science, and sometimes hostility from conservative
politicians in the Congress, caused further problems. Conservative political
opponents, who associated social science with New Deal liberalism, racial
equality and – worst of all – Marxist socialism and communism, joined
forces with sceptical natural scientists to prevent social science from
obtaining a major presence in the new National Science Foundation; at
one point it looked as if conservatives had managed to exclude what they
saw as partisan (and thus unscientific) social disciplines altogether.13 The
power of conservative politicians only increased as the Cold War became
an ongoing international emergency, supporting the growth of rampant

domestic anti-communism. Through the mid-1950s, individual social

scientists, social science organizations and their patrons, especially the
large private foundations, became frequent targets of university, state and
national investigations into subversive, un-American activities.14
Under these conditions, the establishment of amiable relations with
the military became particularly appealing. Beginning with its first serious
involvement with the social sciences during World War I, the military
demonstrated a special interest in psychological expertise.15 During World
War II and the Cold War, the expertise of psychologists, psychiatrists, and
professionals in related areas seemed especially relevant to military and
intelligence operations. Psychologists proclaimed that their work was per-
haps even more valuable than military hardware in winning the allegiances
of foreign governments and peoples. This viewpoint gained substantial
support among American foreign policy experts who were interested in the
‘Communist Mind’ and concerned about communist efforts to control the
psyches of peoples in nations around the world, including the United
States. As suggested by Cold War rhetoric on both sides of the Iron
Curtain, this conflict was not only about economics, politics and military
might, but also about competing worldviews and ideologies. From this
perspective, the major stakes included the hearts and minds of individuals,
subjects about which psychologists presumably knew more than anybody
else did. Not surprisingly, throughout this period psychology’s most im-
portant extra-university patron was the military.16
In an impressive range of cases, the military stimulated the growth of
other social sciences as well. Political studies on nuclear strategy, including
such central Cold War doctrines as deterrence and mutual assured destruc-
tion, received the Department of Defense (DOD)’s attention.17 The RAND
Corporation, the most famous of the military think tanks, facilitated
research on nuclear strategy, as well as on operations research and systems
theory – research which drew from a number of social science disciplines,
but especially economics.18 Economists interested in game theory also
worked at RAND, while enjoying support from other DOD science pro-
grammes as well.19 The large private foundations – Carnegie, Rockefeller
and Ford – together with national security agencies, pushed for and
financed the development of the Harvard and Columbia Russian studies
programmes, MIT’s Center for International Studies and, more generally,
the proliferation of area studies programmes throughout American higher
education.20 In these settings, social scientists from varied disciplinary
backgrounds pursued investigations in such cutting-edge fields as modern-
ization and development studies,21 which together with social systems
analysis later became part of Project Camelot. The rapid growth of
communications studies also depended heavily on military and intelligence
agencies for support.22
While this discussion is not meant to be comprehensive, it does
indicate that military funding and related programmes of patronage pro-
vided valuable sustenance for many prominent developments in post-war

social science. Based on recent scholarly contributions and his own ex-
tensive work on this topic, Christopher Simpson has concluded that
‘military, intelligence, and propaganda agencies provided by far the largest
part of the funds for large research projects in the social sciences in the
United States from World War II until well into the 1960s’.23
The general goal of the military’s growing commitment to the social
sciences was eminently practical, involving DOD’s immense managerial
tasks. Charles Bray served as a member of the Smithsonian Institution’s
Research Group in Psychology and the Social Sciences, which under
military contract carried out social science planning studies. The title of
Bray’s 1962 published account in the American Psychologist, ‘Toward a
Technology of Human Behavior for Defense Use’, underscored the mili-
tary’s practical interests in the social sciences. DOD’s basic aim in sponsor-
ing social research was, in Bray’s words, ‘to lay the basis for an overall
increase in the sophistication and inventiveness with which Defense man-
agement meets [problems related to] the expansion of military operations
. . . into new social settings’. Just as research in the natural sciences and
engineering had improved DOD’s ‘sophistication and inventiveness about
the production of physical objects’, research in the social sciences would
presumably improve the military’s ‘sophistication and inventiveness about
people’.24
In speaking of a ‘technology of human behavior’, Bray drew upon a
pervasive postwar rhetoric that portrayed social science as a junior – but
rapidly maturing – colleague to natural science within a unified scientific
enterprise. Disciplinary histories suggest that a pronounced emphasis on
proper methodology during these years was often considered by social
scientists to be the key to making social inquiry truly ‘scientific’.25 This
position resonated with cultural programmes for a modern, secular society
that took as their basis a cosmopolitan, universalized vision of scientific
inquiry.26 The social science emphasis on scientific unity through method-
ology also served at the National Science Foundation and elsewhere as a
strategy for strengthening the shaky scientific status of social inquiry.
In the case of military science programmes, a dominant orientation
toward the physical sciences meant that social scientists, if they did not
want to be viewed as imposters, had to display their scientific stripes
prominently. Consistently, social scientists as individuals and members of
advisory committees emphasized that social research that had much in
common with natural science inquiry was the type that had the greatest
potential benefit to the military. The point that social science comprised a
vital component of the sciences rather than the humanities came through
again and again in their writings.27 This message also stood out in the first
report on the social sciences from the physical-sciences-dominated Presi-
dent’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC). According to this landmark
1962 statement:
Progress in behavioral science has come about by using the scientific
processes of observing, experimenting, and extensively following up and
correcting working hypotheses. Indeed, all the general attitudes and

strategies of physical and biological science have found a place in be-

havioral science.28
PSAC’s use of the term ‘behavioral science(s)’ rather than the more
traditional ‘social science(s)’ was revealing, as it reflected the improved
status of the social disciplines within the national science establishment.
Since social science had been associated with supposedly un-American
programmes of social reform (and sounded suspiciously like socialism),
leading scholars and their patrons often looked for other words to signify a
stronger commitment to a hard-core type of science. During the 1950s, the
Ford Foundation helped to propagate this message through its Behavioral
Sciences Program.29
The hard-core, technocratic orientation of military-sponsored social
research faithfully mirrored the ‘behavioral sciences’ rhetoric. Recent
scholarship on social science and its ties to the national security state
suggests that such research typically aimed to facilitate prediction and
control, qualities often considered, at least since the time of the 17th-
century Scientific Revolution, to be hallmarks of ‘science’. During World
War II, psychologists, anthropologists, and other scholars working in the
field of culture and personality studies, all sought to predict national
behaviour as part of wartime operations.30 In the case of communications
studies, scholars with close ties to psychological warfare programmes
contributed to building, as Christopher Simpson has aptly put it, a ‘science
of coercion’. Its scholarly products would enable American political leaders
to control beliefs and attitudes within target populations, both domestic
and foreign.31 Similarly, the field of modernization studies had a decidedly
manipulative bent. Based upon the notion that underdeveloped countries
were especially vulnerable to Communist penetration, scholars set out to
identify the key variables and stages in the process of development, with
the hope that the resulting knowledge would enable US leaders to direct
this process in a manner favourable to American interests.32
Military social research efforts typically deployed ‘hard’ scientific
methodologies as well. This meant a marked preference for quantitative
analysis as opposed to historical, qualitative, and other forms of social
research that seemed ‘soft’ by comparison. Charles Bray emphasized that
behavioural technology was ‘based on controlled observation, and, prefera-
bly . . . expressed in formulas, tables, and graphs. That is to say, it is not
only tested but it is quantitative information that is needed’.33 To take just
one specific, salient case, in the early development of operations research
and systems analysis, mathematicians, engineers and physical scientists led
the way. As the historian of technology Thomas Hughes has pointed out,
‘from operations research, systems analysis borrowed holistic, transdiscip-
linary characteristics and the reliance on natural scientists and scientifically
trained engineers and their methods’.34 In order for social scientists to
become participants, they had to display certain skills and methods of
analysis. Competence in mathematics and quantitative cost-benefit ana-
lysis helped economists, in particular, to gain credibility. So much so that

during the early 1960s, the new Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara
recruited systems experts, many with backgrounds in economics, to help
place the management of military affairs on a rational, scientific basis.35
On top of this, military support during the early post-war period
promised to leave scholarly objectivity, autonomy and independence intact.
In the 1940s and 1950s, authors from the natural and social sciences, as
well as from the history, philosophy, and sociology of science, commonly
distinguished between science and politics, research and reform, scholar-
ship and ideology. Though nuanced differences of opinion and some
strongly contrary perspectives persisted, the dominant sentiment held that
patrons and their beneficiaries should not confuse the two sides in these
pairs. Classic cases of the Soviet State corrupting genetics, and of the Nazi
State destroying parts of its scientific community, provided frequently
repeated lessons about what could go wrong.36 Of course, military support
raised the spectre of State domination of science at home as well,37 but
many observers at the time found that certain features of postwar Amer-
ican science seemed to militate against this possibility. These features
included the military’s extensive reliance on universities as sites of research
and training; its regular use of university scholars as advisors; the existence
of pluralistic sources of public and private support; and the cultivation of a
‘basic’ science component within military research programmes. Scientists
pointed, for example, to the Office of Naval Research as a major patron
that respected the special needs of science.38 These circumstances help to
explain the fact that, as historian Allan Needell has observed, ‘the potential
impact of such support [from military and intelligence agencies] – direct or
indirect – on the quality and independence of research and on the teaching
of these subjects remained largely unevaluated’, at least until the 1960s.39
In short, the theory and practice of science suggested that academic
researchers could feed at the public trough without becoming subordinate
to political power.
So President Eisenhower’s famous warning that dependence on the
federal patron could harm American science came, especially as far as the
social sciences were concerned, at an awkward moment. In his 1961
Farewell Presidential Address, Eisenhower noted that with the passage of
time, the threat of political subordination had grown stronger. As scientific
research became increasingly costly, more of it was conducted directly and
indirectly for the American government, contributing to the growth of
what Eisenhower called the ‘military–industrial complex’, and what later
commentators referred to as the ‘military–industrial–academic complex’.
In this situation, there was a great danger that government contracts would
become ‘virtually a substitute for intellectual curiosity’. ‘The prospect of
domination of the nation’s scholars by Federal employment, project alloca-
tions, and the power of money is’, cautioned the ex-military general, ‘ever
present’.40
The soon-to-be ex-President made his dire remarks following the
success of social scientists in obtaining at least a small space and moderate
scientific credentials within the expanding federal science system. This had

not been easy, for they first had to demonstrate their true ‘scientific’
colours and practical worth to more powerful players whose main concerns
often lay elsewhere. A growing partnership with the military indicated that
social scientists had made some progress; they had acquired a measure of
respect from a patron that stood for American might and national vigour.
Additionally, they had done so while apparently retaining – and even
strengthening – the institutional conditions, social relations, methodo-
logical practices, epistemological goals and habits of mind commonly
associated with rigorous scientific inquiry. Thus social scientists and the
military seemed to be working together on projects of common interest,
without contaminating social inquiry with unscientific ideology or values.
The politics–patronage–social science nexus seemed to be working well.
Moving Toward the Political Centre Stage: Planning for

Project Camelot
Whereas the social sciences had been a prime target of conservative
political attacks during the first postwar decade, the public status of these
disciplines rose dramatically during the liberal Democratic administrations
of John F. Kennedy and Lyndon B. Johnson. In the history of American
social science, these years were truly remarkable, as scholars from all of the
major disciplines – psychology, sociology, political science, economics,
anthropology – helped to shape major domestic and foreign policy ini-
tiatives. Kennedy himself had a well-known enthusiasm for scholars who
could straddle the worlds of academia and politics comfortably, the so-
called ‘action intellectuals’ or ‘policy scientists’. Though he was not so
popular with this group as Kennedy had been, Johnson, as the nation’s new
leader following Kennedy’s assassination in late 1963, came to depend
even more heavily upon advisory groups and individuals with extensive
academic connections.41 Within the social sciences, no study reflected their
rapidly rising (and soon to be widely challenged) position better than
Project Camelot. Rooted deeply in the post-war partnership with the
military, Camelot promised to provide American social scientists with
abundant resources and opportunities to fulfil the twin goals of producing
first-rate science and solving important political problems.
During his 1960 presidential campaign, Kennedy promised to correct
what he took to be a flawed national defence policy. The Eisenhower
administration’s emphasis on preparation for full-scale nuclear war and the
threat of massive retaliation seemed inadequate in light of changing Cold
War politics. Soon after assuming the presidential office, Kennedy de-
livered a message to the Congress outlining the need for new military
capabilities to meet novel foreign policy challenges. Only two months
before, Soviet leader Nikita Krushchev had announced that his country
would support ‘national liberation wars’, a policy soon adopted by Com-
munist China, as indicated in the Peking People’s Daily: ‘The Communists
of all countries . . . must . . . resolutely support wars of national liberation’.
To combat this style of communist aggression, Kennedy called upon the

American military to strengthen its ability to identify pockets of Commu-

nist-supported revolutionary activity, and respond with conventional and
counter-insurgency forces.42
Against this background, DOD’s internal and external social research
programmes underwent an impressive expansion. Between 1960 and 1966,
the annual budget of DOD’s Research, Development, Test and Evaluation
programme in counter-insurgency alone grew from $10 million to $160
million. Of the latter figure, $6 million went to social science research, or
‘non-material research’ as it was sometimes referred to by military person-
nel.43 From 1961 to 1964, DOD support for research in the psychological
sciences rose from $17.2 million to $31.1 million, while its support for
research in the social sciences (not including psychology) increased from
$0.2 million to $5.7 million.44
The immediate impetus for Project Camelot came in 1964, when
DOD’s Director of Defense Research and Engineering asked the Defense
Science Board (a high-level military science advisory group) to study
existing research programmes ‘relating to ethnic and other motivational
factors involved in the causation and conduct of small wars’. The resulting
report, after noting various deficiencies in DOD’s behavioural sciences
programme, identified a need to improve ‘the knowledge and under-
standing in depth of the internal cultural, economic and political condi-
tions that generate conflicts between national groups’. Better under-
standing required greater emphasis on the collection of primary data in
overseas areas. The Defense Science Board also criticized DOD’s failure to
‘organize appropriate multidisciplinary programs and to use the techniques
of such related fields as operations research’. In response to such criti-
cisms, the Army began to develop an ambitious research programme,
known as Project Camelot, to study revolutionary movements and
counter-insurgency tactics.45
Camelot’s detailed planning lay in the hands of the Special Operations
Research Office (SORO). Created in 1956, SORO was a military-
supported, quasi-independent research institute, located on the campus of
American University in Washington, DC, that served as the main centre for
Army-contract research in the behavioural sciences. Over half of SORO’s
personnel produced handbooks on countries throughout the world, pro-
viding information on social structures, political and economic systems,
and revolutionary potential. One such handbook had the not-too-subtle
title ‘How Americans Serving Abroad Can Help the Free World Win the
Battle of Ideas in the Cold War’. SORO also established a Counter-
insurgency Information Analysis Center for the purpose of storing and
transmitting information that SORO collected and produced. Though
initially SORO’s activities involved little field research, SORO soon be-
came a major centre for this type of inquiry as well.46
A SORO description of Project Camelot explained its integrated
scientific and political objectives. First, Camelot would ‘devise procedures
for assessing the potential for internal war within national societies’.
Second, this study would ‘identify with increased degrees of confidence

those actions which a government might take to relieve conditions which

are assessed as giving rise to a potential for internal war’. Third, Camelot
would ‘assess the feasibility of prescribing the characteristics of a system for
obtaining and using the essential information needed for doing the above
two things’.47
A vast geographical scope accompanied Camelot’s ambitious aims.
According to SORO documents, survey research and field studies would
be conducted in the following countries: Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador,
Paraguay, Peru, Venezuela, Iran and Thailand. Fieldwork would be com-
plemented by comparative historical studies of Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil,
Colombia, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Guatemala,
Mexico, Paraguay, Peru, Venezuela, Egypt, Iran, Turkey, Korea, Indonesia,
Malaysia, Thailand, France, Greece and Nigeria.48
In putting together the intellectual and human resources for this grand
undertaking, SORO counted upon a pool of élite academics. As SORO’s
Director Theodore R. Vallance proudly indicated, his research institute
cultivated ‘good working relationships with the topflight behavioral scien-
tists in most of the major institutions around the country’.49 In the case
at hand, 33 consultants hailed from such prestigious institutions as
California-Berkeley, MIT, Johns Hopkins, Princeton, Columbia,
Michigan, Pittsburgh, Virginia and Stanford. (See Appendix for a complete
list of these consultants.)
As for the study’s Director, the military chose Rex D. Hopper, a most
suitable candidate. Head of the sociology programme at Brooklyn College,
Hopper specialized in Latin American area studies, travelling to that region
on numerous occasions to lecture and conduct research. He also had a
deep interest in revolution and its scientific management. As early as 1950,
he had begun to design a developmental model of revolutionary move-
ments. A generalized description of the revolutionary process, Hopper
emphasized, ‘is a necessary prerequisite to any attempt at control’.50
Camelot incorporated many features characteristic of military-
sponsored work that made it attractive to leading scholars. To begin with,
Camelot offered the opportunity to do sophisticated scientific work, in-
cluding the construction of social systems models for entire societies, and
studies in nation-building. Both areas of research had been receiving
substantial support from leading private and public patrons of post-WWII
academic social science. In addition, the military discussed this study in
the terms of ‘basic science’. Of course, Camelot was not undirected
research stemming solely from intellectual curiosity. But neither did the
official viewpoint depict Camelot as an applied, technical task. Instead, the
picture presented by DOD suggested that the two sides, academic and
military, were working in a mutually supportive relationship, to develop
social research with substantial scholarly importance and policy payoffs.51
Perhaps as a sign of respect for Camelot’s scholarly status, this study,
despite its obvious foreign policy concerns, was not even classified.
Furthermore, since counter-insurgency research brought together in-
vestigators from a broad range of social science disciplines, scholars in

search of policy-relevant knowledge would not be hindered by common

disciplinary constraints. As Seymour Deitchman, Special Assistant for
Counterinsurgency, explained, all of the major social disciplines were
needed to understand the very real-world matters of concern:
The [cold] war itself revolves around the allegiance and support of the
local population. The Defense Department has therefore recognized that
part of its research and development efforts to support counterinsurgency
operations must be oriented toward the people, United States and foreign,
involved in this type of war; and the DOD has called on the types of
scientists – anthropologists, psychologists, sociologists, political scientists,
economists – whose professional orientation to human behavior would
enable them to make useful contributions in this area.52
SORO itself, added director Vallance, had over one hundred social
researchers with diverse disciplinary backgrounds.53 Like much of the
work done at MIT’s Center for International Studies, RAND, and other
military-funded research centres, Camelot would pursue interdisciplinary
work matched to current policy needs.
The project’s name resonated with the Kennedy and Johnson admin-
istrations’ growing confidence in social engineering as the key to social
harmony. ‘Camelot’, explained Vallance, referred to the Arthurian legend
about ‘the development of a stable society with domestic tranquility and
peace and justice for all. This is an objective that seemed to, if we were
going to have a code label, connote the right sort of things’.54 After
Kennedy’s death, ‘Camelot’ had also become associated with his legendary
idealism and youthful vigour.
Last but not least, the anticipation of bountiful funding suggested
Camelot’s great importance, as well as its obvious attraction to action
intellectuals. Camelot’s unprecedentedly large budget would be as much as
$6 million, to be distributed over a four-year period. Moreover, director
Vallance referred to Camelot as a pilot or ‘feasibility’ study. If all went well,
bigger projects would follow.55 Presumably, Camelot would provide valu-
able data and an important learning environment for researchers working
on future studies. The final stage of this effort, noted Army Chief of
Research and Development William W. Dick, Jr, would be the production
of ‘a single model which could be used to estimate the internal war
potential of a developing nation’.56
No wonder that one participant suggested that Camelot would serve as
the Manhattan Project for the social sciences. Another Camelot participant
heard – perhaps only a rumour – that Camelot, or a follow-up study, might
eventually receive as much as $50 million annually. Writing a few years
later, the anthropologist Ralph Beals speculated in a similar vein that . . .
. . . the full implementation of the Camelot proposal would have required
the involvement of social scientists on a scale comparable to the involve-
ment of physical scientists and engineers with putting a man on the
moon.57
So, whether they were under the military’s enlightened scientific guidance,
or whether they were providing scientific guidance to the military as it

ventured into new and dangerous terrain, the social sciences were moving
toward the political centre stage, apparently destined for greatness.
The Politics–Patronage–Social Science Nexus Under Scrutiny

On the road to Camelot, however, something went very wrong. In 1965,
US troop commitments to the Vietnam War rose dramatically, triggering a
corresponding increase in domestic anti-war sentiment and protests. As a
result, during the second half of the 1960s, relations between the national-
security state and academia became embedded in divisive arguments about
the nature of American society and its rôle on the world stage. Of special
relevance, universities themselves became major centres of political debate
and social activism in the anti-war movement. Campus protests against the
so-called Establishment identified scholars and their academic institutions
as integral components of the American war machine. According to a
growing number of distressed voices, American scientists and other parts
of the academy had sold their souls to the forces of evil, now disguised in
official double-speak as the benevolent protector of the free world.58
In this context, Project Camelot became a main event, serving as the
first major focal point of national discussion about the use and abuse of
social science by the State. If social scientists were working for the military
(or for the government more generally), was their work going to be
influenced by current policy objectives? If so, was social science destined to
serve power? Or could social scientists, even while dependent on powerful
patrons for support, maintain a fair measure of freedom and critical
perspective in designing, conducting and interpreting research? As many
commentators now saw it, contrary to the pervasive post-WWII rhetoric
about increasing scientific rigour and objectivity in the social or behav-
ioural sciences, the politics–patronage–social science nexus had under-
mined claims about the ideological and political purity of American social
science. Thus in the glare of the public spotlight, post-war efforts that
appealed to a unified, objective scientific enterprise as a means of manag-
ing the political meaning and intellectual status of the social sciences began
to unravel rapidly.
Since Camelot served as a catalyst, not the original spark, in a debate
with deep roots in the scholarly community, it is important first to note
some of the emerging academic concerns about mainstream social science
that had by the early 1960s been gaining strength. Although it would be
impossible to do justice here to the full range of these concerns, brief
mention of some of the more relevant ones helps to set the stage for the
Camelot controversy.
One source of frustration within a variety of fields of study involved
certain pervasive social-science assumptions about human beings and
society that contradicted commonsense notions about the wilful nature of
human action and the value of personal autonomy. Within psychology, for
instance, practitioners who were unhappy with the mechanistic and deter-
ministic models offered by the dominant behaviourist and psychoanalytic

schools, championed a new approach called ‘humanistic psychology’. One

of their leaders, Abraham Maslow, represented many of them in his
insistence that an adequate psychology required careful attention to such
basic human traits as freedom, morality and spiritual growth.59
Critics were also uneasy about the mainstream’s commitment to value-
neutrality, and to related professional ideals that suggested scholars needed
to remain objective (and thus disinterested) when it came to questions
about political and moral ends. Along with humanistic psychologists, vocal
scholars in sociology and political science found the notion that research
could, and should only, be concerned with means and not ends problem-
atic. The extent of this concern became clearer in the debate over the so-
called end-of-ideology thesis. Put forth in the 1950s by prominent in-
tellectuals like the sociologist Daniel Bell and the political scientist
Seymour Martin Lipset, this thesis said that the development of social and
political thought within the United States was converging on a remarkably
widespread agreement over fundamental aims. Thus the nation could now
focus on the best ways of achieving such aims. But the debate over this
thesis revealed that, in fact, there remained substantial scholarly interest in
discussing the ends of social life, as well as a desire shared by many
scholars to address the matter of fundamental principles directly in their
writings.60
In 1964, in a remarkable effort to synthesize such challenges to the
social science mainstream, Floyd W. Matson, who at the end of the 1960s
became president of the newly-formed professional association for human-
istic psychologists, proposed that it was time to rethink the nature of the
social sciences. Trying to discern what a variety of unorthodox scholarly
trends added up to, Matson concluded that the mainstream had produced
a ‘broken image’ of human nature. This image diminished human beings
by offering them an impoverished understanding of themselves and society.
Furthermore, this image lent itself to a manipulative orientation that saw
human beings as objects to be studied, observed, analysed, and ultimately
controlled by supposedly objective scientific experts. This broken image,
Matson argued, was due in no small part to the long history of un-
successful efforts to apply the viewpoint of Newtonian physical science to
the study of human beings.61
The case of Project Camelot took these concerns about deficiencies in
mainstream scholarship, concerns that had mainly been confined to schol-
arly discussion, placed them in the national spotlight, and thus trans-
formed the character of that discussion. The public setting involved a wider
range of participants. It also gave discontented scholars a broader public
audience and greater visibility within the academy, as social scientists now
testified before Congress about the connections among national politics,
military patronage and the academy; politicians considered proposals to
restructure those connections; and the national press offered frequent
coverage of the many complex issues. There thus emerged a widespread
controversy about the relationship between social science and the national-

security state, and especially about the implications of military patronage

for the social science enterprise.
The turmoil began in a location geographically distant from the
United States, but well within the scope of American foreign policy
interests. In April of 1965, Hugo Nutini, a Chilean-born assistant pro-
fessor of anthropology at the University of Pittsburgh, went to Chile,
apparently on a recruiting mission. He met with Chilean scholars and
Alvaro Bunster, the Secretary-General of the University of Chile, to
discuss what Nutini characterized as a social science project involving top
US scholars from a variety of disciplines. When asked about the project’s
sources of support, Nutini, who had been involved in Camelot’s planning,
replied that funds came from the civilian National Science Foundation and
various universities.62
Bunster was suspicious, however, in part because this study had a code
name. After reading a project outline, he became convinced that Camelot
was ‘political in nature’, and that it posed ‘a grave threat’ to his nation’s
sovereignty. At about that same time, Johan Galtung, a Norwegian social
scientist who had already declined to participate in Camelot after his
concerns about its unsavoury political aspects had not been satisfactorily
addressed, shared what he knew with Chilean scholars. Troubled, they
then confronted Nutini, who responded by denying that he had had
knowledge that he had been working for nefarious ends, and promised to
sever his connections with the study.
But Chilean intellectuals and nationalists in the Chilean government
were still worried about the political implications of Project Camelot. Their
fears were probably heightened by the fact that American troops had
recently been stationed in the Dominican Republic amidst a political crisis,
suggesting that Camelot, though its planning documents did not list Chile
as a country of study, might be part of American preparations to intervene
in Chilean affairs. In August, a member of the Chilean Senate named
Aniceto Rodriguez denounced Nutini as a ‘degraded Chilean who dis-
owned his country to become a Yankee spy’. The Chilean government
subsequently banned Nutini from returning to his homeland. In De-
cember, the Chilean Select Chamber of Deputies unanimously approved
an extensive report portraying Project Camelot as ‘an attempt against the
dignity, sovereignty, and independence of states and peoples and against
the right of the latter to self-determination’.63
Elsewhere, anti-American voices used Camelot as a case in point
about American imperialistic ambitions. According to Radio Moscow,
Camelot revealed that the Pentagon was ‘plotting to subjugate Latin
America’. From the Soviet Union, Tass regarded this study as a ‘vivid
illustration of the growing efforts of the Pentagon to take into its own
hands the conduct of U.S. foreign policy’. Havana Radio in Cuba and
Politica, a Soviet-subsidized magazine published in Mexico City, both
warned that such studies were part of a sinister plot to thwart national wars
of liberation and overthrow duly elected governments.64

Within the United States, international outcry from abroad triggered a

series of communications involving the US ambassador to Chile, the State
Department, the military, and the White House, leading in July of 1965 to
Camelot’s cancellation. The cancellation of many other studies in various
countries followed. In the coming years, the conduct of social research by
American scholars in many Latin American countries became difficult, and
sometimes impossible.65
If foreign critics saw Camelot as a thoroughly political endeavour, so
did a post-mortem investigation by the US Congress, though with a big
difference, as the viewpoint here was favourable toward military-sponsored
social science. The congressional Subcommittee on International Organ-
izations and Movements, which had already been studying the rôle of
ideological factors in American foreign policy, placed Camelot squarely in
relationship to American foreign policy objectives. Florida Democrat
Dante B. Fascell, the head of the subcommittee, assured the military that it
could ‘get all the money’ for such research that it wanted ‘without much
question’, because this research obviously strengthened ‘national security’.
In the subcommittee’s final report, the military’s growing commitment to
the development and use of the social sciences to further US interests also
received firm support. Not incidentally, this report employed military
imagery in describing the social sciences as ‘one of the vital tools in the
arsenal of the free societies’. Other subcommittee publication titles high-
lighted the close alliance between social science and Cold War objectives.
The transcript of the subcommittee’s 1965 hearings on Project Camelot,
together with its final report, was printed under the title Behavioral Sciences
and the National Security, one of many publications in a series on Winning
the Cold War: The US Ideological Offensive.66
For social scientists who believed in the value of military-sponsored
research, the subcommittee’s assessment was excellent news. Sociologist
Robert A. Nisbet remarked that he could ‘think of nothing more edifying
for social scientists than a reading of this two-hundred-page document;
edifying and flattering’.67 (Yet there was a touch of sarcasm in this
comment since Nisbet, as noted below, was critical of Project Camelot.)
Ithiel de Sola Pool, a political scientist and a major figure at MIT’s Center
for International Studies, had long been involved in research related to
foreign policy. The public clamour over the defunct study gave him a
chance to expand on, as he put it a bit awkwardly, ‘The Necessity for
Social Scientists Doing Research for Governments’. ‘The social sciences’,
Pool proposed, had assumed the responsibility of training the ‘mandarins
of the twentieth century’. Previously this had been the task of the human-
ities. But in the modern world Pool saw that ‘the only hope for humane
government in the future is through the extensive use of the social sciences
by government’.68
But growing turmoil within the government and larger society about
the course of American foreign policy in Vietnam and elsewhere also
prompted more caustic comments about Camelot’s political or ideological
meaning. Senator William J. Fulbright, a Democrat from Arkansas and

former university president at the University of Arkansas, was well known

for creating a major international scholarly exchange programme bearing
his name. He took a great interest in higher education, and worried
extensively about its military connections. According to his scathing assess-
ment, beneath the ‘jargon of ‘‘science’’ ’ in Project Camelot lay a reac-
tionary, backward-looking policy opposed to change.
Implicit in Camelot, as in the concept of ‘counterinsurgency’, is an
assumption that revolutionary movements are dangerous to the interests
of the United States and that the United States must be prepared to assist,
if not actually to participate in, measures to repress them.69
While the movement of the social sciences toward the political centre stage
had much to recommend it according to Pool and the Subcommittee on
International Organizations and Movements, Camelot looked troublesome
to Senator Fulbright and foreign critics like Galtung because Camelot, its
scientific pretensions notwithstanding, had obvious ties to deeply con-
troversial political objectives.
Meanwhile, as Seymour Deitchman later wrote, the press had a ‘a field
day’, bringing ‘DOD’s supposed misbehavior to public account’.70 For
example, one article discussing military patronage in The Nation, a weekly
magazine, despaired that ‘federal research money has for a long while been
a barb sunk deep in the soft flesh of the universities . . . they no longer
struggle’.71
In this charged national context, American scholars wrote extensively
about the politics–patronage–social science nexus, exposing the underlying
assumptions about social stability and revolutionary activities, the con-
servative political values, and the managerial mind-set implicit in Project
Camelot, and in military-funded studies more globally. A close look at the
language used by scholars and military personnel associated with counter-
insurgency research helped to reveal Camelot’s negative stance toward
revolution and in favour of social stability. Counter-insurgency specialists,
as pointed out by the anthropologist Marshall Sahlins, characterized
Camelot as a study within the field of ‘epidemiology’. They identified
revolutionary developments as ‘antisystem activities’ and ‘destabilizing
processes’. In considering nations caught up in such developments, these
specialists used medical metaphors to support a diagnosis of ‘social
pathology’, while they proposed that revolution spread through a process
of ‘contagion’. Counter-insurgency experts went on to recommend a type
of social engineering as appropriate treatment, something called ‘insur-
gency prophylaxis’, which would be administered by the United States
Army. Presumably, social scientists would prescribe and help administer
this treatment. In this view of things, social scientists and the military
performed the humanitarian tasks normally assigned to doctors. Their
patients, however, were social movements or entire countries, not in-
dividuals. Clearly, Cold War priorities guided social science judgements
about what constituted ‘national sickness’, and what should be done in
order to restore afflicted nations to ‘good health’.72

To show that Camelot was committed to the concern for social

stability embedded in official US policies toward the so-called Third World,
it helped to imagine how the study of revolution could assume a different
orientation. This was the tack taken by Herbert Blumer, a founding figure
of symbolic interactionism within sociology. Blumer proposed that one
could ask, though Camelot planners did not,
. . . how insurgency could be encouraged and promoted . . . how agitation

could be organized and facilitated, how passions could be aroused and
dissidence mobilized for action, how weak and vulnerable points in the
social structure could be detected and exploited, and how control by a
dominant elite could be undermined.73
Others placed the conservative political bias in social research in the

historical context of American imperialism. Before social scientists had
made their presence known in Central America, American business, often
with protection from the American military, had descended upon that
region. Foreigners, explained Robert Nisbet, now had good reason to infer
that the ‘American research industry’ was entering its ‘imperialist phase’. If
so, American scholars, like American capitalists, were hardly welcome: ‘the
rape of national dignity by American academic enterprise is as repugnant
to foreign feeling as rape by American business or government’.74
Against this background, the fact that DOD described Project
Camelot as a basic science project, rather than a political one, seemed
peculiar as well as troubling. One DOD paper said that
Project Camelot will employ a scientific approach, that is to say, it is an

objective, fact-finding study concerned with what is and not with what
ought to be. It will not formulate value statements concerning the adoption
of any particular policy but will provide a possible basis for policy.75
SORO’s director Theodore Vallance claimed that it was ‘an objective,

nonnormative study concerned with what is or might be and not with what
ought to be’. But even Vallance acknowledged at another point that this
study had two different supporting arguments, one political and the other
scientific.76 Yet the line of analysis articulated by Fulbright, Sahlins and
others made the case that a political orientation pervaded this study’s
conceptualization from the start. Indeed, the boundary between politics
and social science seemed to have disappeared.
Just as problematic, scholars associated with Camelot were not neces-
sarily aware that they were engaged in such a thoroughly value-laden
investigation, with only a thinly-veiled ideological bent favouring the
suppression of revolutionary developments. Many of them had studied and
worked for the past couple of decades in professional contexts that placed
great weight on a purportedly objective, value-neutral, apolitical form of
scholarly inquiry modelled after an idealized image of the natural sciences.
Military research programmes had reinforced this self-understanding. So
these scholars might easily fail to see that their work supported the
established order and its underlying conservative principles. Herbert

Kelman, chair of the Doctoral Program in Social Psychology at the

University of Michigan, suggested that the reason for this blindspot was
not hard to grasp:
One can easily fail to notice the role of value preferences when he works
within the frame of reference of the status quo, since its value assumptions
are so much second nature to members of the society that they perceive
them as part of objective reality.77
Sociologist Irving Louis Horowitz agreed, as he testified before Congress,

wrote extensively on the politics and ethics of social research, and probably
did more than any other social scientist to draw attention to the wide range
of worrisome issues concerning military patronage of academic social
research. Like Kelman, Horowitz surmised that many social scientists had
adopted the values of the ‘Establishment’ to such an extent that it seemed
to them as if these values had disappeared. But the truth was quite
different; in their effort to avoid normative commitments, they accepted as
beyond challenge the prevailing social arrangements, power structures and
cultural norms. As a result, their research and conclusions about social
reality supported the status quo.78
In these political and scholarly commentaries, the power of the mili-
tary patron to shape the course of research in directions congenial to
official Cold War policy goals occupied a prominent place. While the
danger that patrons would impose their interests on scholarly research had
often seemed manageable during the 1940s and 1950s, the case of
Camelot encouraged an alternative, darker conclusion. Scholars, of course,
did not have to accept military money. But once they did, it seemed
unlikely that they would (or could) pursue work that challenged military
operations and American foreign policy aims. ‘The Army’, asserted Irving
Horowitz in a discussion of the compromised rôle of social scientists, was
‘ ‘‘hiring help’’ . . . not openly and honestly submitting a problem to the
higher professional and scientific authority of social science’.79
As a result, social scientists working under military contract would be
led to accept the premises, at least in the context of their research, that
revolution was harmful and established governments allied with the United
States were to be preferred. As ‘research that is tied to foreign policy or
military operations is, of necessity, conceived within the framework of
existing policy’, observed Herbert Kelman, ‘. . . it does not fulfil the
function of providing new frameworks that would not normally emerge out
of the policy-making apparatus itself’.80 Similarly, Herbert Blumer recog-
nized that ‘in responding to the practical interest and policy orientation of
the [funding] agency’, research takes on an ‘ ‘‘ideological’’ slant’.81
Moreover, the professional social scientist in this situation could easily
end up in the rôle of a social-control-minded technician or engineer. After
first accepting the sponsor’s objectives as a given, a researcher typically
focused solely on determining the best means to achieve them. As Pio E.
Uliassi has it, since ‘sponsored work must be roughly consonant with the
basic values and outlooks of its sponsors’, the social scientist tends to

adopt ‘an ‘‘engineering’’ conception of his role’.82 Such a limited vision of

the scholar’s rôle led self-identified ‘responsible, non-ideological experts’
to confine themselves to offering ‘advice on tactical questions’, added the
linguist and outspoken critic of American foreign policy, Noam Chomsky.
Meanwhile, it was other so-called ‘irresponsible ‘‘ideological types’’ ’ who
raised a storm about ‘principles . . . moral issues and human rights’.83
Actions taken by the Executive Branch shortly after Camelot’s can-
cellation only strengthened political and scholarly concerns about the
subordination of social science to the State, a resulting technocratic
orientation, and a more general intellectual myopia. After the blow-up in
Chile over Camelot, the State Department initiated correspondence with
the White House about the problems of keeping publicly-funded social
research from provoking foreign hostility. Subsequently, a letter from
President Johnson to Secretary of State Dean Rusk – the letter was initially
drafted by the State Department – outlined the need for a review process
to prevent future social science projects from damaging the image of the
United States. Previously, each agency had been responsible for reviewing
projects according to its own criteria, though an effort to improve co-
ordination on a voluntary basis had been made in 1964, when the Council
on Foreign Affairs Research (FAR) was established to coordinate and plan
research on foreign areas for some two dozen agencies. To meet the
President’s request, FAR received orders to establish a set of review
procedures. In order to avoid meddling in the affairs of agencies that had
ostensibly academic purposes, the new review procedures only pertained
to research projects with obvious ties to national foreign policy objectives,
and that thus might elicit international protest.84
Despite this important limitation, the federal checkpoint to prevent
future social science fiascos came under fire from those who worried that
the Establishment was showing no respect for scholarly freedom. Alfred de
Grazia, editor of the American Behavioral Scientist, had previously been a
member of Project Camelot’s design team. As he saw things, State Depart-
ment officials had no reason to be proud of what they were doing. The new
review procedures would probably impede the advance of the social
sciences and, what was worse, might therefore harm the national defence
effort.85 Though Irving Horowitz was critical of Project Camelot, he found
it appalling that Camelot had been terminated due to foreign policy
considerations, a result that represented, in his words, ‘a decisive setback
for social science research’. Since the new review procedures were con-
cerned not with scholarly merit but international sensitivities, Horowitz
found these invidious as well.86
Such worries about the limitations on scholarly autonomy also sur-
faced inside the prestigious National Academy of Sciences (NAS). During
NAS’s first century, its interest in the social sciences had been limited to
anthropology and psychology. But in the early 1960s, the Academy created
a Division of Behavioral Sciences so as to bring in representatives from
other social disciplines whose work, as the ‘behavioral sciences’ label
implied, was sufficiently ‘scientific’, and thus would command the respect

of the Academy’s natural-science leaders. Regarding the new review pro-

cess, the Division of Behavioral Sciences’ executive committee complained
that by sponsoring the directive from President Johnson, the State Depart-
ment had ‘aimed a dagger at the independent integrity of the behavioral
sciences’.87 A declassified document in NAS archives indicates that due to
heightened national security regulations, preserving the independence of
academic social science became, following Camelot’s demise, even more
difficult. In August of 1965, Harold Brown, the Director of Defense
Research and Engineering, presented new security guidelines in a memor-
andum to the assistant secretaries of the Army, Navy and Air Force, and
the director of the Advanced Research Projects Agency. These guidelines
are worth quoting at some length because of their wide scope:
Sensitive aspects of work having primary interest to the US Government
(as opposed to a foreign government) must be treated in such a way that
offense to foreign governments and propaganda advantage to the com-
munist apparatus are avoided. This means that task statements, contracts,
working papers, reports, etc. which refer to US assistance or potential US
assistance to foreign countries in the internal defense area; or which
express US concern over internal violence or revolution, whether com-
munist inspired or not; or which refer to the development or examination
of US policies for the purpose of influencing allied policies or actions; or
which could imply US interference or intervention in the internal affairs
of a foreign government, will have to be classified and marked as not for
disclosure to foreign nationals except where a specific and well-considered
exception is made.88
There is a glaring irony in this move to beef up security: though concerns

about military influence on the social sciences had originally erupted over
Project Camelot, an unclassified study, the official response resulted in
further subordination of social science to non-academic authorities.
If military funding by itself might take the social sciences down a
conservative political path, alarmed observers recognized that the extensive
imposition of secrecy by federal authorities only raised the likelihood that
the critical capacities of scholars would be compromised. Regarding the
struggle between the scholar’s professional interest in publishing in the
open literature and the government’s interest in keeping privileged in-
formation secret, Irving Horowitz surmised that the latter often won,
mainly due to the imbalance in power between buyer and seller. Because
classified research placed severe limits on the open discussion and evalu-
ation of scholarly ideas, the heightened security measures were especially
problematic.89
One could pursue the extensive public controversy over Camelot and
these subsequent developments further, but the analysis so far already
shows how deeply this controversy challenged conventional notions about
the relations among national politics, military patronage, and American
social science. Alarmed participants from the scholarly and political com-
munities feared that military patronage was turning social scientists into
servants of established interests, with questionable implications for social
science scholarship. Often starting from the same basic premise put forth

by foreign critics (namely, that social research was a tool of American

imperialism), American commentators argued that military patronage
deeply influenced the shape of academic social science; that researchers
working with military funds were compromising their scholarly freedom,
objectivity and integrity; and that the social sciences were in grave danger
of becoming technocratic servants to the powers that be. In sum, the road
to Camelot, rather than leading to a peaceful and just society guided by
impartial, objective behavioural scientists, had thrust action-oriented
scholars into the public spotlight where the mantle of objectivity, value-
neutrality and professional autonomy received a barrage of stinging
criticism.
Broader Implications for the Social Science Enterprise:

Patronage, Ideology, Value-Neutrality
The controversy over Camelot quickly became entangled with other
national problems that drew further critical attention to the politics–
patronage–social science nexus. Not only did this controversy lead almost
immediately, in 1965, to heightened security requirements for federally
sponsored social research; in the coming years, previously hidden or little-
discussed arrangements linking social science to the national-security state
and the Vietnam War were also subjected to public scrutiny. For example, it
became well known that a group of Michigan State social scientists had
received CIA funds to support their work with police forces in the South
Vietnam government.90 At the same time, the emergence of widespread
public criticism of various domestic programmes, especially the War on
Poverty and related social welfare initiatives, substantially broadened the
discussion about the political and ideological dimensions of American
social science, and the institutional arrangements that brought social
science experts to bear on national policy.91
Given this complicated picture, it is perhaps impossible to isolate and
pin down with great precision the broader implications of the Camelot
controversy; nevertheless, it is possible to identify certain salient issues in
this controversy that became part of important efforts to rethink and
reform the social science enterprise. A brief look at three areas – patronage,
ideology, and value-neutrality – reveals more fully Camelot’s legacy, and
the centrality of political issues in the evolution of unorthodox epistemo-
logical positions.
Concerned participants in the Camelot controversy feared, as we have
seen, that social science had become (or was rapidly becoming) sub-
servient to political power. The problem seemed especially deep in the case
of foreign area research, which in 1966 alone received almost $36 million
from the military and other governmental sources of support.92 That same
year, the year after Camelot’s cancellation, the Senate Subcommittee on
Government Research held hearings on social research on foreign areas.
Subcommittee chairman Fred R. Harris, a Democrat from Oklahoma,

drew attention to the militarization, or what he called the ‘overmilitariza-

tion’, of social science.93 Elsewhere, Noam Chomsky warned his readers
about the problem of counter-insurgency or counter-revolutionary sub-
ordination in American scholarship. Just as American intellectuals during
the Cold War often pointed to the overwhelming pressures on scholars in
communist countries to support the Party line, Chomsky pointed to the
integration of American scholars into the State apparatus as the basis for
an uncritical commitment to the US government’s anti-revolutionary
outlook.94 From this viewpoint, the question for the social sciences was
how they could be restored to good health.
One widespread response focused on the corrosive impact of patron-
age, and especially the partnership with the military. Regarding this topic,
the Camelot controversy, by generating concern about the harmful impact
of military patronage on the critical capacities of social scientists, proved to
be of singular importance. Though the initial 1965 congressional investiga-
tion by the House Subcommittee on International Organization and
Movements issued a decidedly favourable report on military social science
programmes, that same report noted the danger, previously pointed to in
Eisenhower’s farewell address, that greatly increased federal support for
American science would undermine the independence of the academic
enterprise.95 The following year, in 1966, the work of Senator Harris’s
Subcommittee revealed that fear about the ‘overmilitarization’ of the social
sciences had spread within the political and scholarly communities.96
In this context, the idea of strengthening scholarly integrity by severing
ties with national-security agencies received extensive consideration. Dec-
ades before, the famous anthropologist Franz Boas had bemoaned the
participation of his academic colleagues as spies in World War I.97 Now, in
the wake of Project Camelot, leaders of the American Anthropological
Association (AAA) warned the public of a similar problem on the op-ed
pages of the New York Times:
Attempts to utilize scientific research programs . . . to cloak activities with
non-scholarly or non-scientific purposes seriously threaten the integrity
of the discipline and the execution of legitimate scientific research. The
criteria of legitimate scientific research activities include full disclosure
of sponsorship, of sources of funds, and of the purposes of the research,
and public reporting of results, subject to the proper protection of the
personal privacy of those studied or assisting the research. The gathering
of information and data which can never be made available to the
public does not constitute scientific research and should not be so
represented.98
The anthropologist Ralph Beals subsequently undertook, on behalf of the

AAA, an extensive study of politics and ethics in social research, finding
that the problems of clandestine research were, indeed, pervasive. He
estimated that the CIA employed perhaps as many as 1000 social scien-
tists. Intelligence operations more generally employed an unknown num-
ber. Pointing out that ‘virtually all such work is classified and its quality
cannot be judged’, Beals concluded that

. . . such activities contribute nothing to the development of the social

sciences. Far worse, to the extent that social scientists or persons posing as
social scientists use their titles, positions, or research activities to conceal
secret intelligence activities, the future of social research is threatened.99
Some people suggested that new federal arrangements were therefore

needed to support social science in a manner that did not constrain
research in undesirable ways, or force scholarly thinking into an uncritical
mould. With this in mind, the Senate Subcommittee on Government
Research emerged as an advocate for a new, civilian social science agency.
The idea for such a separate agency had first arisen during the 1940s’
National Science Foundation legislative debate, but as national science
policy concentrated at that time on the natural sciences, this proposal had
received little attention. By the mid-1960s, the scene had changed notably,
as growing concern about the ill effects of military patronage combined
with strong support within the Johnson administration for using the social
sciences to improve domestic affairs. Under these conditions, Senator
Harris concluded – though wrongly as it turned out – that a National
Social Science Foundation would be viable. He argued that such an agency
should encourage social scientists to pursue work on controversial matters
that challenged current political policies or widespread social practices and
beliefs.100
In the following decades, the possibility that patronage could shape the
social sciences (and science more generally) became a widely debated and
contentious matter, continuing to challenge the claims of those who
maintained that the funding of social science research did not mean that
such research was directed by extra-scientific social interests. A small sub-
field of scholarly study focused on the influence of philanthropic support in
the development of American social science.101 This literature was com-
plemented by studies that focused on, as one author put it, ‘government
influence on the social science paradigm’.102 Then there was a much larger
body of scholarship arguing that patronage was a key factor shaping the
context, conduct and content of science.103
Second, Camelot’s legacy underscored the problem of ideology in
social science, a problem that scientific leaders and other observers of the
scientific scene in the post-WWII years had tried to resolve by banishing
ideology (along with politics) from legitimate scientific inquiry. As a highly
visible and extensively discussed example of a large-scale social science
project that would incorporate cutting-edge research and theory and yet
was riddled with a conservative bias, Camelot helped to alert the scholarly
imagination to the possibility that ideology, together with subjective, social
commitments that lay beyond empirical demonstration might, in fact, be
frequently present in American social science.
Because of Camelot’s particular concern with revolutionary move-
ments in developing countries, this study had special relevance for the
ideological underpinnings of the field of foreign area studies, where re-
search on modernization had been enthusiastically pursued. Before the
mid-1960s, the presence of ideology in development studies had not been

recognized by the mainstream as a problem. Social scientists had pro-

ceeded with confidence, assuming that their studies offered an objective,
rational and scientific (as opposed to a subjective, emotional and ideologi-
cal) analysis of the major problems confronting developing nations. These
scholars then discussed how these problems could be overcome with
expert-guided development pursued within a framework of social stability
(and thus these countries could avoid the dangers of revolution and
communist penetration). The uproar over Camelot helped to call into
question this confidence, as critics began to emphasize that such scholar-
ship was grounded in a value-laden vision that took an idealized picture of
the history of the United States, and then presented it inappropriately as a
model for ‘Third World’, ‘underdeveloped’, ‘developing’, or, in the most
explicitly pejorative language, ‘backward’ nations.104
This challenge to the post-war social science orthodoxy contributed to
an emerging crisis within area studies. As political scientist Irene Gendzier
puts it, through the Camelot controversy, ‘the alleged neutrality of social
science research was exploded before the evidence of complicity between
well-known scholars of development and political change, and the policy
planners in charge of the military operations in Southeast Asia’. As
concerns about the moral and cognitive basis of development studies
mounted, proponents of new opposing scholarly paradigms proposed that
power inequalities led to the dependence of developing nations on (rather
than their independence from) the United States and other dominant
powers.105
In another assault on the mainstream’s commitment to the separation
of social science from ideology, critics took aim at the extensive bodies of
research incorporating functionalist and social systems theories. Prominent
scholars like Harvard sociologist Talcott Parsons had promoted these
theories as part of a comprehensive scientific edifice for understanding and
predicting the interactions of various components or subsystems of a
society. This work tended to emphasize the functional integration of these
components, noting how a social system maintained itself, and thus did
not disintegrate. Project Camelot’s design plans had drawn upon these
ideas for obvious reasons: American counter-insurgency policy during the
1960s included programmes for development in a manner intended to
reinforce social stability. As governmental policies lost more and more
public support, this concern with stability came under fire as a social
science prop for the embattled status quo. Again, Camelot served as a case
in point, as Marshall Sahlins observed that ‘what had been for some time a
cultural common-law marriage between scientific functionalism and the
natural interest of a leading world power in the status quo became under
the aegis of Project Camelot an explicit and legitimate union’.106 For Irving
Horowitz, Camelot provided ‘the final proof, if such were necessary, that
the functionalist credo of order, stability, pattern maintenance, stress
management, and so forth indeed reveals strong conservative drives’.107
Lying just beyond the problem of ideology in social research was a
third piece of Camelot’s legacy that challenged the dominant postwar

emphasis on the value-neutral rôle of the social scientist. The case of

Camelot suggested to many observers that a conservative bias in social
science reflected a particularly narrow conception of the scholar as a
handmaiden to power, a conception now seen to be firmly rooted in this
same conservative bias. The labels ‘action-intellectual’ or ‘policy scientist’
implied that social scientists, who in the earlier postwar years had often
been marginal to high-level scientific and political discussions, were now
well inside the corridors of power. Nevertheless, the scholar entered only
as a servant of power, an advisor to those who had real power. Since, as
Camelot’s critics observed, this advisory rôle did not encourage debate
over fundamental principles, social scientists often took a managerial,
technocratic view of social problems. This point also surfaced in the related
debate over the end of ideology. But by the mid-1960s, growing frustra-
tions with major domestic and foreign policies helped to draw attention to
the support provided by social scientists to these same policies, rendering
the claims of political impartiality (and thus value-neutrality) suspect.
Perhaps, then, it was time to reject the value-neutral stance as de-
ceitful, and even socially naı̈ve. Robert Boguslaw, a scientist and former
member of Camelot’s design team, wrote extensively about the rise of
systems analysis in the social sciences. In his view, if the social sciences
were to make the most of their opportunities to influence the larger society,
these disciplines had to adopt a new conception of the scholar’s rôle:
As social science begins to emerge from the morass of inconsequentiality
in which so much of it has for so long been embedded, its obligation to
develop more sophisticated methods for normative analysis becomes
urgent. It can no longer afford to relegate this subject to the obscurity of
philosophy texts or to the sporadic emotional outbursts of its practi-
tioners. In the absence of progress in normative analysis, the efforts of
social scientists and the content of social science are guided by the subtle
controls implicit in a ‘value-free ideology’.108
In thinking about the broader problems raised by Camelot, Boguslaw

recommended that scholars (re)turn to ‘normative analysis’, welcoming a
moral perspective in social science inquiry, rather than denying that one
existed or trying to excise it, as orthodox practitioners wanted to do.
Reorienting the social scientist toward normative inquiry could, addi-
tionally, help to curb the much-criticized tendency of social scientists to
adopt a dehumanizing managerial outlook. Social scientists needed to
think hard about the moral implications of their work, or else they would
probably end up reinforcing the dehumanizing tendencies of modern
society, argued Herbert Kelman. Counter-insurgency research, with its
emphasis on producing knowledge that would facilitate the control of other
nations and their peoples, represented in Kelman’s analysis a good exam-
ple of this worrisome streak in modern scholarship. As an antidote,
Kelman called on social scientists to make the support of human freedom
and dignity an explicit professional goal.109
In these various ways, Camelot’s implications nurtured continuing
doubts about the validity, and even the desirability, of the objective social

science model: Camelot contributed to the efforts to reconsider the impact

of the rôle of patronage and its ‘extra-scientific’ social interests on the
content of social science, the place of ideology in social research, and the
value-neutral conception of the social scientist’s social rôle.
The overall impact was summed up well by two social scientists who,
in the late 1960s, undertook extensive studies of American politics and
American social science. The sociologist Gene Lyons was the author of a
book about what he called ‘The Uneasy Partnership’ between the social
sciences and the federal government in the 20th century. As Lyons saw it,
one of the most troubling aspects of the Camelot controversy was the
realization on the part of many scholars of ‘the extent to which they were
accepting and supporting the premises of official policy when they under-
took military-sponsored research, no matter how basic the investiga-
tion’.110 Thus no matter how hard they tried in their own work to be
objective, no matter how rigorous their scientific methodology, no matter
how impartial their professional outlook, their work was still likely to be
shaped by patronage relations that infused their research with a political
bias.
To return to the quotation with which I opened this paper: in the book
based upon his study about social science and ethics for the American
Anthropological Association, Ralph Beals remarked that Camelot was
surely not the first instance of ‘the influence of political decisions and
climates on social research’. But what was new was the ‘fact’ that this
political influence could ‘no longer be ignored’; and Beals continued:
Camelot, a proposed international social science research project spon-
sored by the Army Research Office of the United States Department of
Defense, was the turning point.111
Conclusion
This paper has examined the fascinating story of Project Camelot, from its
roots in the post-war partnership between American social science and the
military, its immediate origins in DOD’s counter-insurgency mission of the
1960s, its cancellation in July 1965 at a time of rising anti-Establishment
sentiment and activity, the widespread controversy that followed, and
some of the broader implications of this controversy that supported con-
tinued challenges to scientific objectivity and related ideals, such as value-
neutrality and professional autonomy.
In the early post-WWII period, military funding seemed to be helping
social scientists in their quest for public respect and scientific legitimacy.
But the Camelot controversy contributed to a darker interpretation,
according to which the politics–patronage–social science nexus had under-
mined orthodox claims about the separation of social science from politics
and ideology. It seemed that Camelot, and military-sponsored social
research more generally, supported official US interest in preserving an
unjust world order with the help of expert-guided management of social
change and the suppression of revolutionary developments, if those

threatened official goals. Social scientists, far from being impartial, ob-
jective scientists, seemed to be servants of power who were wedded to a
conservative technocratic viewpoint that disguised their true political char-
acter. While the ‘strictly academic’ criticisms of the mainstream that
Novick discusses had already been making some impact, the Camelot
controversy, I have argued, thrust such concerns into the national spot-
light, transforming the discussion by opening it up to a much broader array
of participants, and bringing the politics–patronage–social science nexus
into the centre of consideration.
Project Camelot’s planners talked about designing a social systems
model that could help diagnose social pathology, and assist in indicating an
appropriate remedy. In the end, however, critics found that it was the social
science enterprise that was sick. Efforts to restore it to good health
suggested that it was first necessary to rethink such key issues as the rôle of
patronage, the presence of ideology, and the ideal of value-neutrality in
American social science.
Appendix
List of Consultants for Project Camelot112

Clark C. Abt, president, Abt Associates
Kathleen Archibald, assistant research sociologist, University of Cali-
fornia, Berkeley
Jessie Bernard, professor of sociology emeritus, Pennsylvania State
University
Frank Bonilla, associate professor of political science, Center for Inter-
national Studies, MIT
Thomas E. Caywood, partner, Peat, Marwick, Caywood & Schiller
Ira Cisin, professor of sociology, George Washington University
James S. Coleman, professor of sociology, Johns Hopkins University
Lewis Coser, professor of sociology, Brandeis University
Theodore Draper, research associate, Hoover Institute, Stanford
University
Harry Eckstein, professor of politics, Princeton University
S.N. Eisenstadt, professor of sociology, Hebrew University
Frederick Frey, associate professor of political science, MIT
William Gamson, associate professor of sociology, University of
Michigan
Gino Germani, visiting professor of sociology, Columbia University
W.J. Goode, professor of sociology, Columbia University
Robert Hefner, associate professor of psychology, University of
Michigan
Arthur Hoehn, research scientist, Human Resources Research Organiza-
tion (Hum Rro)
Richard Jung, research associate, Department of Sociology, Cornell
University

Samuel Klausner, senior research associate, Bureau of Social Research,

Inc.
William Kornhauser, associate professor of sociology, University of
California, Berkeley
Sheldon Levy, assistant professor of psychology, University of Michigan
Jiri Nehnevajsa, professor of sociology, University of Pittsburgh
Hugo Nutini, assistant professor of anthropology, University of
Pittsburgh
William Riker, professor of political science, University of Buffalo
R.J. Rummel, associate professor of political science, Yale University
Thomas C. Schelling, professor of economics, Center for International
Studies, Harvard University
David Schwartz, assistant professor of government, University of
Pennsylvania
Gilbert Shapiro, associate professor of sociology, Boston College
Neil Smelser, professor of sociology, University of California, Berkeley
Carl C. Taylor, United States Department of Agriculture, retired
William Taylor, analyst, Peat, Marwick, Caywood & Schiller
Gordon Tullock, professor of economics, University of Virginia
Charles Wolf, Jr, senior scientist, the RAND Corporation
Notes
Thanks to the following people for their encouragement and helpful suggestions: Michael
Bernstein, Jamie Cole-Cohen, Colleen Dunlavy, David Edge, Jesse Gilbert, Ralph Grillo,
Ellen Herman, Victor Hilts, David Kaiser, Thomas Keil, Daniel Kleinman, Everett
Mendelsohn, Ron Numbers, Dennis O’Buck, Diane Paul, Julie Reuben, Tatiana
Romanowskaya, John Sharpless, David van Keuren and three anonymous reviewers. Special
thanks to Marga Vicedo; I can always count on her. Janice Goldblum at the National
Academy of Sciences Archives and the archivists at the Carl Albert Congressional Research
Center, University of Oklahoma, were most gracious in handling my requests for
documents. This paper benefited from discussions of earlier versions presented at a History
of Science Society meeting, the Harvard History Department Contemporary History
Workshop led by Akira Iriye, the Arizona State University West Arts and Sciences Colloquia
Series, and the National Air and Space Museum’s Seminar on Twentieth-Century Science
led by Michael Neufeld. Also helpful was financial support from a National Science
Foundation Sponsored Project Award (No. 9810635), an ASU West SRCA grant, an ASU
FGIA grant, a research grant from the Dirksen Congressional Center at Pekin, Illinois, and
a travel grant from the Carl Albert Congressional Research Center.
1. Ralph L. Beals, Politics of Social Research: An Inquiry Into the Ethics and Responsibilities
of Social Scientists (Chicago, IL: Aldine Publishing Company, 1969), 4.
2. Good sources from the 1960s on Project Camelot include: US Congress, House,
Committee on Foreign Affairs, Subcommittee on International Organizations and
Movements, Behavioral Sciences and the National Security, Report No. 4, together with
Part 9 of Winning the Cold War: The US Ideological Offensive, hearings [hereafter,
BSNS], 89th Congress, 1st session (1965); US Congress, House, Committee on
Science and Astronautics, Subcommittee on Science, Research, and Development,
Technical Information for Congress, Report, Serial A, Chapter 6, ‘Congressional
Response to Project Camelot’, 92nd Congress, 1st session (25 April 1969, revised 15
May 1971); Irving Louis Horowitz (ed.), The Rise and Fall of Project Camelot: Studies in
the Relationship Between Social Science and Practical Politics (Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press, 1967). The best historical study of Project Camelot places it in the context of

the growing authority of psychological experts in the nation’s cultural and political life
during the early Cold War decades: Ellen Herman, The Romance of American
Psychology: Political Culture in the Age of Experts (Los Angeles & Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1995), Chapters 5 & 6; also Herman, ‘The Career of Cold War
Psychology’, Radical History Review, No. 63 (Fall 1995), 52–85.
3. There is a large literature about the emergence of professional social science. The
most comprehensive study, whose footnotes provide a useful guide to the literature, is
Dorothy Ross, The Origins of American Social Science (Cambridge & New York:
Cambridge University Press, 1991).
4. For a useful overview, though it does not aim for historical sophistication, see Daniel
Bell, ‘The Social Sciences since the Second World War’, in Encyclopedia Britannica,
The Great Ideas Today (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 1979), 139–81.
5. Peter Novick, That Noble Dream: The ‘Objectivity Question’ and the American Historical
Profession (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 546.
6. Ibid., 546–63, at 546.
7. The literature on social science during World War II is large. Useful works include:
Virginia Yans-McLaughlin, ‘Science, Democracy, and Ethics: Mobilizing Culture and
Personality for World War II’, History of Anthropology, Vol. 4 (1986), 184–217; James
H. Capshew, Psychologists on the March: Science, Practice, and Professional Identity in
America, 1929–1969 (Cambridge & New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999),
Chapters 2–7; Peter Buck, ‘Adjusting to Military Life: The Social Sciences Go to War,
1941–1950’, in Merritt Roe Smith (ed.), Military Enterprise and Technological Change:
Perspectives on the American Experience (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1985), 203–52;
Herman, Romance of American Psychology, op. cit. note 2, Chapters 2–4.
8. On the ascendancy of the physical sciences in post-war science policy, see Daniel
Kevles, The Physicists: The History of a Scientific Community in Modern America (New
York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1978), Chapters 21–23; Daniel Lee Kleinman, Politics on the
Endless Frontier: Postwar Research Policy in the United States (Durham, NC; Duke
University Press, 1995), Chapter 3; Silvan S. Schweber, ‘The Mutual Embrace of
Science and the Military: ONR and the Growth of Physics in the United States after
World War II’, in Everett Mendelsohn, Merritt Roe Smith and Peter Weingart (eds),
Science, Technology and the Military, Sociology of the Sciences Yearbook No.12 (Dordrecht
& Boston, MA: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1988), 1–45; Paul Hoch, ‘The
Crystallization of a Strategic Alliance: The American Physics Elite and the Military in
the 1940s’, ibid., 87–116.
9. Samuel Z. Klausner and Victor M. Lidz (eds), The Nationalization of the Social Sciences
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986); Otto N. Larsen, Milestones &
Millstones: Social Science at the National Science Foundation, 1945–1991 (New
Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 1992), Chapter 1; Roberta Balstad Miller,
‘The Social Sciences and the Politics of Science: The 1940s’, American Sociologist, Vol.
17 (1982), 205–09. On NSF’s social science programme in the 1950s, see Daniel Lee
Kleinman and Mark Solovey, ‘Hot Science/Cold War: The National Science
Foundation After World War II’, Radical History Review, No. 63 (Fall 1995), 110–39;
Larsen, Milestones & Millstones, op. cit., Chapter 3.
10. Kleinman, Politics on the Endless Frontier, op. cit. note 8, 147–50.
11. John G. Darley, ‘Psychology and the Office of Naval Research: A Decade of
Development’, American Psychologist, Vol. 12 (1957), 305–23; Lyle H. Lanier, ‘The
Psychological and Social Sciences in the National Military Establishment’, ibid., Vol. 4
(1949), 127–47, esp. 137–38.
12. Kevles, The Physicists, op. cit. note 8, Chapters 19–23.
13. Miller, ‘Social Sciences’, op. cit. note 9.
14. On the difficulties social scientists and their patrons encountered during the
McCarthy era, see Harry Alpert, ‘Congressmen, Social Scientists, and Attitudes
Toward Federal Support of Social Science Research’, American Sociological Review, Vol.
23 (1958), 682–86; Ellen W. Schrecker, No Ivory Tower: McCarthyism and the
Universities (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986); Paul F. Lazarsfeld and Wagner

Thielens, Jr, The Academic Mind: Social Scientists in a Time of Crisis (Glencoe, IL: The
Free Press, 1958); David W. Southern, Gunnar Myrdal and Black-White Relations: The
Use and Abuse of An American Dilemma, 1944–1969 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State
University Press, 1987), 172–75.
15. Daniel J. Kevles, ‘Testing the Army’s Intelligence: Psychologists and the Military in
World War I’, Journal of American History, Vol. 55 (1968), 565–81; Franz Samelson,
‘World War I Intelligence Testing and the Development of Psychology’, Journal of the
History of the Behavioral Sciences, Vol. 13 (1977), 274–82; John Carson, ‘Army Alpha,
Army Brass, and the Search for Army Intelligence’, Isis, Vol. 84, No. 2 (June 1993),
278–309.
16. Capshew, Psychologists on the March, op. cit. note 7, Chapters 2–7; Herman, Romance
of American Psychology, op. cit. note 2, Chapters 2–6; John Marks, The Search for the
‘Manchurian Candidate’ (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1979).
17. Deborah Welch Larson, ‘Deterrence Theory and the Cold War’, Radical History
Review, No. 63 (Fall 1995), 86–109.
18. Stephen P. Waring, ‘Cold Calculus: The Cold War and Operations Research’, Radical
History Review, No. 63 (Fall 1995), 28–51; Thomas P. Hughes, Rescuing Prometheus
(New York: Pantheon, 1998); Michael A. Fortun & Silvan S. Schweber, ‘Scientists and
the Legacy of World War II: The Case of Operations Research (OR)’, Social Studies of
Science, Vol. 23, No. 4 (November 1993), 595–642; Philip Mirowski, ‘Cyborg
Agonistes: Economics Meets Operations Research in Mid-Century’, ibid., Vol. 29, No.
5 (October 1999), 685–718.
19. Robert J. Leonard, ‘War as a ‘‘Simple Economic Problem’’: The Rise of an Economics
of Defense’, in Craufurd D. Goodwin (ed.), Economics and National Security: A History
of Their Interaction, Annual Supplement to the History of Political Economy, Vol. 23
(Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1991), 261–83; Michael A. Bernstein,
‘American Economics and the National Security State, 1941–1953’, Radical History
Review, No. 63 (Fall 1995), 8–26; William Poundstone, Prisoner’s Dilemma (New York:
Doubleday, 1992); E. Roy Weintraub (ed.), Toward a History of Game Theory, Annual
Supplement to the History of Political Economy, Vol. 24 (Durham, NC: Duke
University Press, 1992); Sharon Ghamari-Tabrizi, ‘Simulating the Unthinkable:
Gaming Future War in the 1950s and 1960s’, Social Studies of Science, Vol. 30, No. 2
(April 2000), 163–223.
20. Sigmund Diamond, Compromised Campus: The Collaboration of Universities with the
Intelligence Community, 1945–1955 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992); Robert
A. McCaughey, International Studies and Academic Enterprise: A Chapter in the Enclosure
of American Learning (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984).
21. Irene L. Gendzier, Managing Political Change: Social Scientists and the Third World
(Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995); Gendzier, ‘Play It Again Sam: The Practice and
Apology of Development’, in Christopher Simpson (ed.), Universities and Empire:
Money and Politics in the Social Sciences during the Cold War (New York: The New Press,
1998), 195–231; Immanuel Wallerstein, ‘The Unintended Consequences of Cold War
Area Studies’, in Noam Chomsky (ed.), The Cold War & the University: Toward an
Intellectual History of the Postwar Years (New York: The New Press, 1997), 195–231;
Bruce Cumings, ‘Boundary Displacement: Area Studies and International Studies
During and After the Cold War’, in Simpson (ed.), Universities & Empire, op. cit.,
159–88.
22. Christopher Simpson, Science of Coercion: Communication Research and Psychological
Warfare, 1945–1960 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994).
23. Christopher Simpson, ‘Universities, Empire, and the Production of Knowledge: An
Introduction’, in Simpson (ed.), Universities & Empire, op. cit. note 21, xi–xxxiv, at xii.
24. Charles Bray, ‘Toward a Technology of Human Behavior for Defense Use’, American
Psychologist, Vol. 17 (1962), 527–41, at 528.
25. Bell, ‘The Social Sciences’, op. cit. note 4. Examples of disciplinary histories that
point to a heightened postwar emphasis on proper methodology include: David M.
Ricci, Tragedy of Political Science: Politics, Scholarship, and Democracy (New Haven, CT:

Yale University Press, 1984), Chapter 5; Jennifer Platt, A History of Sociological

Research Methods in America, 1920–1960 (New York: Cambridge University Press,
1996).
26. David Hollinger, ‘Science as a Weapon in Kulturkämpfe in the United States During
and After World War II’, Isis, Vol. 86, No. 3 (September 1995), 440–54.
27. See the various task committee reports and the final report of the Smithsonian’s
Research Group in Psychology and the Social Sciences, Record Unit 179, Records
1957–1963, Archives and Special Collections of the Smithsonian Institution,
Washington, DC.
28. The Behavioral Sciences Sub-panel of the President’s Science Advisory Committee,
‘Strengthening the Behavioral Sciences’, Science, Vol. 136 (20 April 1962), 233–41, at
238.
29. Bernard Berelson, ‘Behavioral Sciences’, in David L. Sills (ed.), International
Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, Vol. 2 (New York: Free Press, 1968), 41–45.
30. Yans-McLaughlin, ‘Science, Democracy & Ethics’, op. cit. note 7.
31. Simpson, Science of Coercion, op. cit. note 22.
32. Gendzier, Managing Political Change, op. cit. note 21; Michael E. Latham, ‘Ideology,
Social Science, and Destiny: Modernization and the Kennedy-Era Alliance for
Progress’, Diplomatic History, Vol. 22 (1998), 199–229. Studies of the impact of World
War II and the Cold War on the goals and orientations of the social sciences are part
of a much larger literature on Cold War American science, and this theme runs
throughout the essays in the present volume. See the classic article by Paul Forman,
‘Behind Quantum Electronics: National Security as Basis for Physical Research in the
United States, 1940–1960’, Historical Studies in the Physical Sciences, Vol. 18, Part 1
(1987), 149–229, and the useful historiographic essay by Stuart W. Leslie, ‘Science
and Politics in Cold War America’, in Margaret C. Jacob (ed.), The Politics of Western
Science, 1640–1990 (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1994), 199–233.
33. Bray, ‘Toward a Technology of Human Behavior’, op. cit. note 24, 528–29.
34. Hughes, Rescuing Prometheus, op. cit. note 18, 164. See also: Leonard, ‘War as a
‘‘Simple Economic Problem’’ ’, op. cit. note 19, 269–79; Fortun & Schweber,
‘Scientists and the Legacy of WWII’, op. cit. note 18, 627; Angela M. O’Rand,
‘Mathematizing Social Science in the 1950s: The Early Development and Diffusion of
Game Theory’, in Weintraub (ed.), Toward a History of Game Theory, op. cit. note 19,
177–204.
35. James A. Smith, The Idea Brokers: Think Tanks and the Rise of the New Policy Elite (New
York: Free Press, 1991), 135–40.
36. David A. Hollinger, ‘The Defense of Democracy and Robert K. Merton’s
Formulation of the Scientific Ethos’, Knowledge and Society: Studies in the Sociology of
Culture, Past and Present, Vol. 4 (1983), 1–15; Hollinger, ‘Science as a Weapon’, op.
cit. note 26; Everett Mendelsohn, ‘Robert K. Merton: The Celebration and Defense
of Science’, Science in Context, Vol. 3 (1989), 269–89.
37. Jessica Wang, American Science in an Age of Anxiety: Scientists, Anticommunism, and the
Cold War (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999).
38. From psychology, John G. Darley emphasized that ‘ONR’s program emerged from the
research interests of civilian scientists’: see Darley, ‘Psychology and the ONR’, op. cit.
note 11, 319. On ONR more generally, see Anon., ‘The Scientists’, Fortune Magazine
(October 1948), 106–12, 166, 168, 170, 173–74, 176; Harvey M. Sapolsky,
‘Academic Science and the Military: The Years Since the Second World War’, in
Nathan Reingold (ed.), The Sciences in the American Context: New Perspectives
(Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1979), 379–99.
39. Allan A. Needell, ‘ ‘‘Truth is Our Weapon’’: Project TROY, Political Warfare, and
Government-Academic Relations in the National Security State’, Diplomatic History,
Vol. 17 (1993), 399–420, at 418.
40. Dwight D. Eisenhower, ‘Farewell Radio and Television Address to the American
People’, in Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States, 1960–61
(Washington, DC: US GPO, 1961), 1035–40, quotes at 1038, 1039.

41. Gene M. Lyons, The Uneasy Partnership: Social Science and the Federal Government in
the Twentieth Century (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1969), Chapters 5–7;
Robert C. Wood, Whatever Possessed the President? Academic Experts and Presidential
Policy, 1960–1988 (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), Chapters 2–3;
Smith, The Idea Brokers, op. cit. note 35, Chapters 6–7.
42. Kruschev and China paper quoted in BSNS, 71. Kennedy’s address is also discussed
in this document.
43. BSNS, 72.
44. ‘Congressional Response to Project Camelot’, op. cit. note 2, 128–29.
45. DSB report quoted in BSNS, 3R.
46. BSNS, 28–30.
47. See Document 1 in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2,
47–49. Documents 1, 2 and 3 in this volume come from SORO documents about
Project Camelot from December of 1964. Document 4 comes from a public
description of Camelot released by SORO in July of 1965, at about the time when
Camelot was cancelled.
48. Document 3 in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 57–58.
49. BSNS, 61–62, at 61.
50. Rex D. Hopper, ‘The Revolutionary Process: A Frame of Reference for the Study of
Revolutionary Movements’, Social Forces, Vol. 28 (1950), 270–79, at 270. On
Hopper’s background, see Herman, Romance of American Psychology, op. cit. note 2,
146–47.
51. BSNS, 30–32. On Camelot as basic science, also see notes 75–76 below, and the
corresponding text [p. 18].
52. Deitchman, in ibid., 72.
53. Vallance, in ibid., 22.
54. Ibid., 20.
55. Ibid., 5.
56. Dick, in ibid., 31.
57. Comment about Manhattan Project noted by Ralph Beals in Politics of Social Research,
op. cit. note 1, 6; Beals’ own quotation is at 7. Comment about possibility of $50m a
year is noted by Marshall Sahlins in ‘The Established Order: Do Not Fold, Spindle,
or Mutilate’, in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 71–79,
at 71.
58. Roger L. Geiger, Research and Relevant Knowledge: American Research Universities Since
World War II (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 237–42; Kevles, The
Physicists, op. cit. note 8, 401–09; Stuart W. Leslie, The Cold War and American Science:
The Military-Industrial-Academic Complex at MIT and Stanford (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1993), Chapter 9; on American intellectuals and the Vietnam War
more generally, see Robert R. Tomes, Apocalypse Then: American Intellectuals and the
Vietnam War: 1954–1975 (New York: New York University Press, 1998). On
intellectuals in the 1960s, see Howard Brick, Age of Contradiction: American Thought
and Culture in the 1960s (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, pbk edn, 2000;
originally published by Twayne, 1998).
59. Maslow’s ideas are discussed in Roy Jose DeCarvalho, The Founders of Humanistic
Psychology (New York: Praeger, 1991), passim.
60. Job L. Dittberner, The End of Ideology and American Social Thought, 1930–1960 (Ann
Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1979), Chapters 3–6; Chaim Waxman (ed.), The End
of Ideology (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1969).
61. Floyd W. Matson, The Broken Image: Man, Science and Society (New York: George
Braziller, 1964), remains a readable, provocative interpretation of 20th-century
developments from a wide range of fields in the physical, biological and social
sciences, as well as philosophy, that called into question mechanistic, deterministic
approaches in the social sciences.
62. Material in this paragraph and the next comes from the following sources: George E.
Lowe, ‘The Camelot Affair’, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, Vol. 22, No. 4 (May

1966), 44–48, quote from Galtung at 45; Johan Galtung, ‘After Camelot’, in
Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 281–312. A Chilean
news magazine, Ercilla, said that Nutini identified (apparently incorrectly)
distinguished social scientists including Kingsley Davis, Seymour Lipset and Robert
Merton as the study’s directors. See Kalman H. Silvert, ‘American Academic Ethics
and Social Research Abroad: The Lesson of Project Camelot’, in Horowitz (ed.), ibid.,
80–106, at 85.
63. Quoted in ‘Congressional Response to Project Camelot’, op. cit. note 2, 133, footnote
18. Also see the critical response of Jorge Montes from the Chilean Chamber of
Deputies, in ‘A Communist Commentary on Camelot’, in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall
of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 232–36.
64. All quoted in William Giandoni (Latin American Editor of Copley News Service),
‘Hemisphere Report: Communists Assail ‘‘Operation Camelot’’ ’, p. 3, Box 43, Folder
1, Fred Harris Papers [hereafter, Harris Papers], Carl Albert Center, University of
Oklahoma, Norman, Oklahoma.
65. Silvert, ‘American Academic Ethics’, op. cit. note 62, 80. Yet it should be noted that
the military continued to sponsor much social science, including studies along the
lines of Project Camelot, often as classified research: see Herman, Romance of
American Psychology, op. cit. note 2, 168–70.
66. Fascell’s remarks, and Final Report, in BSNS, 53, 5R.
67. Robert A. Nisbet, ‘Project Camelot: An Autopsy’, in Philip Rieff (ed.), On Intellectuals:
Theoretical Studies/Case Studies (New York: Anchor Books, 1970), 307–39, at 313.
68. Ithiel de Sola Pool, ‘The Necessity for Social Scientists Doing Research for
Governments’, in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2,
267–80, quotes at 267, 268.
69. Fulbright quoted in John Walsh, ‘Social Sciences: Cancellation of Camelot after Row
in Chile Brings Research under Scrutiny’, Science, Vol. 149 (10 September 1965),
1211–13; also see William J. Fulbright, ‘America in an Age of Revolution’, in
Horowitz (ed), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 196–202.
70. Seymour Deitchman, The Best-Laid Schemes: A Tale of Social Research and Bureaucracy
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1976), 169–89, at 169.
71. Anon., ‘Angled Money’, The Nation (22 August 1966), 140.
72. Sahlins, ‘The Established Order’, op. cit. note 57, 77–79.
73. Herbert Blumer, ‘Threats from Agency-Determined Research: The Case of Camelot’,
in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 153–74, at 161.
74. Nisbet, ‘Project Camelot: An Autopsy’, op. cit. note 67, at 338, 323. Nisbet, it should
be emphasized, was no critic of scholarly collaboration with the military in general.
Assuming that the behavioural sciences were, as many of their practitioners claimed,
‘non-ideological’ and ‘objective’, he saw nothing ‘intrinsically wrong with their
conclusions being used by, or given to, the Army’ (316). But even this favourable
predisposition toward military social science did not get in the way of his seeing that
Project Camelot did not fit such a description.
75. Document Number 4 in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2,
62 (emphasis in original).
76. Theodore Vallance, ‘Project Camelot: An Interim Postlude’, in Horowitz (ed.), ibid.,
203–10, at 204 (emphasis in original).
77. Herbert Kelman, A Time to Speak: On Human Values and Social Research (San
Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 1968), 5.
78. Irving Louis Horowitz, ‘Social Science Objectivity and Value Neutrality: Historical
Problems and Projections’, in Horowitz, Professing Sociology: Studies in the Life Cycle of
Social Science (Chicago, IL: Aldine Publishing Co., 1969), 30–45.
79. I.L. Horowitz, ‘The Life and Death of Project Camelot’, in Horowitz, Professing
Sociology, ibid., 287–304, at 300.
80. Herbert C. Kelman, ‘The Use of University Resources in Foreign Policy Research’,
p. 5 Box 42, Folder 18, Harris Papers.
81. Blumer, ‘Threats’, op. cit. note 73, 159.

82. Pio E. Uliassi, ‘Government Sponsored Research in International and Foreign Affairs’,
in Irving Louis Horowitz (ed.), The Use and Abuse of Social Science: Behavioral Research
and Policy Making (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 2nd edn, 1975),
287–320, at 313.
83. Noam Chomsky, ‘The Responsibility of Intellectuals’, in Chomsky, American Power
and the New Mandarins (New York: Pantheon, 1969), 256–90, at 269.
84. Testimony of Thomas L. Hughes, Director of Intelligence and Research, State
Department, in US Congress, Senate, Committee on Government Operations,
Subcommittee on Government Research, Federal Support of International Social Science
and Behavioral Research, Hearings [hereafter, FSISSBR], 89th Congress, 2nd session
(1966), 3–4. Johnson’s letter is reprinted in BSNS, 107.
85. Alfred de Grazia is quoted at length in Gideon Sjoberg, ‘Project Camelot: Selected
Reactions and Personal Reflections’, in Sjoberg (ed.), Ethics, Politics, and Social
Research (Cambridge, MA: Schenkman Publishing Co., 1967), 141–61, at 143–45.
86. Horowitz, ‘Life & Death of Project Camelot’, op. cit. note 79, 302.
87. Minutes, Second Meeting, Advisory Committee on Government Programs in the
Behavioral Sciences (10 December 1965), Central Policy File Series, Folder:
Behavioral Sciences 1965 Committee on Government Programs in Behavioral
Sciences: Advisory Meetings: Minutes: December, National Academy of Sciences
Archives [hereafter, NAS Archives], Washington, DC.
88. Memorandum for the Assistant Secretary of the Army (Research and Development),
the Assistant Secretary of the Navy (Research and Development), the Assistant
Secretary of the Air Force (Research and Development), and the Director, Advanced
Research Projects Agency (18 August 1965), Central Policy File Series, Folder:
Behavioral Science 1965 Committee on Government Programs in Behavioral Science:
Advisory General, NAS Archives.
89. Irving Horowitz, ‘Social Science and Public Policy: Implications of Modern Research’,
in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 339–76, esp. 347–60.
90. Irving Louis Horowitz, ‘Michigan State and the CIA: A Dilemma for Social
Scientists’, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, Vol. 22, No. 7 (September 1966), 26–29;
Warren Hinckley, ‘The University on the Make’, Ramparts, Vol. 4 (April 1966),
11–22.
91. Daniel Patrick Moynihan, Maximum Feasible Misunderstanding (New York: Free Press,
1970); Henry J. Aaron, Politics and the Professors: The Great Society in Perspective
(Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1978).
92. Elizabeth T. Crawford and Gene M. Lyons, ‘Foreign Area Research: A Background
Statement’, in Foreign Area Research: A Conference Report (January 1967), from the
Advisory Committee on Government Programs in the Behavioral Sciences, Division
of Behavioral Science, National Academy of Science-National Research Council,
4–12, at 5.
93. FSISSBR: Senator Harris discusses his concerns throughout the subcommittee’s
published hearings.
94. Noam Chomsky, ‘Objectivity and Liberal Scholarship’, in Chomsky, American Power
& the New Mandarins, op. cit. note 83, 23–129.
95. BSNS, 6R.
96. FSISSBR.
97. Franz Boas, Letter to the Editor of The Nation (20 December 1919), reprinted in
Simpson (ed.), Universities & Empire, op. cit. note 21, 1–2.
98. Stephen Boggs (for the Executive Board, AAA), Letter to the Editor of the New York
Times (7 June 1966), reproduced in FSISSBR, 75.
99. Beals, Politics of Social Research, op. cit. note 1, 96–97, and other documents regarding
these concerns of anthropologists in Beals’ Appendix B.
100. Fred R. Harris, ‘National Social Science Foundation: Proposed Congressional
Mandate for the Social Sciences’, American Psychologist, Vol. 22 (1967), 904–10;
Harris, ‘The Case for a National Social Science Foundation’, Science, Vol. 157 (4
August 1967), 507–09.

101. Robert Arnove (ed.), Philanthropy and Cultural Imperialism: The Foundations at Home
and Abroad (Boston, MA: G.K. Hall, 1980). In the 1980s, British sociologist Martin
Bulmer and Canadian sociologist Donald Fisher carried on an extended argument
about the critical case of the Rockefeller Foundation’s influence on American social
science. See the commentary with relevant references to their works by Salma Ahmad,
‘American Foundations and the Development of the Social Sciences Between the
Wars: Comment on the Debate between Martin Bulmer and Donald Fisher’,
Sociology, Vol. 25 (1991), 511–20. For a more recent discussion of patronage and
American social science, see Platt, A History, op. cit. note 25, Chapter 5, ‘Funding
and Research Methods’, 142–99.
102. Michael Useem, ‘Government Influence on the Social Science Paradigm’, Sociological
Quarterly, Vol. 17 (1976), 146–61.
103. See, for example: Bruce T. Moran (ed.), Patronage and Institutions: Science, Technology,
and Medicine at the European Court, 1500–1750 (Woodbridge, Suffolk & Rochester,
NY: Boydell Press, 1991); Jacob (ed.), Politics of Western Science, op. cit. note 32;
Mendelsohn, Smith & Weingart (eds), Science, Technology & the Military, op. cit. note
8.
104. Gendzier, Managing Political Change, op. cit. note 21; Robert A. Packenham, Liberal
America and the Third World: Political Development Ideas in Foreign Aid and Social Science
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1973).
105. Gendzier, Managing Political Change, op. cit. note 21, 9.
106. Sahlins, ‘The Established Order’, op. cit. note 57, 78.
107. Horowitz, ‘Life & Death’, op. cit. note 79, 304.
108. Robert Boguslaw, ‘Ethics and the Social Scientist’, in Horowitz (ed.), Rise & Fall of
Project Camelot, op. cit. note 2, 107–27, at 118.
109. Herbert Kelman, ‘The Social Consequences of Social Research’, in Kelman, A Time to
Speak, op. cit. note 77, 34–57.
110. Lyons, Uneasy Partnership, op. cit. note 41, 169.
111. Beals, Politics of Social Research, op. cit. note 1, 4.
112. BSNS, 62.
Mark Solovey is a historian of science and a US historian. Since completing

his PhD at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, in 1996, he has been an
assistant professor in the Integrative Studies Department at Arizona State
University West, in Phoenix. For academic year 2000–2001, he is also a
visiting scholar in Harvard’s History of Science Department. His paper for
this Special Issue comes from a book project about American social science
and American politics in the post-WWII period.
Address: 25 Irving Terrace, #7, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138, USA; fax
(at Harvard): +1 617 495 3344; email: [email protected]

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Social Studies of Science

Project Camelot and the 1960s Epistemological Revolution: Rethinking the

The online version of this article can be found at:

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>> Version of Record - Apr 1, 2001

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ABSTRACT Project Camelot, a military-sponsored, social science study of revolution,

Keywords counter-insurgency, ideology, objectivity, SORO, value-neutrality

Project Camelot and the 1960s

Project Camelot, a 1960s military-sponsored study of the revolutionary

Social Studies of Science 31/2(April 2001) 171–206

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Camelot thus became an important episode in the long-standing (and

. . . although the highly charged political atmosphere of the period some-

Without denying the importance of these ‘academic’ contributions, I

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Military Patronage and the Quest for Scientific Legitimacy in

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domestic anti-communism. Through the mid-1950s, individual social

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strategies of physical and biological science have found a place in be-

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Downloaded from sss.sagepub.com at University of Newcastle on September 8, 2014

Moving Toward the Political Centre Stage: Planning for

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American military to strengthen its ability to identify pockets of Commu-

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those actions which a government might take to relieve conditions which

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search of policy-relevant knowledge would not be hindered by common

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The Politics–Patronage–Social Science Nexus Under Scrutiny

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schools, championed a new approach called ‘humanistic psychology’. One

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security state, and especially about the implications of military patronage

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Within the United States, international outcry from abroad triggered a

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former university president at the University of Arkansas, was well known

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To show that Camelot was committed to the concern for social

. . . how insurgency could be encouraged and promoted . . . how agitation

Others placed the conservative political bias in social research in the

Project Camelot will employ a scientific approach, that is to say, it is an

SORO’s director Theodore Vallance claimed that it was ‘an objective,

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Kelman, chair of the Doctoral Program in Social Psychology at the

Sociologist Irving Louis Horowitz agreed, as he testified before Congress,

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adopt ‘an ‘‘engineering’’ conception of his role’.82 Such a limited vision of

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of the Academy’s natural-science leaders. Regarding the new review pro-

There is a glaring irony in this move to beef up security: though concerns

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by foreign critics (namely, that social research was a tool of American

Broader Implications for the Social Science Enterprise: