Technology and the Culture of Modernity in Britain and Germany, 1890-1945.
Fritzsche, Peter
Technology and the Culture of Modernity in Britain and Germany,
1890-1945. By Bernhard Rieger (Cambridge, Eng.: Cambridge University
Press, 2005. x + 319 pp.).
Turn the pages of any illustrated weekly newspaper published in a
European city in the 1920s or 1930s, and you will find them splashed
with images of airplanes, pilots, ocean liners, and film stars. These
were the items that indexed the idea of changing times, which was the
way the contemporary moment was experienced. As Bernhard Rieger shows,
European designers were well aware that the "ultra modern" one
day would be the very datable sign of obsolescence the next and that
product lines existed to be improved. Technological improvements burst
on the scene as modern-day "wonders," Rieger argues, but the
ebullience of progress was edged with a sense of uncertainty about what
actually had been accomplished. Yet the sheer prevalence of the images
of technological achievement indicates a more basic confidence in the
promise of technology to improve social existence; the very mechanical
and material nature of machinery seemed to affirm the plasticity and
malleability of the universe. Even a perception of risk and the
acknowledgement of jeopardy indicated the transformative powers of
technology. Indeed, the two most radical regimes in the years between
the two world wars, the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany, were also among
the most enthralled with the imagery of technological prowess. In this
broadly conceived book, Bernhard Rieger touches on all these themes, but
never quite finds his way.
Rieger repeatedly refers to the ambivalence toward technology and
the purported progress it marked out. The very fact that technology
arrived in the form of "wonders" betrayed a sense of the world
beyond the control and comprehension of ordinary people. Unfortunately,
Rieger does not explore this enforced passivity and the everyday regime
of accepting technological changes and schedules. He does not explore
the language that conveyed technology or the incidentals of daily life
that would get at this sense of ambivalence. Ocean liners, airships and
airplanes, and film, which are the three main examples Rieger puts
forward, are awkward vehicles for his argument. Thus the
"ambivalence" and "fear" to which Rieger refers is
left undefined, stated but not substantiated. Rieger usefully introduces
the Ulrich Beck's notion of a "risk society," but does
not develop it, because neither transocean travel nor aviation really
embodied danger or risk in a socially poignant way in the 1920s and
Rieger has trouble finding the appropriate accidents and catastrophes in
the interwar period to generate the newspaper commentary which
constitutes his primary archive. Risk is a great topic, but Rieger would
need to examine automobiles and railroads and the insurance industry.
And where machinery like airplanes did produce fear, in the case of
premonitions of a coming air war, Rieger has next to nothing to say. But
the fact is that fears occasioned by the long-range bomber were as grim
and deep-grained in the 1920s as the anxiety about nuclear war was in
the 1950s and 1960s. Thus where Rieger has the right theme to make a
contribution to our understanding of how Europeans thought about
technology, he moves on. In the end, it is not clear why he has chosen
his particular examples, particularly since both ocean liners and
airplanes functioned more as symbols of national prestige, as Rieger
himself indicates, and thus could not register as effectively more
generic longings and anxieties. And why Rieger devotes a chapter to
amateur film-making is also unclear.
Given the nature of his examples, Rieger is not prepared to enter
the popular and philosophical debate on technology, which could be
illuminated by much more mundane things like time schedules and
bureaucratic organizations. He finds more celebration than anxiety which
sustained confidence in technological innovation, but does not talk
about the culture of innovation which he foregrounds in his
introduction-in research institutes, in universities, or in government
or the popular culture of enthusiasm, children at play, for example. The
broad strokes of his comparison between Britain and Germany between 1890
and 1945 promise a great deal, but World War I and World War II end up
falling out altogether, aerial bombing is basically unmentioned, and the
risk and opportunity that Nazi Germany invested in the concept of race
is ignored. Unsurprising similarities between the two countries before
1933 make way for more encompassing differences once the all-consuming
ambitions of the Nazis are introduced, underscoring the strong political
nature of atttitudes toward technology. The culture of modernity, and
ideas of progress, obsolescence, and risk, and both the desire and need
to make a home in the world are not examined in what is an informative,
but conventional analysis of technological wonders in the first half of
the twentieth century.
Peter Fritzsche
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign