Reflections on the history of the Royal Society Te Apārangi

ABSTRACT

This paper uses the author’s own recently published history of the Royal Society Te Apārangi (the Royal Society) to reflect on the history of the organisation from a social sciences perspective. The Royal Society’s organisational ‘reinvention’ of itself has reflected the changing place of science and other forms of knowledge in New Zealand. The shift from the nineteenth-century amateur pursuit of knowledge to science as a specialised professional occupation resulted in the reshaping of the organisation at the turn of the twentieth century. There was a further reconstitution of the Royal Society in the 1960s; its structure no longer corresponded to the changes that had taken place in science during the twentieth century. Following the restructuring of science in the 1990s and the increased recognition that different forms of knowledge were integrated and embedded in society, the Royal Society reinvented itself once more with the inclusion of the social sciences and the humanities within its remit.

KEYWORDS:

• Sociology of science
• history of science
• Royal Society Te Apārangi
• public policy
• science and government

Introduction

In 2015, I was commissioned to prepare a history of the Royal Society Te Apārangi (the Royal Society) for its 150th anniversary in 2017 (Martin 2017b). This built upon Fleming’s previous history of the organisation (Fleming 1987). In doing so, the history described the context of the organisation and laid out periods of its development. This paper extends that history by offering further reflections from the perspective of the social sciences on how the Royal Society and its precursor the New Zealand Institute evolved. Many of the points made here are drawn from this publication.

Victorian gentlemen in science and politics

The New Zealand Institute (the precursor to the Royal Society), formed in 1867, was based on regional voluntary ‘philosophical’ societies and institutes that gathered together people with a wide range of interests and making contributions to knowledge in diverse fields – not just the natural and physical sciences but also ethnology, history, philosophy and literature.

Such individuals were well educated, often before they emigrated to New Zealand. Their income did not come from their activities in science or other forms of knowledge. They derived a living from the traditional learned professions such as medicine and the law and from substantial holdings of land. Their work in this sense was ‘amateur’; they subscribed to the quest for knowledge as a personal vocation or calling. They were representatives, transplanted 12,000 miles, of those Victorian ‘gentlemen of science’ (Morrell and Thackray 1981, p. 21–33 and chapter 6), who subscribed to scientific inquiry as a personal vocation or calling and had a goal of demonstrating the power of science to further the common good.

Many gentleman scientists combined this pursuit with politics – at that time also an ‘amateur’ vocation. There was a close interpersonal connection between the pursuit of knowledge and the political sphere. The Institute’s state-inspired origins manifest in its 1867 Act of Parliament reflected this close relationship. Its key figure James Hector had a close relationship with politicians involved in science such as William Travers, Walter Mantell and Robert Pharazyn, and with the scientifically minded Governor George Grey. Hector would himself marry the daughter of the Speaker of the House of Representatives David Monro. Such politicians pushed through legislation that established the Institute and gave it funding.

Hector, who was the Institute’s manager and editor of its Transactions (the major scientific journal of the day), extended his control over scientific infrastructure, and in his role as the government’s chief scientist, worked intimately with his political masters. He was a one-man science department in charge of the Colonial Museum, Colonial Laboratory and Geological Survey, and exercised a ‘hegemony’ over the development of science (Hoare 1976, p. 389; Fleming 1987, p. 222).

This close relationship with politics carried across into the membership of the Institute. Of the 463 MPs in Parliament in the period 1853–1889, 169 or 37% were also members of the Institute (Martin 2017a). Of that 169, a quarter were in government during their political career. It could also be added that a quarter of MPs who had local political experience (in provincial councils) were also members of the Institute. MPs who were members of the Institute were often drawn from the rural-based landowning elite.

The nature of both science and politics began to change markedly by the 1890s as the two spheres separated out. Hector’s cosy arrangement ended. The old order of amateur, well-educated politicians gave way to a new breed of self-made, career politicians who represented utilitarian anti-intellectualism (Dick 1951, p. 141; Hoare 1976, p. 390; Hamer 1988, p. 196; Martin 2004, p. 103–105). Richard John Seddon, who became Premier in 1893, and his lieutenant cabinet minister Jock McKenzie represented the new order.

In Britain in the mid- to late-nineteenth century, the British Association for the Advancement of Science promoted professionalisation, at a time when a living could not be made from scientific work but it could no longer be done by unpaid amateurs (Mendelsohn 1964, p. 22–23, 40–41; Barton 2003, p. 76–77). As a scientific community emerged, the focus shifted away from the Royal Society of London to local scientific societies with a more practical orientation in recently industrialised cities, while scientists were drawn from wider social backgrounds.

We can see elements of this process at work in New Zealand as scientific work shifted away from the amateur gentlemanly elite group to those who were increasingly educated within New Zealand and employed as salaried employees. With a more specialised division of labour science separated from politics institutionally.

An organisational presence independent of government had to be fashioned to represent science; scientists could no longer rely upon Hector and his interpersonal networks. At the turn of the twentieth century, the New Zealand Institute ‘reinvented’ itself as such an organisation. It was more representative of its regional societies and operated with a body of officials from the ranks of these societies to represent the interests of science.

Professionalisation

The concept of professionalisation helps us understand changes in the social organisation of science into the twentieth century. Within a more specialised division of labour in society, the scientist’s role developed within research institutions and with the rise of the universities (Ben-David 1971, p. 16–18). Recognition came through salary, money for research and respect for scientific knowledge. Specialised qualifications, systematic training and publications were required. There was a growth in occupational self-consciousness as the professional community emerged. The scientific community became the reference point for professional performance and intellectual contribution, and in terms of its own ethic defined the needs of the public, industry and the government and the ways in which these needs were met.

A scientific normative structure supported this professional community. Merton outlines the following norms: ‘universalism’ – truth subject to impersonal objective criteria, observation and previous knowledge; ‘communism’ – collaboration and co-operation based on a shared culture, communication and publication; ‘disinterestedness’ – institutional accountability to peers through public criteria of testability; and ‘organised scepticism’ – scrutiny of beliefs in terms of empirical, logical criteria (Merton 1973, chapter 13). Professionalisation was also associated with collegial control over work and market closure (Hagstrom 1965, chapter 1; Johnson 1972; Larson 1977). Hagstrom suggests that scientists conformed to these norms because of a desire for recognition from colleagues; the community was based on an exchange of information or knowledge for recognition.

Hagstrom also suggests that, from the mid twentieth century, this base for the scientific community became disorganised with a greater division of labour as disciplines became segmented into specialties and administrative leaders became politicised, oriented towards securing funds and facilities, and focused on co-ordination (Hagstrom 1965, p. 153). Technicians, as part of this deepening division of labour, were means- and skills-oriented and uninterested in scientific recognition. Research facilities became scarce and expensive and research skills became specialised and dependent on technicians. Hagstrom argued that social control passed from the scientific community to hierarchical research group organisations and to political powers.

The emergence of a professional community was associated with the increasing importance of formal qualifications. Bachelor and doctorate degrees in science were recognised by the University of New Zealand from 1883 but until the turn of the century the output of science graduates was very small (Beaglehole 1937, p. 155–6). In the 1920s – a time when the importance of science to the economy was emphasised in the wake of the First World War – there was an upsurge in qualifications (Appendices to the Journal of the House of Representatives 1900-1908, E-6; 1909-1953 E-7; 1954-1962 E-1). A plateau was reached in the 1930s (during the depression) and the level declined into the early 1940s as the immediate impact of the Second World War was felt in the armed services and in manpowering. Within a few years, there was a substantial spike upwards in response to wartime needs for science not only in agriculture but also previously neglected areas of physical science, in particular the development of radar (Atkinson 1976, chapter 4; Galbreath 1998, chapter 5). Another plateau was attained in the 1950s. The numbers shot up from the late 1950s as universities expanded and were better resourced.

A 1948 study of scientific manpower requirements indicated the growth of the scientific community in the early decades of the century (Appendix to the Journal of the House of Representatives 1948, H-34A). The numbers of science graduates had increased fourfold compared with the 1920s, with chemistry and chemical engineering together with physics as leading qualifications. There was a huge expansion in the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research. Numbers increased from 38 on its foundation in 1926 to 115 by 1939, 153 by 1946 and 402 by 1952 (McBride and de Joux 1966, tables 3, 9, 17–21). Technical staff employed by the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research also became substantial in the postwar period, numbering 450 by 1951. By this time, there was a substantial division of labour, with a burgeoning specialisation of disciplines and, in the postwar period, a substantial cadre of technicians and subsequently of administrators/managers.

Place of the Royal Society

The New Zealand Institute, with its regional societies and institutes reconstituted into a more representative form in 1903, was a voice for science in this new environment. Nonetheless, the transition to a professional community was slow. Even by the end of the First World War, few of those publishing in the Institute’s Transactions were professional scientists; most still had other occupations (Cockayne 1919, p. 489). This group of the more eminent and older New Zealand scientists represented the tail-end of nineteenth-century science.

It proved difficult to establish science representation on this new footing. The Institute was hampered by its unbalanced structure neglecting some disciplines and the lingering effects of nineteenth-century science perspectives. Government science was focused pragmatically on economic development and the university presence was slight. During the First World War, there was a re-evaluation of the place of science and of the Institute; the importance of economic and technological development for the war effort was highlighted. But the Institute’s position was not improved in the context of the more substantial scientific infrastructure after the war – the formation of the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research in 1926, the development of science faculties in universities and the increasing centrality of formal science qualifications. Indeed despite its efforts, the Institute was sidelined for some time and the interests of the scientific community were largely represented through the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research and its dynamic head Ernest Marsden.

The New Zealand Institute, and its successor the Royal Society of New Zealand from 1933, contributed to this professional scientific community by recognising excellence in science through its medals and awards from the early 1900s and by its creation of a body of Fellows in 1919. The first woman Fellow, Kathleen Curtis, was elected in 1936. She was followed by others in the 1940s but female representation remained low until recent times (Royal Society Te Apārangi 2017). Women were also elected to the Royal Society’s Council from the end of that decade but under-representation of women in the organisation remained a longstanding issue.

The Royal Society’s existence was seriously threatened by its outmoded structure. In the 1920s and 1930s, it was bypassed for being insufficiently representative; the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research took centre stage in New Zealand science. During the depression of the early 1930s, its government grant had been severely cut back, seriously limiting its activities; the grant would not be restored until after the Second World War. The organisation began to give advice to government and take a role in science education and science promotion. It was still hampered by a lack of resources and run by a small voluntary elite cadre of senior scientists. They were ‘scientific statesmen’ with established reputations and sufficient prestige that they were free to straddle disciplines, represent science as a whole and engage with government (Hagstrom 1965, p. 44–45). A remarkable woman, Mimie Wood, undertook a wide range of secretarial and administrative tasks. She was the only paid staff member from 1920 until 1955. She retired in 1962.

The Royal Society itself strongly subscribed to ‘Mertonian’ norms. The norm of universalism was reflected in its commitment to international linkages in science. It was involved in the International Council of Scientific Unions (ICSU) from the 1930s onwards. A concept of universality was pivotal to ICSU from its foundation in 1931. Collaboration and co-operation (‘communism’) were integral to the Royal Society’s modus operandi – providing a ‘peak’ organisation to bring scientists together and to provide a medium of publication for their work. This norm was also strongly evident in the Royal Society’s international activities such as the International Geophysical Year of 1957–1958, in its membership of various disciplinary scientific international unions and in its vigorous organisation of international symposiums from the 1960s to the 1980s. In terms of ‘disinterestedness’ and ‘organised scepticism’, one might look at the contribution exercised by the successive editors of the Transactions, and at its acknowledgement of excellence in its election to the ranks of Fellows. The Royal Society’s struggle to create a greater degree of financial and institutional independence of government was driven by such motives.

From mid-century, the Royal Society was more involved in providing advice to government. Its insistence that there should be a clear separation of science and politics – between science-based views and the political role that the Royal Society itself might play institutionally – expressed such norms. Resolution of this tension took place, as with the Royal Society of London, by delegating science-based views to a professional level of expert committees specifically formed for such a purpose. The Royal Society created the institutional framework to convey such views to government; it did not itself express such views as a corporate body.

Unlike other professions such as engineering, medicine and law, the New Zealand scientific community did not create a professional association with common collegial interests that would regulate entry and provide credentials and a code of ethics. The New Zealand Association of Scientists (earlier the Association of Scientific Workers) was more concerned with industrial relations issues such as salaries, classification, science technicians and the provision of scientist directories (Gregory 2013). The Royal Society from 1933, like the Institute before it, provided an umbrella organisation for its regional organisations (now its branches) but did not seek to provide a professional regulatory body. It was a body corporate with legal powers almost entirely funded directly by government rather than professional membership fees.

In the 1940s and 1950s, while the Royal Society began to give advice to government, its structure appeared very antiquated because it refused to incorporate the autonomous disciplinary organisations that now existed in areas such as forestry, dairy science and chemistry. The Royal Society continued to depend upon its historic regional organisations (now branches) and upon the voluntary work of its officers.

In the mid-1960s, the Royal Society finally opened itself up to some extent to the by now well-established disciplinary professional organisations of scientists, but only as a subsidiary element of a push to elevate its status and visibility as an independent statutory body to co-ordinate science, represent science to the politicians and command the attention of government.

In a second ‘reinvention’ the Royal Society reconstituted itself as a governing Academy drawn from its substantial body of Fellows, driven by its youthful President Charles Fleming. Fellows had been elected from 1919 onwards and had always been important to the organisation but advantage had not been taken of their collective status. Scientific excellence now became a platform for elevating the status of the Royal Society. A Member Bodies’ Committee representing branches and disciplinary professional organisations (termed ‘member bodies’) was created in uneasy coexistence with the Academy. This tension would not be resolved and would result in a further restructuring of the organisation in the 1990s.

While the reconstituted Royal Society enhanced its credibility with government, it was not that effective in prosecuting its increasingly central goals of promoting international linkages, science education and science promotion. It proved difficult to engage the Fellowship in these activities – they were left to a small cadre of loyal and committed devotees (often presidents and ex-presidents) such as Fleming himself.

With the Royal Society more involved in advising government, the basis of that advice became more of an issue. From the late 1960s, it began to produce a range of reports on topical issues such as heart disease, pesticides, the environment, pollution, radioactivity and the threat of nuclear war. This highlighted the need to reformulate its organisation so that it could create a more substantial corporate presence. With limited funds at its disposal, the organisation continued to rely upon voluntary effort, but from the mid-1960s onwards it began to establish a small professional executive.

Science and society

Science entered a new world in the latter part of the twentieth century; it was being integrated into society while its infrastructure was increasingly complex and dependent upon external, often political, funding. The enclosed, cohesive community of professional scientists grounded in Mertonian norms was prised open; its collective norms were supplemented by new ideas of social responsibility and ‘reflexivity’ (Lakoff 1977).

Arguments that science was imbedded in society associated with the sociology of science challenged traditional assumptions of autonomous scientific objectivity and rationality from the 1960s onwards. The objectivity of knowledge was questioned; knowledge was linked to social and political interests, to environmental sustainability, and to the claims of indigenous or alternative forms of knowledge.

The general public became distrustful of science and was concerned at its profitable and unethical applications. As Jasanoff says the ‘optimistic alliance between science, technology and democracy’ of the first half of the century based on its rationality ‘proved short-lived’ (Jasanoff 2012, p. 2). To retain or rebuild trust in science, in her view, ‘reason’ had to shift from enlightenment rationality of demonstration by ‘facts’ about the natural world to what she calls ‘public reason’ – legitimacy and trust between government and citizen in an environment of risk. This form of rationality was socially constructed and culturally imbedded, negotiated through institutional and legal frameworks.

By the 1980s – in the wake of Thomas Kuhn’s postulation of paradigms and scientific revolutions – the notion of the social responsibility of science was extended to a more fundamental recognition of the interrelatedness of science and other forms of knowledge in terms of the imbedded and reflexive nature of knowledge in the modern world. The structural-functionalist conception of the scientific community as articulated by Merton and Hagstrom was now referred to as a traditional ‘mode’ of science production no longer appropriate to imbedded and reflexive forms of knowledge (Gibbons et al. 1994, ‘Introduction’; Nowotny et al. 2001; ICSU 2005, p. 13–15; Hessels and van Lente 2008). Concepts such as the ‘Gibbons-Nowotny modes 1 and 2’ forms of knowledge production, strategic science, post-normal science and innovation systems all recognised this shift. This shift also implied a closer relationship between the physical and natural sciences and social sciences and the humanities. Wynne’s argument that ‘constructivist’ perspectives emphasise how people experience and ‘construct’ science in their everyday lives introduced reflexivity into the understanding of science (Wynne 1995; Wilsdon et al. 2005). Science itself should be ‘problematised’ as part of society rather than taken as a rational, external given.

Modern science as ‘mode 2’ knowledge, according to Gibbons-Nowotny, is characterised by transdisciplinarity, heterogeneity and cultural contextualisation (Gibbons et al. 1994, p. 92). It involves practical, rapid and flexible application to problems, rather than by discipline, and the factoring-in of the interests of various parties. The ‘context of application’ shapes knowledge into transdisciplinary forms. The social context and implications of knowledge are imbedded within that knowledge itself; assessment of its quality is bound up with this context of the application of knowledge.

Knowledge is generated in heterogeneous sites – universities, research centres, government and industry. These sites are linked through informal networks forming strategic alliances and collaborative arrangements rather than being planned by central agencies or formal linkages. Computer-based and communication technologies promote this development by creating interactivity and interconnections. Associated government strategies involve a breaking down of institutional boundaries and the brokering and promoting of national innovation systems. While there have been debates about this characterisation, taken as a manifesto it has had a considerable impact both in science policy internationally and in shaping the restructuring of science in New Zealand (Cronin 2008).

Structure of science in New Zealand

The emphasis in the development of science infrastructure in New Zealand has been on transdisciplinarity and practical application. There has been a move from centralised planning (National Research Advisory Council) to networks, alliances and collaboration. With the breakup of the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research and the creation of the Ministry of Research, Science and Technology, the Foundation for Research, Science and Technology and the Crown Research Institutes, a greater range of sites for scientific work and science policy have become established. There has been a range of significant developments. The New Economy Research Fund was created in the latter part of the 1990s. The Foundation promoted collaboration in the Public Good Science Fund and New Economy Research funding at that time and the development of consortia in the 2000s. Centres of Research Excellence were established from the early 2000s onwards for inter-institutional research networks particularly between universities and Crown Research Institutes.

Despite these changes consequent upon the restructuring of New Zealand’s science and innovation system, there has not been much data or analysis in terms of changes to the ‘mode’ of production of science as in the discussion of Gibbons et al. above. Some indicators can be mentioned. There has been a significant increase in university and Crown Research Institute ‘spin-outs’ funded by the Foundation since 2000, while more widely, university commercialisation expanded in the 2000s (Palmer and Laurenson 2010, p. 19–20, 26–27, 32). Government research funding for industry assisted in the commercialisation of technologies. Collaboration amongst scientists, nationally and internationally, has increased. In the period 2002–2007, 84% of New Zealand’s scientific publications involved multiple authors, 70% involved multiple institutions and New Zealand researchers co-authored publications with authors from more than a hundred countries with 44% involving multiple countries. A recent Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment report suggests that collaboration continues to increase. In the last dozen years or so, single-author publications decreased from 20% to 13% of the total and publications with international co-authorship increased from 42% to 54% of the total (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment 2016, p. 79–80, figures 51 and 52).

A closer relationship between knowledge and society and the linkage of science and technology was acknowledged. The ‘science and technology in society’ movement had an impact in New Zealand from the 1980s. This movement sought to ‘humanise’ such forms of knowledge, acknowledging not only their impacts on society but also how society itself shaped science and technology (Green 1985).

Into the 2000s, the Ministry of Research, Science and Technology, in response to declining levels of public confidence and trust in science, shifted from science promotion to ‘community dialogue’ between scientists and the public and set up a ‘science in society’ programme. It also sought greater convergence of science, arts and techology (‘sci-art’) by emphasising innovation and creativity as part of broader social and cultural processes contributing towards a knowledge society. The potential contribution of the social sciences became much more salient with the science in society programme; attempts were made to break down traditional boundaries in a knowledge-based society (Casswell and Munro 2005; Social Sciences Reference Group 2005, p. 7).

This shift of perspective also questioned the position, status and power of male scientists and sought greater representation and balance of social groups such as women and ethnic groups. It raised issues of ethics and social responsibility, together with issues of the social construction of and relativity of knowledge and recognition of other cultural forms of knowledge, particularly indigenous. Politically, it suggested that there should be greater democratisation and transparency associated with science, and heightened interaction and participation between science and the wider public.

Impact on the Royal Society

The Royal Society felt these changes. In 1970, it considered setting up a watchdog group for social responsibility in science. This movement had arisen internationally in the late 1960s in response to concern over the impact of science in war and to the environment. An editorial at that time asked the question – ‘is science still king?’ (editorial, New Zealand Science Review 1971). Scientists during the 1970s pushed for greater openness in the context of not being able to enter public debate on issues such as nuclear energy or beech forest conservation. Such agitation, involving the Council for Civil Liberties and the Coalition for Open Government, eventually led to the Official Information Act 1982 (Gregory 2014, p. 84–85). The Royal Society decided that its existing procedure of appointing committees to investigate controversial issues was sufficient. In 1979, there was a symposium on the social responsibility in science at the Australian and New Zealand Association for the Advancement of Science conference, at which Wren Green referred to ‘the doubts and disquiet many people are now experiencing about the power and practice of modern science’ (Green 1979, ‘Introduction’).

The Royal Society began to rethink its role in advising government. It should focus on identifying gaps and take a watchdog role on matters of public concern in monitoring advice from other quarters, now that a wider range of organisations both within and outside of government gave advice to government. The Royal Society, however, continued to believe that expert committees should give advice. On environmental issues, this stance came under pressure in the 1970s. Eminent Royal Society leader Charles Fleming took a prominent part in protest against raising Lake Manapouri, but as an individual. The organisation decided that the best it could do collectively was to press for the use of scientific investigation and principles on such matters.

In the 1990s, a third ‘reinvention’ of the Royal Society took place. Government reviewed the Royal Society in the early 1990s. It was by then generally agreed that the organisation should formally extend its remit to technology, replace the Academy with a more democratic governance structure with a broader mandate, and that the Royal Society develop a code of ethics. The Royal Society reconstituted its Council as a body elected by disciplinary colleges and branches and produced a code of ethics. In 1997, legislation ratified the changes that had already largely been made.

The Royal Society extended its remit to the social sciences at this time. The first signs of change appeared in the late 1960s when some social sciences – archaeology, psychology and geography – with more of a ‘scientific’ dimension were able to affiliate because of their quantitative elements. In the 1980s, social science practitioners felt increasingly concerned at the marginalisation of policy-related social research. The Labour government of 1984–1990 – which included social science academics such as Helen Clark, Michael Cullen, Margaret Shields and Phil Goff – pushed for an elevated status for social science. Evidence-based social research – such as ‘social indicators’ of societal wellbeing and a household labour force survey – were introduced into official statistics. During the review process, groups such as the Federation of New Zealand Social Science Organisations and the Association of Social Science Research forcefully argued that the organisation become more inclusive by bringing in the social sciences and promoting gender and ethnic equity. The Royal Society included the social sciences as a class of disciplines in the 1990s and a number of organisations affiliated.

In the 2000s, the Royal Society took another step in broadening its representation. From the late 1990s, a humanities grouping began to consider forming an academy (Opie 2001, p. 4; Dew and Fitzgerald 2004, p. 273; Munro 2005). The Ministry of Research, Science and Technology commissioned a study in 2005 to advance the humanities sector in association with government. The Royal Society, keen to broaden its membership base, began to consider bringing the humanities within its remit, and, after discussions with the Humanities Society of New Zealand from 2006, the two organisations came together in 2010. The Royal Society’s greatly enlarged suite of medals and awards, from the 1990s, recognising excellence in these areas of knowledge reflects the inclusion of the social sciences and the humanities.

The Royal Society’s broadened remit has been evident in other ways. From the late 1990s, its presidents have come from areas other than the traditional sciences – from the medical sciences and from the commercial application of science and technology – and not necessarily elected from its governing council. Its present chief executive, appointed in 2014, is from an engineering background and its current president, elected in 2015, is from the social sciences. The council in recent years has become more representative of different forms of knowledge with the social sciences and the humanities well represented.

The Royal Society emphasised engagement with the public from the 2000s. Ambitious yearly promotional programmes became a feature, with high-profile international speakers, events involving the public and extensive media promotion. A Science Media Centre, associated with the Royal Society, was established in 2008 to improve public engagement with science by a better informed media. Responding to the objectives of the government report A Nation of Curious Minds, the Royal Society in 2016 developed a code of practice for the public engagement of scientists, researchers and scholars (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment and Ministry of Education 2014; Royal Society Te Apārangi 2016).

In 2017, as it reached a full 150 years, the Royal Society rebranded itself to recognise better its objectives of inclusion and diversity. The Royal Society of New Zealand became the Royal Society Te Apārangi, with its previously asserted centrality of science becoming a general reference to knowledge instead. The persistent gender imbalance in its Fellows and in the membership has been on the agenda for some time; amid some criticism renewed efforts are now being made to redress this imbalance (Bedford 2017).

Conclusion

Through its 150 years, the Royal Society has responded to wider changes in the place of science and other forms of knowledge in society. At certain points in its history, these changes resulted in a ‘reinvention’ of the organisation. Such a transformation is taking place in 2017 with a fuller integration of other forms of knowledge alongside science. In understanding these past transformations, and also where the Royal Society might be heading in the future, the insights of the social sciences and humanities can make an important contribution.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.