The present interest of Englishmen in education is partly due to the fact that they are impressed by German thoroughness. Now let there be no mistake. The war has shown the effectiveness of German education in certain departments of life, but it has shown not only its ineffectiveness, but its grotesque absurdity in regard to other departments of life, and those the departments which are, even in a political sense, the most important. In the organization of material resources Germany has won well-merited admiration, but in regard to moral conduct, and in regard to all that art of dealing with other men and other nations which is closely allied to moral conduct, she has won for herself the horror of the civilized world. If you take the whole result, and ask whether we prefer German or English education, I at any rate should not hesitate in my reply.

Thus William Temple, future archbishop, addressing the Educational Section at the 1916 meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science in Newcastle. Temple's statement introduced his contribution to the ‘neglect-of-science’ debate, a public dispute over the place of science in English secondary education. Originally, the debate had been started by prominent scientists convinced that England's military and industrial fortunes were suffering as a result of the country's continuing scientific illiteracy. The contrasts Temple drew between ‘us’ and ‘them’, between England and Germany, between ‘conduct’ and ‘efficiency’, cropped up throughout the debate.

From the Renaissance to the seventeenth century the phenomenon of tidal motion constituted one of the principal arguments of scientific debate. Understanding the times for high and low water was of course often essential for navigation, but local variations (which nowadays are attributed to currents, coastal configurations, prevailing winds, seabed shaping and other geographic characteristics) made an inductive approach impractical and precluded the possibility of constructing a universally valid model for predicting these times. Notwithstanding the complexity of the phenomenon and its practical import, however, the early-modern theory of tidal ebb and flow, as clearly emerges from Duhem's analysis, appears to be neither the result of the interpretation of empirical data, nor aimed to their prediction. Rather, the interest in tides was of a theoretical nature and was aroused particularly by their double nature, being at the same time variable and regular, terrestrial and astronomical.

The controversy between Alfred Werner and Sophus Mads Jørgensen over the structure of complex inorganic compounds is not among the best known of the many controversies in the history of chemistry, but it is one of the most thoroughly described in the historical literature. This is due almost solely to the works of George Kauffman, the distinguished American historian of chemistry and specialist in the history of coordination chemistry. Kauffman has described and analysed almost every aspect of the development of coordination chemistry and has in several works dealt with the Werner–Jørgensen controversy which ran from 1894 to 1899. Because of Kauffman's expertise and many works in the area, his account is likely to be taken as authoritative and his conclusions repeated in later historical works. This paper argues that this is unwarranted at least in one particular respect, namely the evaluation of Jørgensen and the way the controversy terminated. Kauffman's version of this episode has frequently appeared in print during a period of thirty-five years, first in 1959 and most recently in 1994. My conclusion is that it cannot survive critical examination.

George Greenough (1778–1856) was one of the influential group of early nineteenth-century English geologists who rejected both Hutton's and Werner's attempts to propound all-embracing geological theories, and followed a deliberately empirical approach. He travelled through Scotland in 1805, studying geological phenomena in the light of both the Plutonist and the Neptunist theories, and generally concluded that neither was entirely satisfactory as an explanation of the observable facts. He was also the first to suggest that the ‘Parallel Roads’ of Glen Roy were the successive beach-levels of a former lake: this theory was later attacked by Darwin but ultimately vindicated by Agassiz's glacial theory. The more important geological passages from Greenough's MS. journal of the tour are reproduced and discussed in this paper. They illustrate some of the scientific problems that were involved in accepting either Hutton's or Werner's theory entire.

Whereas the academic discipline of the history of science has made enormous strides in half a century, ironically, recognition from without has often been disappointing. Private success has not been matched by public status. The work of the Science Museum in London as one of the few widely accessible windows into the discipline is therefore worth remarking upon here, and more detailed investigations are even now under way. The foundation of the British Society for the History of Science at the Museum, in 1947, symbolized a role that the Museum had already played for decades and plays to this day: the pre-eminent public space of the history of science. This distinctive role has of course been shared by other object-based museums attracting large numbers of visitors in places such as Manchester, Greenwich and Edinburgh as well as in Munich and Washington.

This paper sketches how late seventeenth-century Dutch anatomists used printed publications to advertise their anatomical preparations, inventions and instructional technologies to an international clientele. It focuses on anatomists Frederik Ruysch (1638–1732) and Lodewijk de Bils (1624–69), inventors of two separate anatomical preparation methods for preserving cadavers and body parts in a lifelike state for decades or centuries. Ruysch's and de Bils's publications functioned as an ‘advertisement’ for their preparations. These printed volumes informed potential customers that anatomical preparations were aesthetically pleasing and scientifically important but did not divulge the trade secrets of the method of production. Thanks to this strategy of non-disclosure and advertisement, de Bils and Ruysch could create a well-working monopoly market of anatomical preparations. The ‘advertising’ rhetorics of anatomical publications highlight the potential dangers of equating the growth of print culture with the development of an open system of knowledge exchange.

The rise of the synthetic dye industry was based on exciting discoveries of nineteenth-century chemists. They prepared in their laboratories, from components of coal tar, coloured substances with potentially promising dyeing properties. However, this was only part of the story.

Until late in the nineteenth century, madder was the most popular natural red dye. Holland was the largest and best-known supplier. As early as the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the province of Zeeland and adjoining parts of the provinces of South Holland and Brabant developed into important producers. In the course of the seventeenth century these areas even succeeded in acquiring a monopoly position. Early in the nineteenth century, however, this position came under attack because France had gone over to industrial production methods from around 1800, whereas Holland continued to produce with craft technologies. After 1820, as a result, a period of stagnation and decay set in. The fate of the Dutch madder industry would have been completely sealed if the production capacity of the French factories had been sufficiently large to satisfy the great increase in demand. Consequently, in Holland, after 1845, a process of revival based upon the French manufacturing methods began slowly and hesitatingly. This process started too late and was not persevered with sufficiently to regain lost markets. The Dutch producers remained strongly attached to their own out-dated, craft methods of production.

The first attempted derivation by Galileo of the law relating space and time in free fall that has survived is preserved on an otherwise unidentified sheet bound among his manuscripts preserved at Florence. It is undoubtedly closely associated with a letter from Galileo to Paolo Sarpi, dated 16 October 1604, which somehow found its way into the Seminary of Pisa, where it is still preserved. Those two documents, together with the letter from Sarpi to Galileo which seems to have inspired them, are translated in full below. Sarpi's letter, dated 9 October 1604, suggests that recent oral discussions of problems of motion had recently taken place between the two men. It reads as follows:

“In sending you the enclosure, it occurs to me to propose to you a problem to resolve, and another that seems to me paradoxical.

William Thomson's image as a professional mathematical physicist who adheres, particularly in his work in classical thermodynamics, to a strict experimental basis for his science, avoids speculative hypotheses, and becomes renowned for his omission of philosophical declarations has been reinforced in varying degrees by those historians who have attempted, as either admirers or critics of Thomson, to describe and assess his life. J. G. Crowther, for example, sees him as a thinker of great intellectual strength, but deficient in intellectual taste; a scientist aware only of his immediate work and without depth of vision. Not well read in the literature of the subjects of his research, Thomson is seen, moreover, as one whose achievements owe little to the work of others, and whose great personality ‘is an expression in the realm of ideas of the power and blindness of capitalism’, especially through ‘his view of the world in terms of engineering conceptions’. On the other hand, even Sir Joseph Larmor, for whom Thomson was nothing less than a hero, is to be found ascribing to him the epithet of pragmatist.

After a brief account of the uncertainty of medicine in early modern thought, this paper focuses on two supple, sophisticated accounts of medicine by ‘non-medical’ writers – Michel de Montaigne's views of medical theory and medical practice and Francis Bacon's proposals for renovating both – in which the claims of individual sufferers are set against the normativity of medicine as a whole. From around 1500 to around 1680, in the common ensemble of both learned and popular invective, medicine was disparaged as poor philosophy and worse practice, even as the ‘lowest of professions’. In remarkably broad, elegant interventions, Montaigne argues that medicine is based on ‘examples and experience’ (and ‘so is my opinion’, he adds), impugning its universalizing claims with the tractable experience of his own embodiment, with his own historia and consilium, while Francis Bacon enlists dietetics, Hippocratic case-taking and medical history in his broad programme for the reform of medicine. He more or less accepts Montaigne's argument for particularity in medical theory and practice, but presses the particular into service in his reformist programme. Like many sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century scholars and physicians frustrated with Galenic methods and models, both turn to Hippocratic practice and to hygiene and dietetics as salves for an ailing discipline. Finally, I argue that both writers enquire into viable means for inflecting learned medicine with particular experience, and both settle on rhetorical tools – analogy and exemplarity – as the means by which universalized medical models might be particularized or reformed.

This paper discusses the research of British naturalists in China during the period between the Opium War and the collapse of the Qing dynasty (1839–1911). China was defeated in the Opium War and forced to open treaty ports for trade with the Westerners. The foreign powers, particularly Britain, imposed upon the Qing government treaties, concession leases, favourable trade conditions, legal privileges and so on to reduce its political autonomy. In the shadow of the informal empire, not only did the British have more freedom to travel in China, first at the treaty ports and later in the interior, but they successively established diplomatic, commercial and missionary institutions in dozens of Chinese cities. The most important of them – the British Consular Service, the Chinese Maritime Customs and the Protestant missionary organizations – provided the talent and infrastructure for natural historical research and became networks for scientific information. The research into China's natural history epitomized the characteristics of British research on China in general: it engaged in collecting and circulating an ever-increasing amount of information and aimed at producing ‘factual’ and ‘useful’ knowledge about China. The paper modifies current literature on scientific imperialism, which has dealt primarily with the colonial context, by examining the role of nineteenth-century British imperial science in the context of informal empire.

A patriot fiddler-composer of Luton

Wrote a funeral march which he played with the mute on,

To record, as he said, that a Jewish-Swiss-Teuton

Had partially scrapped the Principia of Newton.

Punch, 19 November 1919, p. 422

When the results of experiments performed during the British solar eclipse expeditions of 1919 were announced at a joint meeting of the Royal Society and the Royal Astronomical Society, they were celebrated in the next day's Times of London with the famous headline ‘Revolution in science’. This exemplified the general approbation with which A. S. Eddington and F. W. Dyson's results were received, the upshot of which was widespread approval for general relativity and worldwide fame for Albert Einstein. Perhaps because of Einstein's present reputation, there has been little historical analysis of why his theory should have been so celebrated on the basis of a single announcement of the results of one group's experiments. In this paper I argue that the remarkable public and professional success of the eclipse experiments was the direct result of a systematic and extended campaign by Eddington and Dyson and their associates to create interest in relativity theory, build an audience for the experiments, promote a favourable reception for the results and establish their work as a crucial experiment that would distinguish between the gravitation theories of Newton and Einstein. The campaign was motivated by Eddington's affection for Einstein's theory, and was successful largely because of Eddington's substantial credibility.

This article seeks to illuminate the shifting and unstable configuration of scientific print culture around 1800 through a close focus on William Nicholson's Journal of Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, and the Arts, generally known as Nicholson's Journal. Viewing Nicholson as a mediator between the two spheres of British commercial journalism and scientific enquiry, I investigate the ways he adapted practices and conventions from the domain of general-readership monthly periodicals for his Journal, forging a virtual community of scientific knowledge exchange in print. However, in pursing this project Nicholson ran up against disreputable associations connected with the politics of journalism and came into conflict with more established models of scientific publication. To illustrate this, I turn to examine in detail the practice of reprinting, a technique of information transmission which the Journal adapted from general periodicals and newspapers, looking at a clash between Nicholson and the Royal Society that exposes disagreements over the appropriate role for journals during this period of reorganization in the scientific world.

In the late 1960s teams of engineers working independently in Japan, Switzerland and the United States used newly created electronic components to completely reinvent the wristwatch. The products these groups developed instigated a global revolution in the watch industry and gave everyone, whether they needed it or not, access to the split-second accuracy once available only to scientists and technicians. This radical change in timekeeping technology was in the vanguard of a dramatic shift from a mechanical to an electronic world and raises important issues about technological change for scholars interested in late twentieth-century history. Examining the work of three teams of engineers, this paper offers a comparative approach to understanding how local differences in culture, economy, business structure and access to technological knowledge shaped the design of finished products and their acceptance by users.

The aim of this paper is to investigate the notion of need, in this case an entire city's global need for water. This was a notion invented by Paris technicians between 1760 and 1804 in the context of several water supply projects, notably two river diversion schemes, those of the Yvette and the Ourcq, where the concept was much discussed. Different ways of considering the question of need – such as water resources, consumption and use, whether present or future – were strongly related to engineers' or scientists' conceptions of their own work. State engineers claimed they could make objective estimates of future needs with no reference to either value judgements or political intentions, a position which made it possible to keep strong control over the decision in the name of the state. In contrast, a practically trained engineer working outside the state corps claimed that in the case of expertise about the future, estimates would depend strongly on political intentions, norms and ideals, so the government should first give an outline of its intended actions. The paper studies the differences between these two approaches to the concept of need, especially how they articulated knowledge about what is and knowledge about what ought to be, present and future. The paper ends by linking these differences to conceptions of what was supposed to be technical or political in such projects and of what role engineers intended to play in the decision-making process.

From its very beginning the Royal Society was regarded by many, if not most, of its founders as centrally concerned with practical improvement. How could it be otherwise? The study of nature was not only a pious act in and of itself – a reading of the book of nature – but it was also the way in which God's Providence would provide discoveries for the relief of man's estate. The early ideologues of the Society, such as Robert Boyle and Thomas Sprat, continually returned to the usefulness of natural philosophy in that sense. They were no doubt stimulated in this not only by the narrow purpose of gaining support for their novel institution but also by quite genuine beliefs about the role that natural philosophy could play in creating a stable political and economic order through which prosperity might increase and the years of civil war be left behind. However, by the late seventeenth century the Society, especially after the demise of the history of trades programme, became much more a deliberative forum than a projective organization.

When considering the works produced in history of science and transnational history, one is struck by the wide range of issues covered, the profusion of ideas and analyses, the richness and variety of what is proposed. On the other hand, one is also struck by the presence of rather repetitive methodological professions of faith, of declarations of intent about categories and rules that are quite stable over time. This article considers in turn both issues. First, what we have learned in substantial terms, what these historiographical reassessments about science and transnational relations teach us, what has been displaced and what is currently being opened. In the second part, the paper considers what is at stake in these preliminary statements of principle. The article defends the idea that we are facing two major interpretative corpuses that both do count and are heuristically productive, that in practice both are often mixed by historians – but that it is intellectually and politically decisive to consider finely the epistemologies, ontologies and postures that are offered.

Between 1856 and 1858, a group of entrepreneurs and engineers led by the American Cyrus Field and the Englishmen J. W. Brett, Charles Bright and E. O. Wildman Whitehouse sought to lay a telegraph cable across the Atlantic from Ireland to Newfoundland. Their projected cable would be far longer, far more expensive, and far more difficult to lay than any previously attempted; that such an ambitious undertaking was launched and quickly drew financial backing was testimony to the technological enthusiasm of the mid-Victorian era. After many setbacks, the cable was successfully completed early in August 1858. The first messages it carried were met with rapturous excitement on both sides of the Atlantic – making its failure after just a few weeks of fitful service all the more humiliating. Identifying the causes of that failure, and assigning blame for them, became crucial to ensuring the future of transoceanic cable telegraphy. Were the causes of the failure intrinsic to the enterprise, and the vision of a network of transoceanic cables no more than an unrealistic dream? Or did the collapse of the cable result simply from a series of unfortunate and correctable errors? How those questions were answered in the autumn of 1858 would go far toward determining the prospects not only for renewing the Atlantic project, but also for any attempt to extend submarine cables more widely around the world.