In two conferences, separated by the space of only a few months, in September 1966 and March 1967, Giovanni Polvani—at the time president of the Domus Galilaeana—and the council of the Domus, attempted a series of operations, all ambitious and difficult. The first, and to some extent the simplest, was to gather round the Domus all those who were working in a professional role or as amateurs on the history of science. Also invited were scholars who had become involved in the discipline through the territorial or thematic nature of their particular interests (as was the case with Luigi Firpo, Cesare Vasoli and others), or who had some special relation to the history of science of a more, so to speak, extrinsic kind, people such as archivists, librarians, and so on. Secondly, the organizers wished—and here was where the difficulties began—to start up a discussion (not limited to mere theory) on what people understood the history of science to be, what its relationship was with the history of technology, of philosophy, and with cultural history in general. As hinted above, the discussion was not meant to be on abstract theoretical terms, since it was designed to serve as a premise for an even more complex project, that is to set up a centre for the training of future historians of science. As often happens, in the heat of discussing the concrete problems which were the subject of the first meeting at Pisa (the sources of the history of science, limited to Italy, and only to the fourteenth to sixteenth centuries), there emerged difficulties, various orientations, evaluations and declarations, which were both meaningful and enlightening.

Professor Thomson had been a typical Scottish ‘lad o’ pairts'. Deservant of repute as teacher, scientist, editor and historian, his most distinctive achievements were in scientific journalism and propaganda. These were powerfully exhibited in the interests of Dalton's Atomism and of Prout's Hypothesis—and in university politics.

His work for Chambers' Encyclopaedia and for Nicholson's Journal was influential and effective. His textbooks gained an international esteem and each successive edition was kept up to date.

Much of his professional outlook and experience is expressed in his History of Chemistry (2 vols. 1830–31). Researches in his old Department at Glasgow on his choice and use of material provide the main topics of this Address. These volumes are still important.

The list of Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier's opponents is a long and distinguished one, ranging from Joseph Priestley and Henry Cavendish to Jean-Paul Marat. Among the less distinguished members of this company is Antoine Monnet, a minor chemist and mineralogist whose fame rests in large part on the very fact that he and Lavoisier became enemies. Unlike his better-known contemporaries, Monnet remains almost wholly neglected, and no attempt has yet been made to sort out the issues in his controversy with Lavoisier; instead, Lavoisier's biographers have been content to accept Lavoisier's own version of at least a part of the affair, with the result that Monnet has emerged as the villain of the piece and Lavoisier as the injured victim. The two men probably first came into close contact in 1776 or 1777, the nature of their relationship has remained obscure for the period 1777–1780, and the situation after 1780 has been summarized by biographers in a manner resembling that of Edouard Grimaux:

“ayant en main tous les documents réunis par Guettard et Lavoisier, il [Monnet] ajouta de nouvelles cartes à celles qui étaient déjà gravées, et publia, en 1780, un altas minéralogique incomplet, qu'il signa avec Guettard, tout en s'attribuant la plus grande part du travail. Il cita, il est vrai, Lavoisier comme l'auteur des seize premières cartes, mais il utilisa sans son aveu et sans le nommer les matériaux préparés pour le reste du travail, et négligea d'indiquer que les coupes placées en marge de chaque carte étaient le résultat des nivellements faits au baromètre par Lavoisier. Celui-ci en fut vivement froissé … Il trouva toujours en Monnet un adversaire obstiné qui, en 1798, attaquait encore les doctrines nouvelles en publiant une soi-disant Démonstration de la fausseté des principes des nouveaux chimistes.”

Two analogies are at the foundation of editions of writings of scientists, technologists and physicians. Both are exemplified in the collection of ‘works’, texts of printed finished versions of contributions. The literary analogy is that of authorship, of the creation of a significant assemblage of words and other symbols. Assemblages of monographs and articles of a scientist are functionally no different than comparable arrays of the writings of theologians, philosophers, poets, novelists and historians.