When it comes to knowledge about the scientific pasts that might have been – the so-called ‘counterfactual’ history of science – historians can either debate its possibility or get on with the job. Taking the latter course means re-engaging with some of the most general questions about science. It can also lead to fresh insights into why particular episodes unfolded as they did and not otherwise. Drawing on recent research into the controversy over Mendelism in the early twentieth century, this address reports and reflects on a novel teaching experiment conducted in order to find out what biology and its students might be like now had the controversy gone differently. The results suggest a number of new options: for the collection of evidence about the counterfactual scientific past, for the development of collaborations between historians of science and science educators, for the cultivation of more productive relationships between scientists and their forebears, and for heightened self-awareness about the curiously counterfactual business of being historical.

One of the educational by-products of German botanical scholarship was the publication of sets of large ‘wall diagrams’ (Wandtafeln) for use in the lecture-room. Most British University Departments of Botany dating from the period before the first world war probably had at least one of these sets. In my own department I have used these excellent diagrams occasionally, realizing that they combined clarity, size and accuracy to an unrivalled extent.

This passage from a recent essay by S. M. Walters forms an appropriate introduction to the topic of this paper. From the start, it should be noticed that the use of such diagrams (referred to as ‘wallcharts’ in the rest of the paper) was by no means limited to botany nor to university studies. As will become clear, they were one of the most important media for the teaching and learning at different levels of education and within different fields.

In 1826 André-Marie Ampère published the ‘Mathematical theory of electrodynamic phenomena, uniquely derived from experiment’, in which he showed how the mathematical law for the force between current elements could be derived from four ingenious equilibrium experiments. He made a great show of following a Newtonian inductivist methodology, and his law, like Newton's for gravitation, was presented as a purely descriptive mathematical expression for a certain class of phenomena, one for which its author did not provide any causal or ontological justification. Ampère's electrodynamics would accordingly seem to have been a solid contribution to the Laplacian-Newtonian approach to physics so actively pursued in France during the first quarter of the nineteenth century. It does not surprise us to read that his electrodynamic force law and his molecular-currents theory of magnetism were immediately and widely accepted by his French contemporaries. Ampère was, in this view, just another of the many great French mathematical physicists of the period.

Historians of the Victorian period have begun to re-evaluate the general background and impact of Darwin's theory of the origin of species by means of natural selection. An emerging picture suggests that the Darwinian theory of evolution was only one aspect (albeit, a major aspect) of a more general change in intellectual positions. It is possible to summarize two correlated developments in the second half of the nineteenth century: the seculariszation of majors areas of thought, and the increasing breakdown of a common intellectual milieu. Studies in linguistics, historical criticism, socio-political theory, theologys, and anthropology, besides evolutionary theory, contributed to these developments. It has also been argued that the background of evolutionary thought lay within a relatively unified early Victorian intellectual context with shared religious, moral, and scientific concepts. Evolutionary theory contributed to the disintegration of this shared context, but it did not intrinsically assume a clear demarcation between value-laden (ethical or religious) ideas and scientific ideas. On the one hand, in the later Victorian period, religious and scientific intellectuals found it increasingly hard to share common ground. On the other hand, they did sometimes share an enthusiasm for applying biological models to social and ethical theory. It is necessary to look closely before ascribing any increased differentiation of positions to the impact of evolutionary biology.

Francis Galton has long been recognized as a pioneer of experimental psychology. The work on which this reputation is based occupied him for several years – broadly, from 1877 to 1884 – at the peak of his scientific productivity. This period of Galton's career has, however, attracted relatively little attention from historians, and few have made full use of the materials available for its study.

The bulk of this address concerns itself with the extent to which professional scientists were involved in popular science writing in early twentieth-century Britain. Contrary to a widespread assumption, it is argued that a significant proportion of the scientific community engaged in writing the more educational type of popular science. Some high-profile figures acquired enough skill in popular writing to exert considerable influence over the public's perception of science and its significance. The address also shows how publishers actively sought ‘expert’ authors for popular material, but at the same time controlled what was published in accordance with their perception of what would sell. At a more popular level of writing there were many semi-professional authors who, while not active scientists, exploited close contacts with the scientific community. Here there was a strong emphasis on the practical applications of science.

The address concludes by suggesting parallels between popular science writing in this period and the present state of popular writing about the history of science.

Following Michael Bartholomew's study of ‘Lyell and Evolution’ in 1973, scholars have become increasingly interested in the response of gentlemen geologists to Lamarckism during the reign of William IV (1830–7). Bartholomew contended that Charles Lyell was ‘alone in scenting the danger’ for man of using transmutation to explain fossil progression, and that he reacted to the threat of bestialisation by restructuring palaeontology along safe non-progressionist lines. Like his Anglican contemporaries, Lyell was concerned to prove that man was no transformed ape, and that morals were not the better part of brute instinct. Dov Ospovat has subsequently suggested that Lyell's theory of climate was equally an attempt to thwart the transformists and ‘preserve man's unique status in creation’. In other words, Lyell's biology and geology were inextricably related in Principles of Geology and his ideology affected his science as a whole. Finally, Pietro Corsi has identified the Continental materialists who most probably alerted Lyell to the danger, intimating that a conservative British response became imperative when Lyell ‘saw signs of the diffusion of transformism in England itself, where it could even form an unholy alliance with prevailing progressionist and directionalist interpretations of the history of life on earth’.

John Playfair (1748–1819), professor of mathematics and natural philosophy at the University of Edinburgh, is a relatively obscure figure today, best known as the popularizer of James Hutton's theory of geology. However, Playfair was also involved in mathematics for most of his active career, with his most widely distributed publication, Elements of Geometry (1795), shaping the mathematics education for at least thirteen thousand British students during the nineteenth century. This study focuses on the mathematical context surrounding Elements of Geometry. Specifically, after recounting the background of the text, the paper explores the ways in which Playfair's presentation of elementary geometry reflected three understandings of the terms ‘analysis’ and ‘synthesis’, which were intrinsic components of mathematical culture at the turn of the nineteenth century. In one sense, the words denoted differing styles of mathematical practice in Great Britain and in France. In a second sense, the terms evoked contemporary appeals to ancient methods of proof. Finally, ‘analysis’ and ‘synthesis’ were understood in reference to separate approaches to mathematics education. Playfair's appeals to these understandings help reveal how he viewed himself as a mathematician. Overall, then, this study enriches the standard portrait of a professor who straddled the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

For over half a century, from 1924 to 1986, the Electrical Association for Women (EAW) worked to modernize the British home by bringing the blessings of labour-saving appliances to the aid of British women. Adopting a strategy of facilitation, the EAW sought, on the one hand, to educate women about electricity and its advantages in the home, encourage them to demand greater access to that electricity and keep them abreast of new developments in appliances and the infrastructure (from a national grid to sufficient outlets) necessary for enjoying them. On the other hand, the organization sought to discover the real needs and desires of the women themselves, and to bring this forcibly to the attention of the electrical industry in Great Britain ; to make the ‘women's point of view’, as it was called, a factor in the production, distribution and application of electricity in the home.

Although the very masculine electrical industry was a decisive part of both the EAW's context, and of its financial and advisory structure, the group proudly insisted that it was a women's organization in which women addressed other women about women's concerns and well-being. In its early years, the excitement of women coming together in a modern cause was palpable, but as the leadership aged and electricity turned from modern vision to commonplace reality, the almost religious zeal and pace of activities began to falter. A late-hour attempt to highlight nuclear power plants as evidence of a renewed and equally exciting modern moment fell short, and in 1986 the EAW quietly dissolved itself, the casualty of large social changes, some of which it had proudly helped to bring about.

This article presents the case of remarkable transformation of the Icelandic landscape in 1783 and 1784 – when a series of volcanic eruptions, earthquakes and natural disasters radically altered the country – as a way of elucidating how the cultural meaning of place and different versions of ‘nature’ develop. It explores some of the contested interpretations of Icelandic nature that followed this crisis, focusing on the narratives of British geologists, Danish officials and Icelandic nationalists. The different, although sometimes overlapping and complementary, meanings of Icelandic nature developed by these different groups show how science, art and politics are closely intertwined, and how artists’ interpretations and the activities of scientists can perform the same work on landscape, transforming it in different, yet functionally equivalent, ways.

There are few more likeable figures in the history of science than Alfred Russel Wallace. A warm-hearted and generous man, he won the admiration of virtually all who knew him for what one contemporary called ‘the charm of his personality’. Typical of this charm was his behaviour over the potentially sensitive question of his co-authorship with Darwin of the theory of natural selection. Ignoring all the disputes which might so easily have followed the events of 1858, Wallace never ceased to give Darwin all the credit for their theory. In 1864, the author of the Origin chided the younger man for his deference, writing, ‘you ought not … to speak of the theory as mine; it is just as much yours as mine. One correspondent has already noticed to me your “high-minded” conduct on this head’. But Wallace's reply was equally firm, ‘As to the theory of Natural Selection itself, I shall always maintain it to be actually yours and yours only’. If anyone is responsible for the comparative neglect from which the ‘other man’ of Darwinism has suffered, it is the other man himself.

In 1813, two young physicists, François Delaroche and Jacques-Étienne Bérard, published a series of highly influential measurements of the specific heats of a number of common gases. Their results, obtained in answer to a prize competition set by the Institut de France, were accepted as the most accurate then available and they continued to exert a powerful, if diminishing, influence on studies of heat for the next forty years. Among the results obtained by Delaroche and Bérard were two measurements which showed that the specific heat of air decreased when the pressure was raised. This was a new and important experimental result. The ‘effect’ was found to be spurious of course (definitively by Victor Regnault as late as 1862), but in the meantime it was clear endorsement of some of the tenets of the caloric theory of heat. It could be invoked, for example, to explain the rise of temperature of a gas when it was compressed adiabatically. Robert Fox in his study of the rise and fall of the caloric theory has written:

Their error, although less than 10 per cent, was to prove one of the most influential in the whole history of the study of heat. Backed by the prestige associated with victory in the Institute's competition, the result quickly became standard and… was to mislead many calorists.

Historians of science have shown little interest in meteorology and, in Britain at least, have almost totally ignored the development of meteorological institutions. The Meteorological Office itself has found some mention at times such as its supposed centenary in 1955, but even then the interest has come mainly from meteorologists writing for the delectation of their fellows. This neglect is surprising because the story of the Office contains much to reward the historian. Its very formation as a governmental scientific institution in 1854 supports arguments against the popular concept of mid-nineteenth century Britain as a cauldron of unbridled laissez-faire; the role it adopted in developing practical usages for science brought it into conflict with members of the academic scientific establishment; its later transition from an inaugural period as a department of the Board of Trade to a second phase under the control of a committee appointed by the Royal Society, with consequent changes in the methods of financing and administration, gives useful insights into the contemporary attitudes of government officials towards public expenditure on science; and its first head, Robert FitzRoy, was himself a man of such remarkable interest and complexity as to render the subject worthy of investigation on that count alone.

In the ever-expanding field of nuclear history, studies of ‘nuclear culture’ are becoming increasingly popular. Often situated within national contexts, they typically explore responses to the nuclear condition in the cultural modes of literature, art, music, theatre, film and other media, as well as nuclear imagery more generally. This paper offers a critique of current conceptions of ‘nuclear culture’, and argues that the term has little analytical coherence. It suggests that historians of ‘nuclear culture’ have tended to essentialize the nuclear to the detriment of historical analysis, and that the wide variety of methodological approaches to ‘nuclear culture’ are simultaneously a strength and a more significant weakness, in that they have little shared sense of the meaning of the term, its theoretical underpinnings or its analytical purchase. The paper then offers a study of Ewan MacColl's 1946 play Uranium 235, whose career reveals much about the diversity of cultures of the nuclear in post-war Britain. The study moves us away from a single, homogeneous ‘British nuclear culture’ towards a pluralistic critical history of cultural responses to nuclearization. These responses, I conclude, should be seen as collectively constitutive of the nuclear condition rather than as passive reflections of it.

The introduction of modern Western science into late imperial China naturally involved the creation of new linguistic spaces through the translation of science textbooks and the formation of a modern scientific lexicon, but it also required translation in another, physical, sense through the creation of institutions whereby the new system of practices and ideas could be transmitted. The Shanghai Polytechnic, opened in 1876 under the direction of John Fryer, was promoted as an academy for the ‘extension of learning’; this paper explores the role John Fryer and his Polytechnic played in making space for science in late nineteenth-century China.

This text draws attention to former ideologies of the scientific hero in order to explore the leading features of Charles Darwin's fame, both during his lifetime and beyond. Emphasis is laid on the material record of celebrity, including popular mementoes, statues and visual images. Darwin's funeral in Westminster Abbey and the main commemorations and centenary celebrations, as well as the opening of Down House as a museum in 1929, are discussed and the changing agendas behind each event outlined. It is proposed that common-place assumptions about Darwin's commitment to evidence, his impartiality and hard work contributed substantially to his rise to celebrity in the emerging domain of professional science in Britain.

Biography and geography do not always sit easily together in historical narrative. With a few notable exceptions, due weight is rarely given to the significance of territorial features in tales of talented individuals. Biographers perhaps play down the untidy contingencies of civic, institutional and domestic spaces in order to present a historiographically coherent portrait of their subject. However, once the vicissitudes of environment and everyday life are taken into account, the identity and accomplishments of the ‘great individual’ begin to merge inextricably with the vagaries of local politics and fluid socio-cultural alliances. For a figure with as formidable a posthumous reputation as T. H. Huxley, such a deconstruction might, at first, seem mundane and of little scholarly value. Yet there is considerable evidence that Huxley was not always successful in his efforts to gain power and influence within the many and varied sites of his working environments. Careful scrutiny of such evidence will show new perspectives on Huxley's complex career in Victorian London. It will also document problems in the construction of the South Kensington suburb as a credible site and fruitful resource for Huxley's remarkably diverse activities in education and science.

As a historical figure, Lamarck proves a rather difficult subject. His writings give us few explicit leads to his intellectual debts; nor do they present his theories as the outcome of any sustained course of observations or experimental research; and, what is equally frustrating, it is hard to see how his personal development as a scientific theorist was affected by the dramatic political and social upheavals of the period, in which he took an active and lively interest. And so, with his importance for later writers much clearer than his relationship to those of his own and earlier ages, historians have repeatedly interpreted his works as prophetic of doctrines developed more fully by subsequent generations. No less surprisingly, this facile tactic has provoked a reaction; we have been offered Lamarck as a Stoic, a romantic, harking back to Heraclitus.

This paper identifies ‘savage numbers’ – number-like or number-replacing concepts and practices attributed to peoples viewed as civilizationally inferior – as a crucial and hitherto unrecognized body of evidence in the first two decades of the Victorian science of prehistory. It traces the changing and often ambivalent status of savage numbers in the period after the 1858–1859 ‘time revolution’ in the human sciences by following successive reappropriations of an iconic 1853 story from Francis Galton's African travels. In response to a fundamental lack of physical evidence concerning prehistoric men, savage numbers offered a readily available body of data that helped scholars envisage great extremes of civilizational lowliness in a way that was at once analysable and comparable, and anecdotes like Galton's made those data vivid and compelling. Moreover, they provided a simple and direct means of conceiving of the progressive scale of civilizational development, uniting societies and races past and present, at the heart of Victorian scientific racism.