During the Scientific Revolution one important gauge of the quality of reformed natural philosophical knowledge was its ability to produce a more effective medical practice. Indeed, it was sometimes thought that philosophers who pretended to possess new and more potent philosophical knowledge might display that possession in personal health and longevity. René Descartes repeatedly wrote that a better medical practice was a major aim of his philosophical enterprise. He said that he had made important strides towards achieving that aim and, on that basis, he offered practical medical advice to others and advertised the expectation that, taking his own advice, he would live a very long time. This paper describes what Cartesian medicine looked like in practice and what that practice owed to the power of modernist Reason.

This paper analyses the contents and the style of the Bullettino di bibliografia e di storia delle scienze matematiche e fisiche (1868–1887), the first journal entirely devoted to the history of mathematics. It is argued that its innovative and controversial methodological approach cannot be properly understood without considering the cultural conditions in which the journal was conceived and realized. The style of the Bullettino was far from being the mere outcome of the eccentric personality of its editor, Prince Baldassarre Boncompagni. Rather, it reflected in many ways, at the level of historiography of science, the struggle of the official Roman Catholic culture against the growing secularization of knowledge and society.

Time is a fundamental concept that we typically take for granted in our everyday lives. Rarely do we look at our wristwatch and think how seconds, minutes and hours came to take on such importance. Even less do we reflect on all the work that goes into making seconds, minutes and hours appear as something as natural as the world around us.

What is time? How is it we have come to order our lives in such regulated and precise ways? How has our conception of time changed throughout history? The idea to reflect upon such weighty questions emerged at a conference organized by the British Society for the History of Science on the subject of ‘space’ held at the University of Kent in 1994. It seemed to many participants that the topic of time would make an equally interesting subject for a meeting. In particular, one question came to the fore: did space dominate time or time dominate space? In the event it took the dawning of a new century to provide the impetus, excuse and opportunity to organize a meeting to discuss such matters. It also quickly became clear that other historical societies and institutions had similar aims. The result was a joint three-day meeting, co-organized by the BSHS, the Royal Historical Society and the National Museums and Galleries on Merseyside, held at the impressive Merseyside Maritime Museum, Liverpool, in September 1999.

This unprecedented coalition demonstrated the importance and productivity of bringing together historians of different backgrounds and interests. The bridging of traditional boundaries was also symbolized by Ludmilla Jordanova's unique position as both president of the BSHS and vice-president of the Royal Historical Society. The whole event, not surprisingly, attracted significant media attention and was deemed by all concerned a great success. This special issue of the BJHS is a small sample of the diversity and richness that characterized the meeting.

There are many reasons why someone can be persuaded to become editor of a journal such as BJHS. Not least among them for this new editor is the challenge of emulating the high standards set by a succession of editors, and in particular those of his immediate predecessor. Janet Browne has, as all BJHS readers know, worked long and hard since 1994 to maintain and enhance the quality of the journal. It is therefore my very real pleasure to pay tribute to all her efforts on behalf of the Society and to add my own personal thanks for the numerous ways in which she has made possible a seamless transition to the new regime. It will also be apparent that her sure touch will be discernible upon many of the articles forthcoming in 2000.

The expanding interest in book history over recent years has heralded the coming together of an interdisciplinary research community drawing scholars from a variety of literary, historical and cultural studies. Moreover, with a growing body of literature, the field is becoming increasingly visible on a wider scale, not least through the existence of the Society for the History of Authorship, Readership and Publishing (SHARP), with its newly founded journal Book History. Within the history of science, however, there remains not a little scepticism concerning the practical value of such an approach. It is often dismissed as an intellectual fad or as an enterprise which is illuminating but ultimately peripheral, rather than being valued as an approach which can offer major new insights within the field. This is no doubt in part because much of the most innovative work in history of science over recent years has been carried out by historians anxious to get away from an earlier overemphasis on printed sources. Eager to correct a profoundly unsocial history of ideas, usually rooted in texts, historians have looked increasingly to both the practices and the material culture of science. In such a context, a renewed focus on the history of books sometimes seems like a retrograde step, especially given the common misidentification of ‘books’ with ‘texts’. On the contrary, however, it is just such a twin emphasis on practices and material culture which also characterizes the new book history. Indeed, to the question ‘what is book history for?’ we might answer that its object is to reintroduce social actors, engaged in a variety of practices with respect to material objects, into a history in which books have too often been understood merely as disembodied texts, the meaning of which is defined by singular, uniquely creative authors, and is transparent to readers.

‘Morgan's canon’ is a rule for making inferences from animal behaviour about animal minds, proposed in 1892 by the Bristol geologist and zoologist C. Lloyd Morgan, and celebrated for promoting scepticism about the reasoning powers of animals. Here I offer a new account of the origins and early career of the canon. Built into the canon, I argue, is the doctrine of the Oxford philologist F. Max Müller that animals, lacking language, necessarily lack reason. Restoring the Müllerian origins of the canon in turn illuminates a number of changes in Morgan's position between 1892 and 1894. I explain these changes as responses to the work of the American naturalist R. L. Garner. Where Morgan had a rule for interpreting experiments with animals, Garner had an instrument for doing them: the Edison cylinder phonograph. Using the phonograph, Garner claimed to provide experimental proof that animals indeed spoke and reasoned.

Commemoration is a theme to which historians are paying increasing attention, especially to its manifestations in the twentieth century and in relation to war. The formal remembrance of science is an important historical phenomenon, which demands approaches that take account of its distinctive and highly complex relationships with public life. Over the last four hundred years, peer groups and specialized institutions have sought to celebrate selected achievements and to bring those achievements to wider audiences. This address discusses some of the devices and ideas by means of which innovations were turned into cultural items that could be disseminated. Such items included portraits and monuments. As its main examples, the address uses Edward Jenner and vaccination, and the marking of anniversaries.

The paper examines the reputation of C. S. Sherrington as both eminent physiologist and eminent representative of scientific culture. It describes Sherrington's ‘figurehead’ status. In his career, research and personal manner, he embodied a life of science, not only not in opposition to humanistic values but in fact appearing to be the highest achievement of those values. An analysis of Sherrington's research, of his lectures on Man on His Nature and of his poetry supports this account. The paper uses Sherrington's reputation to describe the values of an establishment group of English-speaking scientists and physicians in the 1930s and 1940s.

After 1700, astrology lost the respect it once commanded in medical circles. But the belief that the heavens influenced bodily health persisted – even in learned medicine – until well into the nineteenth century. The continuing vitality of these ideas owed much to the new empirical and mechanical outlook of their proponents. Taking their cue from the work of Robert Boyle and Richard Mead, a number of British practitioners amassed statistical evidence which purported to prove the influence of the Moon upon fevers and other diseases. Such ideas flourished in the colonies and in the medical services of the armed forces, but their exponents were not marginal men. Some, like James Lind, were widely respected and drew support for their views from such influential figures as Erasmus Darwin.

Historians of science have long acknowledged the important role that journals play in the scientific enterprise. They both secure the shared values of a scientific community and certify what that community takes to be licensed knowledge. The advent of the first learned periodicals in the mid-seventeenth century was therefore a major event. But why did this event happen when it did, and how was the permanence of the learned journal secured? This paper reveals some of the answers. It examines the shifting fortunes of one of the earliest of natural-philosophical periodicals, the Philosophical Transactions, launched in London in 1665 by Henry Oldenburg. The paper shows how fraught the enterprise of journal publishing was in the Europe of that period, and, not least, it draws attention to a number of publications that arose out of the commercial realm of the Restoration to rival (or parody) Oldenburg's now famous creation. By doing so it helps restore to view the hard work that underpinned the republic of letters.

And as for natural philosophy, is it not removed from Oxford and Cambridge to Gresham College in London, and to be learned out of their gazettes?

Thomas Hobbes, Behemoth (written c. 1668).

The creators of Sydney's botanic garden were a varied group of people with diverse agendas and interests, only some of whom saw themselves as men of science. While several were trying to advance botany, others were more concerned with self-advancement or financial gain. Yet they collaborated, almost unintentionally, to found Australia's first scientific institution. Exchanges of plants were crucial to forming and maintaining the relationships between these different figures. Studying these exchanges allows hitherto neglected figures to take their place in the garden's story alongside well-known ones. This study also takes issue with the notion that British colonial botanic gardens were established as part of a botanical empire, with Kew Gardens at its centre. It also seeks to extend Susan Leigh Star and James R. Griesemer's idea of ‘boundary objects’, by suggesting that relationships based on barter, gift-exchange or patronage rather than cash played a key role in mediating between the participants in colonial scientific institutions.

Places and anniversaries can function as ‘sites of memory’, but three major Newtonian locations – Cambridge, Grantham and London – were also sites of conflict that resonated with wider debates about the nature of genius and the conduct of science. Ritualized celebrations at appropriate times and places helped not only to establish Newton's status as a local hero, national exemplar and scientific genius, but also to promote various versions of national and scientific heritage. By examining changes in how Newton has been commemorated, this paper explores ways in which different protagonists have contributed to and benefited from legendary visions of Newton.

Like other English-speaking peoples around the world, New Zealanders began debating Darwinism in the early 1860s, shortly after the publication of Charles Darwin's Origin of Species. Despite the opposition of some religious and political leaders – and even the odd scientist – biological evolution made deep inroads in a culture that increasingly identified itself as secular. The introduction of pro-evolution curricula and radio broadcasts provoked occasional antievolution outbursts, but creationism remained more an object of ridicule than a threat until the last decades of the twentieth century, when first American and then Australian creationists began fomenting antievolutionism among New Zealanders. Although Stephen Jay Gould assured them in 1986 that they had little to fear from so-called scientific creationism, because it was a ‘peculiarly American’ phenomenon, scientific creationism by the mid-1990s had captured the allegiance of an estimated five per cent of the country and proved especially attractive to Maori and Pacific Islanders. In 1992 New Zealand creationists formed their own antievolution society, Creation Science (NZ).

This paper sets out to examine the various temporal frameworks that made up the discourse of early modern natural philosophy. It takes into account a range of views and debates such as the comparison between the achievements of ancients and moderns, belief in the gradual decay of the earth and/or the cyclical nature of time, appreciation of recent improvements in the material conditions of life (especially technology), and projections of future techno-scientific progress, adherence to the doctrine of the prisca sapientia, and Judaeo-Christian notions of apocalypse and future redemption. This analysis also embraces, as a matter of course, changes in the ways natural philosophers both appealed to and reconstituted authorities. I look at Francis Bacon's treatment of time, and at the various sources of his accounts of scientific modernity. I conclude by considering the situation in late seventeenth-century England, when conservative critics of the ‘new’ philosophy – and the Royal Society in particular – charged that the uprooting of natural knowledge from its traditional institutional contexts would pervert the purpose of philosophical knowledge. In turn, supporters of the new philosophy, having defensively compiled lists of modern inventions and scientific discoveries, were to recast the advent of scientific modernity as starting properly with the publication of the Principa Mathematica in 1687.

No doubt the greatest wits in each successive age have been forced out of their own course: men of capacity and intellect above the vulgar have been fain, for reputation's sake, to bow to the judgement of the time and the multitude; and thus if any contemplations of a higher order took light anywhere, they were presently blown out by the winds of vulgar opinion. So that Time is like a river that has brought down to us things light and puffed up, while those that are weighty and solid have sunk.

Augustin Fresnel and François Arago are typically credited with jointly establishing the wave theory of light in early nineteenth-century France. Yet the two men, working in different traditions, brought to their collaboration vastly different conceptions of what light was and how it should be studied. This paper traces the work that went into co-ordinating these disparate approaches into a united front, as well as the dissolution of the alliance after 1821. Although the fruits of their alliance proved remarkably stable, in fact agreement between them was never more than partial.

The theory, method and disciplinary foundations of ‘book history’ are addressed in the context of a close examination of the International Scientific Series, a set of monographs that appeared from 1871 to 1911 in Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Russia and the United States. Working closely with entrepreneurial publishers, most authors of ISS volumes were scientific professionals (T. H. Huxley, John Tyndall, Herbert Spencer and E. L. Youmans were among the founders) aiming to educate a broad popular audience. Commercial, scholarly and other pressures made the texts less fixed than they appear: revisions, appendices and other evidences of textual instability have been overlooked by previous commentators.

During the inter-war years women found employment for the first time in some of Britain's industrial laboratories, most of them concentrated in the food, pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, textiles and photographic industries. Drawing on a range of sources, including company archives and the technical press, this paper examines the emergence of these new positions for women and considers their workplace experiences, looking both at women with higher-level qualifications and at those who worked as laboratory assistants. It argues that although the entry of women into industrial chemistry represented an extension of their opportunities for scientific work, they tended to be employed as ‘women chemists’ to undertake routine tasks seen as especially suited to feminine skills and expertise and to have few opportunities for promotion. Their presence also appears to have changed the nature of men's work, helping to ensure that men could continue to be offered more challenging work and positions which retained the possibility of career advancement.

There are a number of miscellaneous jobs which a girl of 16 can secure, some of which give chances of rising. Girls who become laboratory assistants, if they are intelligent and hard working, can rise to positions where they will earn as much as £3 a week…

R. Strachey, Careers and Opportunities for Women (1934)

In industry, and particularly in those industries where a large number of women are employed – such as food, margarine and jam factories – women are not infrequently engaged in analytical and research laboratories…

R. Pilcher, The Profession of Chemistry (3rd edn., 1935)

From its inception, Victorian commentators on the telegraph appeared fascinated by its apparent capacity to break down barriers of space and time. They waxed lyrical over the ways in which the telegraph would bring nations closer together, break down boundaries and foster commerce. They also eulogized the ways in which the telegraph could be used as a seemingly effortless instrument of discipline. A great deal of work was needed to uphold such fantasies and make the telegraph work. This paper highlights efforts to establish a telegraphic time signal from Greenwich as an example of the labour and management required to sustain such rhetoric. Finally, the paper focuses on the increasingly common metaphor linking the telegraph network and the nervous system. It suggests that the metaphor worked for the Victorians because both systems were held to operate through the instantaneous transmission of intelligence as a means of maintaining bodily and social discipline.

This paper explores the careers of several British women astronomers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. I postulate that the only category of scientific practice open to most of these women was that of an ‘amateur’. They would have become professionals had they had the opportunity but since they were barred from professional status they used their talents to promote the importance of amateur science. I propose the term ‘obligatory amateur’ for these women who, unlike men, were unable to choose amateur or professional status. I explore this concept of a ‘gendered’ amateurism through the life and works of Annie Maunder, with references to British women astronomers contemporary with her.

The three translations of Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation invested the text with new meaning. None of the translations endorsed the book for the author's advocacy of species transformation. The first translation, into German (1846), put forward the text as evincing divine design in nature. The second, into Dutch (1849), also presented Vestiges as proof of divine order in nature and, more specifically, as aiding the stabilization of society under God and king in a process of recovery from the 1848 Revolution. By contrast, the third translation, into German (1851), interpreted the book as furthering the very revolutionary, anti-ecclesiastical and anti- monarchist ideals that the Dutch edition sought to counter.