In the second volume of the Principles of geology Lyell had occasion to speak of G. B. Brocchi, ‘whose untimely death in Egypt’, he said, ‘is deplored by all who have the progress of geology at heart’. Whatever he understood to be the debt of other geologists to that Italian fossil conchologist, Lyell himself owed him much for providing scientific data and interpretations integrated in his own geological synthesis, but especially for furnishing the escutcheon of the third chapter in the review of the history of geology which Lyell appended as a late but enthusiastic embellishment to the Principles of geology. The ‘Discorso sui progressi dello studio della conchiologia fossile in Italia’, an eighty-page essay on the history of his subject, was contained in the first volume of Brocchi's Conchiologia fossile subappennina and afforded Lyell succinct notices on Italian geologists from the sixteenth century to his own time, as well as cues for the introduction of other non-Italian sources.

Lyell's performance as a historian was both fruitful and remarkable. He wrote well; his style was lucid; and he wrote with conviction and authority. In his history of geology we find none of the usual historians’ dodges. No ‘one of the first’, no ‘probablies’, no ‘it would seem that way’. Lyell did not have to resort to such ruses, because he wrote about the truth—the truth, that is, as he saw it. Most of his statements of fact are not incorrect. But in selecting his facts, he left out anything that did not suit his purpose. Other historians of the geological sciences have pointed out the polemical nature of Lyell's history in general. My investigation is limited to a single chapter of his history, Chapter IV of the Principles, and to his treatment of Werner.

In the half century following Cook's entry into the Pacific in 1769, few tropical phenomena excited more attention than coral islands and the corals which evidently built them. In the eighteenth century corals occupied a critical position in the Great Chain of Being. Sometimes interpreted as animals, sometimes as plants, they built large topographic structures of limestone, and thus spanned the gap between the organic and inorganic worlds. ‘The strata which they form are at once living and fossil; we can see them in the act of production, and the mountains grow up to the day before us, new parts of our own earth.’ Towards the end of the century, after Peyssonnel had conclusively shown that corals were animals—variously designated as worms, insects, or molluscous worms—this bridging significance was transferred to the coral islands, new areas of land emerging from the ocean and newly colonized by plants and animals, as an analogue of the primeval earth. This creative process served for some to counterbalance the Huttonian vision of universal degradation: ‘Whatever destroying tendencies … exist on the earth, these renovating powers compensate for them’.

When Charles Lyell was writing his Principles of geology early in 1830, he interpolated five chapters between a recently written historical account of the science and the main body of textual material whose structure had long been determined. These added chapters contained not only Lyell's effort ‘to express the consequences of the uniformity of nature in the history of the earth’, but also his general arguments against the catastro-phic-progressionist interpretation, which he felt obliged to refute. In Chapter IX, the final one in the introductory sections, Lyell chose as representative of the progressionist view, Sir Humphry Davy, ‘a late distinguished writer’ who had ‘advanced some of the weightiest of these objections’ to Lyell's own steady-state view of the earth. No other defender of the progressionist history of the earth was named in Lyell's chapter, and we might well ask, why Humphry Davy? Was he merely an easy target for Lyell's refutations, a straw man set up by Lyell for his own rhetorical convenience?

The development of geology during the first half of the nineteenth century is now considered to be more complicated than was once thought. The positivistic picture of two conflicting schools, one of them allegedly modern and progressive, the other supposedly conservative and scriptural, is too simplistic and misleading. First, the influence of the Bible has been exaggerated. It is true that in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the Flood had been given an important role as a geological agent, but in the early nineteenth century there were hardly any professional geologists who defended this view. At least, it is not correct to associate either neptunism, catastrophism, or diluvialism with the Mosaic tradition. Secondly, the use of such terms as ‘catastrophism’ and ‘diluvialism’ has been unfortunate in so far as they have led to biblical associations; these terms must be given a more precise meaning. Thirdly, in the evaluation of the geology of the period, not enough weight has been given to the historical context. From our knowledge of modern geology alone it is not possible to judge what was loose speculation or empirical science at that time. Lyell's contributions to geology, as well as those of his opponents, should be considered and examined in more detail.

The Geological discoveries made during the early nineteenth century resulted in a series of general, predominantly didactic studies, the chief purpose of which was the compilation of large amounts of data. Many of these books were quickly translated from one language into another, and the work of Sir Charles Lyell was, naturally enough, no exception.