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BSHS members might be interested to learn that an organization named the ‘A. R. Wallace Memorial Fund’ has recently been established in order to restore and protect the hitherto neglected grave of Alfred Russel Wallace (1823–1913), one of the greatest tropical naturalists of the nineteenth century. Wallace is best known as being the co-originator, with Charles Darwin, of the theory of evolution by natural selection, and for his book The Malay Archipelago, which is regarded as one of the most important of all Victorian travel works.
Wallace is buried together with his wife Annie in Broadstone Cemetery, Dorset. The grave is marked by an unusual and striking monument: a seven-foot tall fossilised conifer trunk from the Portland beds mounted on a large cubic base of Purbeck stone. Unfortunately, the monument has not been properly maintained for many years and it is now in poor condition. Furthermore, the lease on the grave has only fourteen years left to run before it expires, after which there is a danger that the plot could be used for another burial.
The primary aims of the Wallace Memorial Fund are to restore the monument, apply for it to be officially listed by the Department of Culture, Media and Sport, and to extend the lease on the plot. A. R. Wallace's grandson Mr Richard Wallace (who is the treasurer of the Fund) plans to transfer the lease to the Linnean Society of London once the restoration work has been completed. This will ensure the grave's long-term protection.
A secondary aim of our project is to commission English Heritage to produce a commemorative ceramic plaque and install it on ‘The Dell’ (Grays, Essex), where Wallace lived from 1872 to 1876. This is the only surviving one of three houses which Wallace built (it is currently a convent) and he wrote his important book The Geographical Distribution of Animals there. It is also notable in being one of the first houses in Britain to have been constructed of concrete.
The total cost of the project will be approximately £4955. Contributions to date total £3000 leaving £1955 still to be raised. If any members of the Society would like to make a donation then cheques should be made payable to ‘The A. R. Wallace Memorial Fund’ and sent to Dr G. W. Beccaloni, A. R. Wallace Memorial Fund, c/o Entomology Department, The Natural History Museum, Cromwell Road, South Kensington, London SW7 5BD (Tel. 0207 942 5361, E-mail: g.beccaloni@nhm.ac.uk).
In late 1916 the British Government finally bowed to pressure from scientists and sympathetic elements of the public to organize and fund science centrally and established the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR). Since just before the turn of the century state funding for science had steadily increased: the National Physical Laboratory was established in 1899, the Development Commission in 1909 and the Medical Research Committee in 1913. The establishment of the DSIR marked an end to piecemeal support and it was therefore a watershed when the state
finally accepted its responsibility to fund science properly, to develop a coherent science policy and thus recognise that science and scientists were crucial components of modern national life; not just in wartime, but in the development of the peacetime economy as well.
At least this is how the history of the DSIR is currently still represented. The following analysis is more sensitive than previous treatments as it points out that the state's organization of a centrally planned and funded national policy for science began before the DSIR, and that this new body (in its support of pure research) reflected priorities established before the outbreak of the war. In previous accounts the DSIR was presented as a total break with the laissez-faire past. So, as historians we no longer follow the special pleading of the contemporary science lobby in arguing that the state was deaf to the needs of modern science. However, I want to argue that we are still deaf to the wider concerns of this contemporary pro-science rhetoric, which argued not only for centrally planned and funded science, but also often that scientists themselves should make policy for science.
Ernst Cassirer's fundamental conception of symbolism (symbolic pregnance) derives from what may be called a bio-medical model of semiotics, not a linguistic one. He employs both models in his philosophy of symbolic forms, but his notion of the “prototype and model of symbolism” was not derived from linguistics. The sources for his conception of symbolism include the ethnographic and anthropological literature he discovered in Aby Warburg's (1866–1929) Hamburg research library, findings of medical research on aphasia and related conditions, particularly the work of Kurt Goldstein (1878–1965) and the theoretical biology of Jacob von Uexküll (1864–1944). The linguistic model of semiotics regards the bond between the signifier and the signified as purely arbitrary and conventional, but Cassirer traced meaning back to a “natural symbolism” of image-like configurations in bodily feeling and perception. In this way, his doctrine of symbolism assumed a form that undercut the distinction between philosophical Naturalism and Idealism. This helps to explain why in later years Cassirer developed his theory of Basic Phenomena. Cassirer's notion of the “prototype and model of symbolism” illustrates his method of thought, which eschews pure argument in favor of interaction with empirical research.
Cassirer's analyses of twentieth-century physics from the perspective of the philosophy of science focuses on the concept of the object of scientific experience. Within his concept of functional knowledge, he takes a structural stance and claims that it is specifically this concept of the object that has paved the way for modern science. This article aims, first, to show that Cassirer's interpretation of Felix Klein's “Erlanger Programm” provided the impetus for this view. Then, it analyzes Kant's conception of objectivity in order to examine whether Cassirer can rightfully claim that his view is a further development of transcendental principles. Finally, it is argued that it is Cassirer's concept of the object that enables him to integrate one decisive feature of scientific progress, namely, the increasing generalization of the basic concepts of a science, into his conception of knowledge. This is illustrated in more detail through the example of the progression from Newton's mechanics to relativity theory.
Recent archival research has brought about a new understanding of the import of Einstein's puzzling remarks (1916) attributing a physical meaning to general covariance. Debates over the scope and meaning of general covariance still persist, even within physics. But already in 1921 Cassirer identified the significance of general covariance as a novel stage in the development of the criterion of objectivity within physics; an account of this development, and its implications, is the primary task undertaken in his monograph of “epistemological considerations” on the theory of relativity. Cassirer's assessment is correct: general covariance, understood as an injunction against dynamical theories with background elements, is a “limiting heuristic principle” guiding Einstein's fundamental conception of a “complete field theory”; as such, it underlies a “separation principle” built into the conceptual framework of the EPR criticism of quantum mechanics. In conclusion, a further parallel is noted: mutual recognition that the principle of general covariance is but a form of “anthropomorphism.”
Biology, understood in turn-of-the-century Germany to include psychology, held a central but enigmatic place in the philosopher Ernst Cassirer's work. From his earliest studies with Hermann Cohen through his long engagement with the theoretical biology of Jakob von Uexküll and Adolf Meyer-Abich, Cassirer consistently used the history and practice of biology to examine and delineate a set of characteristic tensions between the natural and cultural sciences. This paper examines Cassirer's treatment of this theme by addressing two contrasting interpretations he gave — in his Philosophy of Symbolic Forms (1929) and in his Essay on Man (1944) — to the benchmark case from empirical psychology of the “talking” horse “Clever Hans.” The original case involved the horse's ability to signal answers to remarkably complex questions by stamping its hooves, an ability that ultimately appeared to rest on a capacity to detect extremely minute unintentional movement cues in its auditors as it reached the appropriate answer. Due to both Cassirer's shifting description of the case within his philosophy and the case's inherent polyvalence, Cassirer's remarks provide a useful window onto the social, epistemological, and stylistic meaning of his “unified” philosophy of human culture and science.
Unfortunately, the religion that promised to reconcile all the people of the earth, the alchemical art that would have resolved debates between ancient and modern practitioners, and the medicina dei based on the reformed sciences of cabala and alchemy were not enough to heal the rift between John Dee and Edward Kelly. A few scattered angel conversations survive from the period after the angels revealed their reformed alchemy in 1585, and they indicate Kelly's growing absorption with his independent laboratory work and his efforts to fulfill the alchemical requests of noble patrons in Trebona and Prague. In 1589, Dee and Kelly parted company. The events of the interim period have been largely lost to us, so our questions about the alchemy described so briefly in 1585 remain unanswered, as do those about Dee's state of mind in 1588, when the marvelous year mentioned in the prophecies failed to usher in a complete restitution of the cosmos.
Dee's ongoing commitment to the angels after the dissolution of his partnership with Kelly is the most striking testament to his faith in their wisdom. Almost two decades later, he was still talking to the angel Raphael with the assistance of his last known scryer, Bartholomew Hickman (Figure 2). Perhaps Dee decided that his initial interpretation of the angels' prophecies about the year 1588 were faulty, and that the restitution of nature would actually occur in 1688 rather than 1588.
A learned and renowned Englishman whose name was Dr. De[e]: came to Prague to see the Emperor Rudolf II and was at first wellreceived by him; he predicted that a miraculous reformation would presently come about in the Christian world and would prove the ruin not only of the city of Constantinople but of Rome also. These predictions he did not cease to spread among the populace.
Lutheran Budovec, Circulo horologi lunaris
Lutheran Budovec lived in Prague in the latter half of the sixteenth century, and when he noted in his journal the activities of John Dee he profiled a man far different from the “magus of Mortlake” with whom we are familiar. An ambassador, a popular prophet, and a religious rebel – all are suggested in Budovec's brief remarks, but the natural philosophical persona we have come to associate with Dee is absent. The link between Dee's personae, as outlined by Budovec, is communication, a side of Dee's life and activities explored only recently but which is emerging as an important feature of his enigmatic intellect. Recently described as an “arch-communicator” of ideas, Dee is beginning to be seen as both a contemplative natural philosopher and a vocal participant in the intellectual and cultural life of late-sixteenth-century Europe.
Such a combination of activity and contemplation can be seen vividly in the records Dee kept of his conversations with angels as well as the events that surrounded them.
We know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child:
but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
For now we see through a glass, darkly;
but then face to face: now I know in part;
but then I shall know. …
1 Corinthians 13:9–12
Between 1581 and 1586, and again in 1607, Elizabethan England's most highly regarded natural philosopher, John Dee, talked with angels about the natural world and its apocalyptic end. With the aid of an assistant, or “server,” and a crystal called a “showstone,” Dee attempted to see through the dark days of his own time and into what he hoped was a bright and promising future. Scattered through several manuscript collections in the Bodleian and British Libraries, Dee's records of these conversations now represent one of the early modern period's most enduring intellectual mysteries: why would a Cambridge graduate who boasted the title “the Queen's philosopher” engage in such a seemingly fruitless, apparently groundless, and enormously time-consuming activity? Was Dee a gullible fool? Had he suffered a mental breakdown? Given these serious reservations about Dee and his conversations, historians of science have wondered if the angel diaries can yield any useful information to scholars specifically interested in the practice of natural philosophy in the late sixteenth century or illuminate the cultural and intellectual world of Elizabethans more generally.
Francesco Stelluti in Galileo Galileo's Assayer, 1623
For a decade after the “Mathematical Preface” a veil falls over our knowledge of John Dee's interest in intermediary agencies, his commitment to ascending to the supernatural levels of the cosmos, his fascination with universal sciences, and his provocative “archemastrie.” The veil lifts in 1581, just as Dee was about to enter into his collaboration with Edward Kelly, when he addressed a prayer to God explaining how and why he communicated with angels. Today it stands as the preface to the first surviving angel diary. The preface captures another important moment in the history of the conversations, in this case not an ending but a beginning, a moment of reflection for Dee as he made a transition between two scryers and renewed his attempts to climb to the heavens and achieve certain wisdom. The political difficulties Dee would later experience in the Rudolphine court in Prague, the serious danger posed by his overexposure to so many curious eyes, and the struggles he would have with his irascible new scryer were all in the future.
We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,
In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
Corinthians 15:51–52
Once he had attained mastery of the divine language and the cabala of nature, Dee believed that he was in a better position to discern and decipher corruptions in the Book of Nature. While this might have satisfied some natural philosophers, Dee conceived a much greater role for natural philosophy in the improvement of the human condition. The question facing him in the 1580s and 1590s was how to practice natural philosophy in a deteriorating world. This question was answered, and the final aspect of Dee's newly revealed natural philosophy took shape, when the angels delivered to him a form of alchemy that had not been practiced since the days of Adam.
Much of the rationale behind Dee's alchemy, both before and during the angel conversations, was linked to his belief in a “sickness” affecting the Book of Nature. Yet humanity was unable to diagnose or cure the Book of Nature without divine help, for alchemy itself had decayed and was unable to restore Nature's health. With the angels' assistance, Dee believed that he could restore the art of alchemy and then bring about a restitution of nature.