In the summer of 1783, a trial took place in the French city of Arras. One M. de Vissery, a resident of the nearby village of St. Omer, was appealing a decision by his local aldermen, who required him to remove a lightning rod he had put on his chimney. His young defense lawyer was Maximilien Robespierre, who made a name for himself by winning the case. In preparation, Robespierre and his senior colleague corresponded with natural philosophers and jurisconsultants. Robes- pierre then persuasively resolved the crucial problem, namely, the proper relations of scientific to legal authority. He exploited the empiricist dogma common to contemporary physics and jurisprudence to argue that judges need not defer to scientific experts, but must only consider the facts, which required no expertise. It was a first approximation of an argument Robespierre would make with mounting authority over the next decade.

In the nineteenth century, American legal educators drew on the idea of “legal science” the claim that the study of law was similar to the study of the natural sciences. In this paper, I propose to examine the particular conceptions of “science” that were incorporated into that idea. The primary point of the paper is to argue that in antebellum America, a particular view of the natural sciences dominated public discourse, and it was this conception that was appropriated by contemporaneous legal scientists. Public discussions of natural science in lyceums, surveys, and journals, were carried out in a language grounded in the same religious commitments and the same normative conception of nature that drove the ideology of laissez-faire. Described under the rubric “Protestant Baconianism,” the approach was characterized by commitments to four elements: natural theology; a constrained version of Baconian inductivism; a belief in grand synthesis and proof by analogy; and claims of moral improvement. These elements were typical of the efforts of a particular influential circle of natural scientists and, similarly, of some of the more influential legal scientists in the antebellum period. This article examines the elements of the Protestant Baconian approach that were incorporated into Christopher Columbus Langdell's model of legal science in the 1870s, a model that continues to influence thinking about both legal education and jurisprudence to this day.

In this article I argue that brain images constructed with computerized tomography (CT) and positron emission tomography (PET) are part of a category of “expert images” and are both visually persuasive and also particularly difficult to interpret and understand by non-experts. Following the innovative judicial analogy of “demonstrative evidence” traced by Jennifer Mnookin (1998), I show how brain images are more than mere illustrations when they enter popular culture and courtrooms. Attending to the role of experts in producing data in the form of images, in selecting extreme images for publication, and in testifying as to their relevance, I argue that there is an undue risk in courtrooms that brain images will not be seen as prejudiced, stylized representations of correlation, but rather as straightforward, objective photographs of, for example, madness.

Cell lines and other human-derived biological materials have since 1980 become valuable forms of patentable matter. This paper revisits the much-critiqued legal case Moore v. Regents of the University of Cahfornia, in which John Moore claimed property rights in a patented cell line made from his spleen. Most work to date has critiqued the text of the decision and left the relevant scientific and technical literature unexamined. By mapping out the construction of discontinuity and continuity between human body and cell line in this literature, this paper provides a novel critique of the Moore case regarding the source and mobilization of scientific information in the decision. At the same time, the elisions of the case are used to move to a larger set of questions. Comparative material from the history of the first widely used cell line, HeLa, and a discussion of the relation of the scientific and economic value of cell lines, are aimed at analysis of how new objects such as patented human cell lines come into existence through science and law, and what kinds of definitions and practices make them valued objects of contention in the first place.

This paper provides a historical perspective to one of the liveliest debates in common law courts today — the one over scientific expert testimony. Arguing against the current tendency to present the problem of expert testimony as a late twentieth-century predicament which threatens to spin out of control, the paper shows that the phenomena of conflicting scientific testimonies have been perennial for at least two centuries, and intensely debated in both the legal and the scientific communities for at least 150 years.

Blood tests developed at the turn of the century could in some cases discern genetic relations. While such tests could never prove that a given individual had fathered a child in question, men of certain blood types could be exonerated from paternity of children with other blood types. Starting in the 1930s, scientists and lawmakers attempted to introduce such evidence into paternity or bastardy trials to attest to a man's innocence. Evidence from blood tests soon came to be used in divorce cases.

Blood tests appeared to be ideal for providing relevant information in cases when divorcing men claimed as a part of their suit that they had not fathered their ex-wife's child or children. Nevertheless, the courts remained reluctant to intro duce such evidence in divorce cases. This paper will argue that reluctance derived not from a distrust of the science, but from the courts' clinging to a definition of paternity that was not rooted in genetic connection.

Many judges and juries fell back on the pre-industrial assumption that once a man married a woman he was automatically the father of any children she bore. While this assumption flew in the face of scientific evidence, it did have the advantage of ensuring that the children of married women could not be bastard ized. The changing manner in which courts handled the tension between genetic paternity and traditional paternity in divorce cases reveals how society's views on paternity have evolved over the course of this century.

On Wednesday 27 April 1898, Dr Luigi [Louis] Westenra Sambon (1865–1931) addressed the Royal Geographical Society in London on a topic of much interest to the Victorian public. An Anglo-French medical graduate of the University of Naples, a Fellow of the London Zoological Society and a recent visitor to Central Africa, he was well equipped to tackle the subject of the ‘Acclimatization of Europeans in Tropical Lands’. The ‘problem of tropical colonization’, he began, ‘is one of the most important and pressing with which European states have to deal. Civilization has favoured unlimited multiplication, and thereby intensified that struggle for existence the limitation of which seemed to be its very object…I know full well that the question of emigration is beset with a variety of moral, social, political, and economic difficulties; but it is the law of nature, and civilization has no better remedy for the evils caused by overcrowding.’

Even from these introductory remarks, it is already plain that Sambon's project was a compound product of medical diagnosis, colonial imperative, Darwinian demography and moral evaluation. And it is the rhetorical zone roughly marked out by this quadrilateral of disease, empire, struggle and virtue that I want to explore here. First, however, it will be instructive to return to that afternoon a century ago and spend a little more time listening in on the deliberations.

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.

It has been a singular privilege to preside over the BSHS as it celebrates its fiftieth anniversary. As we share our festivities with the British Association annual meeting at Leeds, I am doubly honoured to be giving this address. A fiftieth anniversary is a sentimental occasion. It is a moment when we can express our gratitude to our many friends and forebears who by their dedication have enabled the Society to grow and flourish. That so many of those friends should be with us to share in our celebration is a source of delight to us all. To our past presidents, former editors, officers and councillors, I extend the warmest welcome. And to our visitors and guests from overseas, I should like to say how much we value your presence and contribution to this conference.

Is there not, then, an incongruous note in my title – a hint of foreboding perhaps? If tempted to speculate on its source one might have wondered whether it is in those rumours we sometimes hear that the end of science is nigh. When we can almost clone humans and almost explain the moment of creation, what is there left? Might the end of science not spell the end of its history? A moment's reflection suggests that this cannot be. After all, the question why science should have come to an end when it did would still keep historians in business. And the more intriguing question of why the end of science has been proclaimed at the end of each of the last four centuries would keep us in business even longer!