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The third chapter utilizes soldiers’ writings to indicate that, contrary to the developers’ view of the gas mask as a life-saving device, combatants were more frequently frightened of both the appearance of the gas mask on others and the physical feeling of the mask against their own skin. While German tacticians hoped to craft chemically resistant soldiers through gas mask training, these newly envisioned “chemical subjects” continued to ruminate on the many ways in which masks could malfunction. Sitting in the trenches, soldiers largely feared both the uncoordinated and creeping nature of gas and the smothering feeling of their affixed gas mask. By examining the sensorial and metaphorical language in a wide array of soldier diaries, trench journals, and troop reports, this chapter seeks to construct the emotive experience of German World War I soldiers as they came to recognize their precarious role in a modern world now seemingly steeped in gas.
While 1945 clearly demarcates an important curtailment of Germany’s unique ties to chemical weapons, it certainly did not signify the nation’s final confrontation with harmful chemicals or even chemical weapons. The Germans remained within a broader “Chemical Modernity” into which the world had been increasingly plunged since the first industrial production of chemical gases. Indeed, in this longue durée formulation of a Chemical Modernity, it is important to note the extent to which Europeans struggled with environmental concerns such as industrial smoke abatement and arsenic dye poisoning in the nineteenth century.
While the modern military gas mask was first designed by scientists such as Richard Willstätter in order to save German soldiers from chemical death, it ultimately contributed to the escalation of chemical warfare in World War I. New military tactics and advances in chemical weaponry such as gas shells and mustard gas were developed with the express purpose of “breaking the mask.” Thus, the gas mask was part and parcel of both the war of sheer material production and the chemical nightmare on the battlefield that helped precipitate the German defeat in 1918. By intertwining the historical development of gas with that of the gas mask, this chapter highlights moments in which a specifically German “chemical modernity” began to be conceptualized.
The book delineates the role and place of the Western scientific discourse which occupied an important place in the colonization of India. During the colonial period, science became one of the foundations of Indian modernity and the nation-state. Gradually, the educated Indians sought to locate modern scientific ideas and principles within Indian culture and adopted those for the economic regeneration of the country. The discursive terrain of the history of science, especially in the context of a society with a very long and complex past, is bound to be replete with numerous debates on its nature and evolution, its changing contours, its complex civilizational journey, and finally, the enormous impact it has on our own life and time. The book offers a useful introduction to science, society, and government interface in the Indian context.
This paper examines how the production, content and reception of the film Antony van Leeuwenhoek (1924) influenced the historical framing of science. The film features microcinematography by the pioneering Dutch filmmaker Jan Cornelis Mol (1891–1954), and was part of a dynamic process of commemorating seventeenth-century microscopy and bacteriology through an early instance of visual re-creation – a new way of using scientific material heritage, and of enabling audiences to supposedly observe the world of microscopic organisms in just the same way as the Dutch scientist Antoni van Leeuwenhoek (1632–1723) had observed them for himself. Knowledge transfer concerning material culture, around both historical and contemporary instruments, was the determining factor in the microcinematography practices applied in this film. The production and experience of the film also mirrored the seventeenth-century process of experimentation, playing with optics, and visualizing an entirely new and unknown world. Unlike other biographical science films of the 1920s, Antony van Leeuwenhoek featured abstract depictions of time and movement that allowed the audience to connect the history of science with microcinematography, contributing to the memory of Van Leeuwenhoek's work as the origins of bacteriology in the process.
The contentious science of phrenology once promised insight into character and intellect through external 'reading' of the head. In the transforming settler-colonial landscapes of nineteenth-century Australia and Aotearoa New Zealand, popular phrenologists – figures who often hailed from the margins – performed their science of touch and cranial jargon everywhere from mechanics' institutions to public houses. In this compelling work, Alexandra Roginski recounts a history of this everyday practice, exploring how it featured in the fates of people living in, and moving through, the Tasman World. Innovatively drawing on historical newspapers and a network of archives, she traces the careers of a diverse range of popular phrenologists and those they encountered. By analysing the actions at play in scientific episodes through ethnographic, social and cultural history, Roginski considers how this now-discredited science could, in its own day, yield fleeting power and advantage, even against a backdrop of large-scale dispossession and social brittleness.
Sketched in 1979 by graphic designer Peter Saville, the record sleeve of Joy Division's Unknown Pleasures seemingly popularized one of the most celebrated radio-astronomical images: the ‘stacked plot’ of radio signals from a pulsar. However, the sleeve's designer did not have this promotion in mind. Instead, he deliberately muddled the message it originally conveyed in a typical post-punk act of artistic sabotage. In reconstructing the historical events associated with this subversive effort, this essay explores how, after its adoption as an imaging device utilized in radio astronomy, the stacked plot gave representation to the diplomacy agendas of two distinct groups. The post-punk reworking of the stacked plot exemplified the ambition of this artistic movement to attack the images associated with social conventions and norms by amplifying their ‘semantic noise’, and, in so doing, seeking to negotiate a social space for those sharing these subversive goals. Conversely, radio astronomers used the stacked plot to display the presence of interfering radio transmitters in the frequencies exclusively allocated to astronomical research, thus advocating the removal of this electronic noise in the context of international telecommunication negotiations. The article thus shows how the representation of different types of noise through similar images shaped contrasting ambitions in the separate domains of science diplomacy and everyday diplomacy.
This essay deals with the cultural-political motivations behind the cosmological conceptions of the Padua Aristotelian Cesare Cremonini (1550–1631). A defender of the interests of the university against Jesuit teachings, and one of the philosophers who was most frequently scrutinized by the Inquisition, he was an important actor in Venetian cultural politics during the years of European religious conflict that culminated in the Thirty Years War. In those years, he was officially titled ‘protector’ of the multi-confessional German Nation of Artists, one of the largest groups of foreign students at the University of Padua, and had to act as mediator in cases of conflict. His efforts to keep teaching free from religious concerns is reflected by his commitment to pursue philosophical and cosmological inquiries without engaging in revealed theology. In particular, his strict adherence to Aristotelian cosmology proved to be at odds with central Christian dogmas as it relinquished, among other concepts, the ideas of Creation and divine Providence. I argue that this position of Cremonini's fostered a tolerant and universalistic attitude in line with a secular programme that could enable cross-confessional coexistence in a cosmopolitan institution like Padua.
Exploring the history of the gas mask in Germany from 1915 to the eve of the Second World War, Peter Thompson traces how chemical weapons and protective technologies like the gas mask produced new relationships to danger, risk, management and mastery in the modern age of mass destruction. Recounting the apocalyptic visions of chemical death that circulated in interwar Germany, he argues that while everyday encounters with the gas mask tended to exacerbate fears, the gas mask also came to symbolize debates about the development of military and chemical technologies in the Weimar Republic and the Third Reich. He underscores how the gas mask was tied into the creation of an exclusionary national community under the Nazis and the altered perception of environmental danger in the second half of the twentieth century. As this innovative new history shows, chemical warfare and protection technologies came to represent poignant visions of the German future.
Kenneth I. Kellermann, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia,Ellen N. Bouton, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia
Kenneth I. Kellermann, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia,Ellen N. Bouton, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia
Intense bursts of solar radio emission were first recognized by Second World War British and Australian coastal radar systems as well as by German and Japanese radar systems. Due to wartime security, these discoveries were not declassified until after the end of hostilities but, before declassification, Grote Reber, working alone in his mother’s backyard, reported receiving surprising strong radio emission from the Sun, well in excess of the expected emission from the 5,000 K solar surface. In 1946, while demonstrating his equipment to government representatives, Reber rediscovered solar radio storms when his chart recorder went off scale. Following World War II, with rapidly improving instrumentation, the Sun became a major target in the emerging field of radio astronomy. Observations with instruments of increasing sophistication have traced the complex time, frequency, and spatial dependence of the solar radio emission which corresponded to a wide variety of emission mechanisms. Later, following a false start due to using incorrect positions, radio emission was also detected from a variety of stars in our Galaxy, opening up the new field of stellar radio astronomy.
Kenneth I. Kellermann, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia,Ellen N. Bouton, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia
The history of radio astronomy has been a series of discoveries, mostly serendipitous, using a new instrument, or using an old instrument in a new unintended way. Theoretical predictions have had little influence, and in some cases actually delayed the discovery by discouraging observers. Many of the key transformational discoveries were made while investigating other areas of astronomy; others came as a result of commercial and military pursuits unrelated to astronomy. We discuss how the transformational serendipitous discoveries in radio astronomy depended on luck, age, education, and the institutional affiliation of the scientists involved, and we comment on the effect of peer review in the selection of research grants, observing time, and the funding of new telescopes, and speculate on its constraint to new discoveries. We discuss the decrease in the rate of new discoveries since the Golden Years of the 1960s and 1970s and the evolution of radio astronomy to a big science user oriented discipline. We conclude with a discussion of the impact of computers in radio astronomy and speculations on the potential for future discoveries in radio astronomy – the unknown unknowns.
Kenneth I. Kellermann, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia,Ellen N. Bouton, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia
The realization that radio astronomers could detect radio galaxies that were well beyond the limits of even the most powerful optical telescopes suggested that radio observations might be able to distinguish between the two competing cosmological models. The commonly accepted big-bang model required that, since the Universe continued to evolve with time, so the distant (younger) Universe should appear different than the nearby modern Universe. By contrast, the steady-state theory required that the Universe is, and always was, everywhere the same, so distant galaxies should look the same as more nearby galaxies. An intense controversy developed between radio astronomers in Sydney, Australia and Cambridge, UK over the distribution of radio sources and their implication for theories of cosmology. The Australian radio astronomers, who had better data than the Cambridge research workers, found no evidence of cosmic evolution. The Cambridge group, led by Martin Ryle, misunderstood the effects of their instrumental errors and used an incorrect analysis – but got the right answer, arguing that the Universe is evolving with time, contrary to the expectations of the steady state-theory.
Kenneth I. Kellermann, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia,Ellen N. Bouton, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia
Some celestial objects, later recognized as quasars, were catalogued back in 1887, and their extragalactic nature was discussed as early as 1960. However, the large measured redshift of 3C 48 was rejected, largely because it implied an unrealistically high radio and optical luminosity. Instead it was assumed to be a relatively nearby, less luminous galactic radio star. Following the 1962 observations of lunar occultations of the strong radio source 3C 273 at the Parkes radio telescope and the subsequent identification with an apparent stellar object, Martin Schmidt recognized that 3C 273 had an unmistakable redshift of 0.16. Due to an error in the calculation of the radio position, the occultation position actually played no direct role in the identification of 3C 273, although it was the existence of a claimed accurate occultation position that motivated Schmidt’s 200 inch telescope investigation and his determination of the redshift. Later radio and optical measurements quickly led to the identification of other quasars with increasingly large redshifts, although the nature of the quasar redshifts remained controversial for decades.
Kenneth I. Kellermann, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia,Ellen N. Bouton, National Radio Astronomy Observatory, Charlottesville, Virginia