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From the 1950s to the 1970s, a group of physician–researchers forming the ‘Liverpool school’ made groundbreaking contributions in such diverse areas as the genetics of Lepidoptera and human medical genetics. The success of this group can be attributed to the several different, but interconnected, research partnerships that Liverpool physician Cyril Clarke established with Philip Sheppard, Victor McKusick at Johns Hopkins University, the Nuffield Foundation, and his wife Féo. Despite its notable successes, among them the discovery of the method to prevent Rhesus haemolytic disease of the newborn, the Liverpool School began to lose prominence in the mid-1970s, just as the field of medical genetics that it had helped pioneer began to grow. This paper explores the role of partnerships in making possible the Liverpool school's scientific and medical achievements, and also in contributing to its decline.
A special interest in optics among various seventeenth-century painters living in the Dutch city of Delft has intrigued historians, including art historians, for a long time. Equally, the impressive career of the Delft microscopist Antoni van Leeuwenhoek has been studied by many historians of science. However, it has never been investigated who, at that time, had access to the mathematical and optical knowledge necessary for the impressive achievements of these Delft practitioners. We have tried to gain insight into Delft as a ‘node’ of optical knowledge by following the careers of three minor local figures in early seventeenth-century Delft. We argue that through their work, products, discussions in the vernacular and exchange of skills, rather than via learned publications, these practitioners constituted a foundation on which the later scientific and artistic achievements of other Delft citizens were built. Our Delft case demonstrates that these practitioners were not simple and isolated craftsmen; rather they were crucial components in a network of scholars, savants, painters and rich virtuosi. Decades before Vermeer made his masterworks, or Van Leeuwenhoek started his famous microscopic investigations, the intellectual atmosphere and artisanal knowledge in this city centred on optical topics.
Born in Switzerland, Louis Agassiz (1807–73) distinguished himself as one of the most capable and industrious naturalists of the nineteenth century, working in fields as diverse as ichthyology and glaciology. In the late 1840s, he moved to North America, where he became a professor of zoology at Harvard and established the Museum of Comparative Zoology. His extensive bibliography of all known works relating to zoology and geology, which he had compiled for private use, was revised and substantially expanded by the English naturalist Hugh Edwin Strickland (1811–53) and published by the Ray Society in four volumes between 1848 and 1854. As such, it stands as the fullest record of the existing scientific literature just prior to the publication of Darwin's On the Origin of Species. Volume 1 (1848) provides a global list of all relevant periodicals before beginning the principal list of works, arranged alphabetically by author, ranging here from Aalborg to Bywater.
James Clerk Maxwell (1831–1879), first Cavendish Professor of Physics at Cambridge, made major contributions to many areas of theoretical physics and mathematics, not least his discoveries in the fields of electromagnetism and of the kinetic theory of gases, which have been regarded as laying the foundations of all modern physics. This work of 1881 was edited from Maxwell's notes by a colleague, William Garnett, and had formed the basis of his lectures. Several of the articles included in the present work were also included in his two-volume Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism (1873), also reissued in this series. The preface indicates that the two works were aimed at somewhat different audiences, the larger work assuming a greater knowledge of higher mathematics. Maxwell had also modified some of his methodology, and hoped to encourage the reader to develop an understanding of concepts relating to electricity.
Sometimes referred to as 'the grand old man of science', Alfred Russel Wallace (1823–1913) was a naturalist, evolutionary theorist, and friend of Charles Darwin. In this study of tropical flora and fauna, he takes the reader on a tour of the equatorial forest belt - the almost continuous band of forest that stretches around the world between the tropics. There, chameleon-like caterpillars alter the colours of their cocoons, parasitical trees override their hosts with spectacular aerial root systems, and some of the most pressing questions of Victorian evolutionary science arise: how do animals and plants come to be brightly coloured? Can their adaptations provide clues about past geological eras? And was Darwin wholly correct in his theory of sexual selection? First published in 1878, Wallace's book is a skilfully written reflection of contemporary naturalism, still highly readable and relevant to students in the history of science.
Centring on John Flamsteed (1646–1719), the first Astronomer Royal, this paper investigates the ways in which astronomers of the late seventeenth century worked to build and maintain their reputations by demonstrating, for their peers and for posterity, their proficiency in managing visual technologies. By looking at his correspondence and by offering a graphic and textual analysis of the preface to his posthumous Historia Coelestis Britannica (1725), I argue that Flamsteed based the legitimacy of his life's work on his capacity to serve as a skilful astronomer who could coordinate the production and proper use of astronomical sighting instruments. Technological advances in astrometry were, for Flamsteed, a necessary but not a sufficient condition for the advancement of astronomy. Technological resources needed to be used by the right person. The work of the skilful astronomer was a necessary precondition for the mobilization and proper management of astronomical technologies. Flamsteed's understanding of the astronomer as a skilled actor importantly shifted the emphasis in precision astronomical work away from the individual observer's ability to see well and toward the astronomer's ability to ensure that instruments guaranteed accurate vision.
In 1908, the motoring journalist R. P. Hearne published Aerial Warfare, the first book on the subject to reach an audience beyond military strategists. Enormous advances in aviation resulted in the publication of this substantially revised edition in 1910. At a time of intense European military rivalry, the book highlighted differences in the way countries were adopting new aerial technology. Hearne makes the assumption that conflict with Germany at some point is inevitable, and identifies the airship as 'practically an invisible enemy'. At this point Germany had ten airships compared to Britain's one, and while the British regarded them as useful only for reconnaissance, the Germans had identified potential offensive uses. Reviews commended the book for its depth and numerous illustrations, but also suggested it was alarmist and anti-German. However, it brought the subject to wider attention, and was a factor behind the government's decision to invest properly in aviation research.
Born in Switzerland, Louis Agassiz (1807–73) distinguished himself as one of the most capable and industrious naturalists of the nineteenth century, working in fields as diverse as ichthyology and glaciology. In the late 1840s, he moved to North America, where he became a professor of zoology at Harvard and established the Museum of Comparative Zoology. His extensive bibliography of all known works relating to zoology and geology, which he had compiled for private use, was revised and substantially expanded by the English naturalist Hugh Edwin Strickland (1811–53) and published by the Ray Society in four volumes between 1848 and 1854. As such, it stands as the fullest record of the existing scientific literature just prior to the publication of Darwin's On the Origin of Species. Volume 2 (1850) continues the list of works, arranged alphabetically by author, ranging here from Cabanis to Fyfe.
Despite his demanding religious responsibilities, Paolo Sarpi maintained an active involvement in science between 1578 and 1598 – as his Pensieri reveal. They show that from 1585 onwards he studied the Copernican theory and recorded arguments in its favour. The fact that for 1595 they include an outline of a Copernican tidal theory resembling Galileo's Dialogue theory is well known. But examined closely, Sarpi's theory is found to be different from that of the Dialogue in several important respects. That Sarpi was a Copernican by 1592 is revealed by other of his pensieri, whereas at that time we know that Galileo was not. The examination of Sarpi's tidal theory and of the work of Galileo in this period indicates that the theory Sarpi recorded in 1595 was of his own creation. The appreciation that the theory was Sarpi's and that Galileo subsequently came to change his views on the Copernican theory and adopted the tidal theory has major implications for our understanding of the significance of Sarpi's contribution to the Scientific Revolution. Moreover, it appears that several of the most significant theoretical features of the tidal theory published by Galileo in the Dialogue – and which proved of lasting value – were in reality Sarpi's.
The difference in longitude between the observatories of Paris and Greenwich was long of fundamental importance to geodesy, navigation and timekeeping. Measured many times and by many different means since the seventeenth century, the preferred method of the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries made use of the electric telegraph. I describe here for the first time the four Paris–Greenwich telegraphic longitude determinations made between 1854 and 1902. Despite contemporary faith in the new technique, the first was soon found to be inaccurate; the second was a failure, ending in Anglo-French dispute over whose result was to be trusted; the third failed in exactly the same way; and when eventually the fourth was presented as a success, the evidence for that success was far from clear-cut. I use this as a case study in precision measurement, showing how mutual grounding between different measurement techniques, in the search for agreement between them, was an important force for change and improvement. I also show that better precision had more to do with the gradually improving methods of astronomical time determination than with the singular innovation of the telegraph, thus emphasizing the importance of what have been described as ‘observatory techniques’ to nineteenth-century practices of precision measurement.