Wee people at London, are so humbly immersd in slavish business, & taken up wth providing for a wretched Carkasse; yt there's nothing almost, but what is grosse & sensuall to be gotten from us. If a bright thought springs up any time here, ye Mists & Foggs extinguish it again presently, & leaves us no more, yn only ye pain, of seeing it die & perish away from us. Humphrey Ditton to Roger Cotes, ca. 1703THE CALCULUS OF ACCOMPLISHMENTDuring the (...) last decade of his life, Sir Isaac Newton took the measure of achievement. Probably shortly before 1725, Newton scribbled on the undated cover of a letter a brief list of those discoveries he believed belonged entirely ‘to the English’. Included were ‘the variation of the Variation’ ; the circulation of the blood; telescopic sights and the micrometer variously improved by his contemporaries, Robert Hooke and John Flamsteed; and ‘the Libration of the Moon’ likely in reference to Newton's own explanation of lunar eccentricity. Notably, this was not simply a personal calculation. Newton makes no mention of such controversial matters as the fluxional calculus, the refraction of light, or even the measure of universal gravitation, which he otherwise might have claimed as his own efforts. Even the private lights of the solitary genius could still accommodate a distinctly broader sense of the depth of national accomplishment. (shrink)

The emergence of instrument-making trades in early-modern England tested the power of established guilds. From the seventeenth century, instrument makers were able to exploit growing markets for scientific apparatus and attempted to exploit connections with the Royal Society. Given the growth in both local and international demand, and in new methods of manufacture, instrument makers were frequently able to evade the diminishing power of guilds to police the efforts of the makers.

In the overwhelmingly public world of the twentieth century, science often seems simultaneously remote and ubiquitous. There are many complex reasons for this, of course, not the least being the capacity of technology for material transformation and the apparent inability of scientific discourse to communicate its practice to the unanointed. In some ways, our current predicament appears similar to that of the late eighteenth century when so many promises had already been made of what natural philosophy might accomplish, and when (...) many clamoured for access to the power of natural philosophical practice. At that point, on the verge of the stunning dislocations of the industrial revolution, many of the literate and mechanical public took considerable steps to bridge the gap otherwise policed by social distinction. (shrink)

From 1687, the year when Newton published his Principia, to the Crystal Palace Exhibition of 1851, science gradually became central to Western thought and economic development. The book examines how, despite powerful opposition on the Continent, a Newtonian understanding gained acceptance and practical application.

The Romance of Science pays tribute to the wide-ranging and highly influential work of Trevor Levere, historian of science and author of Poetry Realised in Nature, Transforming Matter, Science and the Canadian Arctic, Affinity and Matter and other significant inquiries in the history of modern science. Expanding on Levere’s many themes and interests, The Romance of Science assembles historians of science -- all influenced by Levere's work -- to explore such matters as the place and space of instruments in science, (...) the role and meaning of science museums, poetry in nature, chemical warfare and warfare in nature, science in Canada and the Arctic, Romanticism, aesthetics and morals in natural philosophy, and the “dismal science” of economics. The Romance of Science explores the interactions between science's romantic, material, institutional and economic engagements with Nature. (shrink)

For those in the so‐called G‐7, G‐8, or G‐20, searching for the formula for economic takeoff, this is a book that deserves a reckoning. It explores the “role of culture,” which hitherto has had “no place in traditional economic explanations” of the history of industrial achievement. It is in the cultural and epistemological transformation of the eighteenth century that Margaret Jacob finds the foundation of industrial revolution. Jacob thereby dismisses the myth of the accidental genius or the inspired semiliterate backyard (...) tinkerer that has reinforced the notion that nothing can be done except by lives of singular initiative.By comparing the British most particularly with the Dutch and the French, Jacob argues it was precisely the utilitarian and egalitarian sentiments found in British scientific and philosophical societies that mattered most. Her theme is the much‐contested vision of the efficacy of natural knowledge and the assimilation of natural philosophy by the utilitarian world of the artisan and the entrepreneur. The advance of mechanical philosophy under Galileo and Descartes notwithstanding, it was during the English Revolution of the mid‐seventeenth century that natural philosophy was explicitly attached to a new social reformation and an inchoate democratic vision.Isaac Newton had nothing but derision for the vulgar “inferior horde of people” . Yet his disciples launched into careers as purveyors of his science in public lectures heavily weighted to mechanical explanation. Often viewed with suspicion elsewhere in Europe, in England such lecturers flourished. Even the engineer James Watt's French contact J. C. Perier, who desperately sought as many British secrets as possible, had initially learned his science from the lecturer abbé Nollet. An increasing awareness of the practical consequences of the new science was essential to the economic achievements of the late Enlightenment. This ultimately is a major thrust of Jacob's argument, for many early industrialists “were smarter than historians have allowed them to be” . Those who sought the new steam engines for their mines were perfectly well aware of the mechanical limitations and natural variables that might affect the success of their enterprise. Jacob is quite correct that “the Baconian vision lived on, eventually subsumed under the larger rubric of Newtonianism” . At the end of the century, the Napoleonic technocrat Jean‐Antoine Chaptal appears as representative of the case for applied science by promoting the Baconian unity of theory and practice.The most innovative part of Jacob's story is the attention she pays to the role of science in the attitudes of Midlands entrepreneurs like James Watt and Matthew Boulton. Both insisted on a scientific education for their sons, and Boulton recommended as much for the sons of foreign visitors to the Soho foundry. Both Watt and Boulton were particularly adept in the experimental laboratory, although they were also highly suspicious of the growing public technical interest and scientific curiosity that they feared might undermine their own patent monopoly. This suspicion grew out of their own deeper unease at the burgeoning democratic sympathies. Boulton and James Watt, senior, were extremely critical of radicalism—so we need not, therefore, draw any simple equation between industrial innovation and political reform. The currents of late eighteenth‐century Britain were far too complicated for that. Jacob, nonetheless, draws broad and interesting conclusions about the ways in which Continental cultural and political factors obstructed the spread of the very natural knowledge that gave the British such advantages. In her view, especially in this age of a “knowledge economy,” it might now do us well to remember the potential effects of “the widest dissemination of scientific knowledge” and “the democratization of learning” . In Jacob's version of the Industrial Revolution, the broadening and deepening of democracy followed the spread of natural learning beyond the uses of traditional elites. (shrink)