First catch your spider: astronomical arachnids

Cross-posted from The H Word.

Spiders have played a key role in the history of astronomy. This is not simply in being creatures that have kept vigil with the nocturnal astronomer, who is inspired, Robert-the-Bruce-like, by their skill and tenacity, but something far more fundamental.

Spider silk was sufficiently fine, sufficiently uniform and sufficiently strong to be used in the focus of a telescope’s eyepiece for precise measurement. Rather than cross-hairs, astronomers spoke of “wires”, against which the position of a star might be read. Several such spider-silk “wires” or “threads” might help time the transit of a star across the local meridian or, moveable, help measure the distance between binary stars.

Looking the other day for something else, I was pleased to come acrossan 1894 article in the journal of the British Astronomical Association by one of the Royal Observatory’s assistants, E Walter Maunder, that was a how-to guide to “Making a Spider Line Reticule”.

My headline is taken from Maunder, who refers to “Mrs Glasse“, whoseThe Art of Cookery was famously supposed to have instructed readers to “First catch your hare”. In the spirit of the best how-to and make-and-mend housewife, Maunder was sharing his knowledge as money-saving advice for those who could not afford a professionally made filar micrometer. That said, spiders were being caught and used by astronomers at Greenwich for years, and were to be until at least the 1950s.

Unlike Mrs Glasse, Maunder had some hints on animal capture. The spider required was Epeira diadema, “the handsome coronetted spider of our gardens”, although “she has no astronomical monopoly” and an ordinary house spider might do. As he says, “The best time for a raid is the month of October” – until it recently turned cold I spotted many beautiful garden spiders with magnificent webs even in uninspiring urban front gardens.

To catch and keep your spider, she should be “lifted out of her web and placed in a small paper bag, the bag being closed by gently twisting up its mouth. Any number of spiders may be secured and kept ready for use when required if each one is imprisoned in a separate bag.”

Next comes the crucial step, with the acquisition of a “fork”, aka “a piece of wire bent into the shape of a U”, about 12-15 inches long, with the two points about 3 inches apart; “of sufficient width, that is, to well overlap the frame to be webbed, so as to give enough tension to the webs to keep them straight”.

Just previous to winding, the fork should be coated with the usual commercial “brown hard varnish.” The operator then mounts on a stool, so as to give his spider a further drop, places his fork ready to his hand, and taking the paper bag in his left hand, and a small straight piece of wood, gently lifts out the spider. The operator then takes the fork, and when the spider has dropped two or three feet, puts in his fork, and gently winds up, pushing forward the fork as it is rotated, so that the thread lies on it in a zig-zag manner. Other forks may be filled if the spider is in the humour for spinning. If Arachne is inclined, however, to be obstinate, gently blow on her with a full steady breath…

The filled forks were to be placed vertically for about an hour, after which time it was possible to pack them away in boxes until required.

Maunder’s article then carefully describes the process of fitting the threads to a frame, and fixing them at a proper tension with some more varnish – applied, he suggests, with another unlikely astronomical instrument: a knitting needle.

Of such things – and sealing wax and string – are the most distinguished careers made.

Historians of science look forward to a unique gathering

Cross-posted from The H Word.

This Friday sees the deadline for submissions to what will be the largest ever meeting of historians of science in the UK, and almost certainly the largest for at least a generation to come.

Last Friday already saw the closing date for organised symposiums within the International Congress of History of Science, Technology and Medicine, and the organisers tweeted:

@ichstm2013

#ichstm has just received its 1000th symposium paper abstract. 23 Nov 12

With the individual submissions still to come in, this promises to be huge for the history of science, which usually counts conference delegates in the 10s or 100s.

The event is taking place next year, 22-28 July 2013, in Manchester. It is officially hosted by the British Society for the History of Science, and is being co-ordinated locally by members of the University of Manchester’s Centre for the History of Science, Technology and Medicine.

As well as an extremely full academic programme, the website promises to show off the history of science, technology and medicine in Manchester, “the original ‘shock city’ of the Industrial Revolution” withdisplays, events and tours, including to Jodrell Bank, the radio telescope of which has been appropriated to the event’s logo.

There will also be a “fringe” that will include films, music, theatre and performance, aimed at the public as well as delegates. Importantly, there may [edit - this is unconfirmed as yet!] also be an entire pub, the Jabez Clegg, handed over for the conference, selling, I’ve been promised, unique and appropriately-named cask beers. (It helps that the Manchester department includes a postgrad with experience of organising beer festivals and a historian of brewing.)

As well as being large, the Congress, an activity of the Division of History of Science and Technology of the International Union of History and Philosophy of Science, will, of course, be very international. It will be an important opportunity for scholars working within very different contexts to get together. This is the 24th such Congress – they take place every four years, with recent meetings having been held in Mexico City (2001), Beijing (2005) and Budapest (2009). It has not been in the UK since Edinburgh in 1977.

Probably the most famous of all the International Congresses of the History of Science was the second, in London in 1931. It was here thatBoris Hessen delivered his paper, “The Soci-Economic Roots of Newton’s Principia“.

As the title suggests, this presented science as something that did not stand aloof from its social and economic context. It has been considered foundational for research into the relationship between science and society, or “external” rather than “internal” history of science. Certainly, it was remarkable at the time, being a full-blown Marxist account, which concluded:

The great historical significance of the method created by Marx lies in the fact that knowledge is not regarded as the passive, contemplative perception of reality, but as the means for actively reconstructing it. For the proletariat science is a means and instrument for this reconstruction. That is why we are not afraid to expose the “terrestrial origin” of science, its close connection to the mode of production of material existence. Only such a conception of science can truly liberate it from those fetters in which it is inevitably trapped in bourgeois class society.

Such international gatherings have often been stages on which politics can be performed. It was not just Hessen, but a whole set of Soviet delegates who took the audience by surprise in 1931. Their papers were gathered together and published as Science at the Crossroads, by Nikolai Bukharin. It was to provoke heated debate, touching a nerve in a time of crisis of capitalism in the west.

I am told by old hands that Cold War politics coloured the Congresses of the 70s and 80s. Things have changed again, but I suspect that there will be lively interest in the diversity that continues to exist when the field is seen at its broadest. The British organisers, naturally, are interested in showcasing the wealth of resources and scholarship that can be found in Manchester and the UK. Beyond that, it would be great if the size of the event can help raise awareness of the discipline.

I will be there, as one of the co-organisers of a symposium on current history of science research taking place in, or in partnership with, museums. There is plenty to choose from: Arabic science, paleontological specimens, radio communication, Chinese natural knowledge, science at war, theology and science, ancient astronomy, east-west encounters, gender and knowledge, mathematical institutions, and much, much more – including the history of the sauna and new insights into bicycle history.

More information: http://www.ichstm2013.com/index.html
Follow @ichstm2013 and #ichstm

Is there ‘a rising tide of irrationality’?

Cross-posted from The H Word.

I often come across the assumption, or assertion, that pseudoscientific views or belief in the paranormal are increasing. Yet the claim that there is a “rising tide of irrationality” seems to be backed by little evidence.

The “rising tide” comment is taken from a tweet by Daniel Loxton, editor of Junior Skeptic magazine, who also recently tweeted:

I keep hammering on point that paranormal claims and attempts to get to bottom of them have always been with us, and always will be with us… 15 Nov 12

This certainly chimes with my view as an historian. Loxton also pointed me to a piece on the data collected since 1990 by Gallup that indicates “the public’s persistent belief in the paranormal”. While particular types of paranormal interest come in and out of fashion, overall it seems that views considered non-, anti- or pseudo-scientific have a fairly static presence.

So why the assertion that it is increasing? Perhaps today we can point to the potential for visibility and collective presence generated by the internet. There are also new ways in which unscientific views have entered the political arena, making them more visible and problematic – something recently discussed by Erik M. Conway and Naomi Oreskes inWhy Conservatives Turned Against Science.

But these factors don’t account for the perennial sense of a rising tide. Perhaps it is simply that the more sensitive to or aware of something you are, the more you keep on noticing it. In this case, much of the sensitivity is due to the fact that elements of what is branded pseudoscience can be deeply entangled and competitive with perceptions of orthodox science. (It’s worth having a look at Steven Shapin’s recent review of Michael Gordin’s The Pseudoscience Wars on the origins of the term.)

Take astrology, for example. It was once intimately connected with astronomy. The words were more or less interchangeable in the early modern period, although for simplicity we can characterise astrology as having been one of the most significant drivers for accurate positional astronomy, alongside timekeeping, surveying and navigation. By the end of the 17th century, for elite astronomers, this connection was disintegrating and, although their data continued to be used by astrologers, the borders between legitimate and non-legitimate uses of astronomy were redefined.

The astrologers did not go away, and popular belief in the effect of heavenly bodies on the mundane world – on individuals, nations, crops, weather or health – certainly remained throughout the 18th century and beyond. A market for astrological publications and symbolism continued to exist, even if it was not until the late 19th century that there was a notable revival of interest in astrology and other things esoteric and spiritual among more fashionable and educated audiences.

One place in which we can trace this ever-present undercurrent of astrological belief is, of all places, in the archive of the Royal Observatory in Greenwich (now held at Cambridge University Library), where a quick search of the online catalogue reveals that Astronomers Royal throughout the 19th and 20th century had to deal with enquiries from the public relating to astrology. Undoubtedly there was such correspondence in the 18th century too, it simply was not kept as diligently.

Astrological enquiries of the mid 19th century – before the revivals of either late 19th-century esotericism or the 20th-century’s New Age – were also referred to in a published account. This was The Midnight Sky, written by one of the Observatory’s assistant astronomers, Edwin Dunkin.

In the second edition, Dunkin described the work of the Royal Observatory, where he had been based since 1838, and noted that,

there is one class of correspondence which, during the author’s long connection with it, he has never known to fail, and which should be alluded to here, to show that, even in this the nineteenth century, there are paradoxers of all kinds, both scientific and social, who call upon the astronomer for advice under difficulties. For it must be acknowledged that the Greenwich astronomer, in addition to his stated public duties, is also very generally supposed to devote some attention to astrology…

He went on to describe “individuals calling frequently at the Observatory gate, requesting information about their future destiny”, letters “enclosing Post-Office orders, requesting a nativity cast in return”, and how “On one occasion, a well-dressed young woman, apparently in great distress, called at the author’s private residence” asking for information about an uncle at sea. “She left in tears, because she was informed that the stars were unable to satisfy her wishes.”

Dunkin’s “final example of the march of intellect in the nineteenth century” was a letter received more than 30 years before: “I have been informed that there are persons at this Observatory who will, by my inclosing a remittance and the time of my birth, give me to understand who is to be my wife. An early answer, stating all relative particulars, will greatly oblige”.

Astrological questions, or ones on Mayan prophecy or UFOs, still come to places like the Royal Observatory. We can at least comfort ourselves with the knowledge that this puts us in esteemed company, and that ’twas always thus, and ’twill ever be.

Whewell’s Ghost on Facebook and Twitter

I have decided that it is time to take the Facebook page and Twitter account of Whewell’s Ghost in a new direction. In part inspired by our earlier discussions about the future of The Giants’ Shoulders history of science blog carnival (and my guilt and always failing to send links into the horrible blog carnival submission system), I will be posting as many links to history of science posts and articles as I can to Facebook. This will also be picked up by the Twitter account.

So please – ‘Like’ here http://www.facebook.com/whewellsghost and ‘Follow’ @WhewellsGhost https://twitter.com/WhewellsGhost.

Please also feel free to let me know about posts @beckyfh – and all future hosts of The Giants’ Shoulders should stop by to see what I’ve been reading and enjoying!

Skeptics and scepticism

Cross-posted from The H Word.

I was somewhat disconcerted to see something completely erroneous appear in Guardian Science’s own Notes & Theories blog. It was this:

A word about the distinction between sceptics and skeptics. A generic “sceptic” questions accepted beliefs. In this way, we have “man didn’t go to the moon” sceptics. (Some people won’t believe anything.) Skeptics are different: they espouse the evidence-based approach – and find the world wanting in many respects.

Yikes! As an early commenter rightly pointed out, the sceptic/skeptic spellings are simply UK and US variants, although later commenters denied this and continued to perpetuate the error. Somehow the British spelling now denotes “bad” scepticism (i.e. questioning scientific consensus on topics as varied as vaccination, lunar landings and climate change) and the US spelling is identified only with “the evidence-based approach” to … something-or-other.

It is true that the capital “S” Skeptic movement uses the US spelling even in the UK, but that is an extremely circumscribed use of the word. It is one that is not widely known or understood outside particular communities. Before about 2010, when I started blogging and using Twitter, it’s something I had never come across (and I say that as someone who has an interest in science, is an atheist and attempts to make decisions rationally and based on evidence).

To compound matters, this was written by Deborah Hyde, editor of The Skeptic magazine. To not understand the meaning and history of the title of your own publication is a worry.

Scepticism, or skepticism, is neither denialism nor a movement. Based on the Greek skeptomai, which means to think or consider, it usually means doubt or incredulity about particular ideas, or a wider view about the impossibility of having certain knowledge. This uncertainty is a philosophical position, and philosophical scepticism includes attempts to deal with it, through systematic doubt and testing of ideas.

So, let’s be clear. In the US you can be a climate skeptic. In the UK you might consider yourself a Skeptic and approach knowledge in a sceptical way. It also appears that it is possible to be a Skeptic and yet not be a sceptic. Hyde’s parenthetical “Some people won’t believe anything” dismissal of “bad” sceptics suggests very little understanding of what scepticism really means.

This goes to the heart of much recent criticism of Skeptics, often coming from within the movement itself. The charge is that many self-identified Skeptics are not properly sceptical (or skeptical) of the positions that they or their leading figures take up. Rather, a tribalism or group-mentality develops in which – unthinkingly – certain positions are condemned or approved.

It would be wrong to tar every self-identified Skeptic with the same brush. However, all too often what comes over to those on the outside is a rather narrow and repetitive focus on particular topics and, more importantly, a condescending, over-confident tone in engaging with those who disagree or who have given such things little thought.

These things matter if Skeptics are really interested in changing or opening minds rather than getting together and having a good laugh about whacky beliefs. Hyde’s article suggests it is the former that now takes precedence:

Many skeptics retain a hobbyist’s level of delight in debunking psychic powers or ghost stories, and that’s where the movement started. But the subject matter has become more serious and political. In the last decade, the most formidable opponents of alternative medicine have not been government regulators, but skeptics.

She adds vaccination, the teaching of evolution in schools, gay rights and abortion rights. Her claim is that Skeptics, or nerds (or geeks) are “the people with the best intellectual tools to rebut the traditional postulates”. I would query that, if her “nerdocracy” means the self-selected (and not necessarily experienced or qualified) group that might identify with the term. As it stands, they also may not be the best (and should certainly not the only) group to attempt to communicate the issues to the broader public.

I’ll end simply with a reminder that the etymology of scepticism implies enquiry and reflection, not dismissiveness.

Prize fights: animadversions on the almanac

Cross-posted from the Longitude Project Blog.

A long time ago, in a post far, far away, I stated that “There was no such thing as the longitude prize”. In the same post I also mentioned that I would, nevertheless, have more to say about 18th-century references to a longitude prize. It is high time I fulfilled that promise.

In fact, there are just two mentions of a “Longitude Prize” picked up in Eighteenth Century Collections Online (ECCO), which includes millions of searchable, digitised pages from over 180,000 books, pamphlets, essays and broadsides. I think we can safely say that it was not a commonplace term at that time. [A Google Books Ngram search on Longitude Prize and longitude prize gives us nothing between 1800 and the 1890s, and has peaks in the 1960s (after Gould's chronometer history and Quill's Harrison biography appeared) and the 1990s (post-Sobel).]

Chasing this reference did, however, lead me to learn about some rather public dissatisfaction with the Board of Longitude and its Nautical Almanac. It also reveals another dispute that hit Nevil Maskelyne.

Both 18th-century uses of the phrase are from Robert Heath’s The British palladium; or, Annual miscellany, for the years 1768 and 1774. Heath was an army officer and a mathematician, best known as a frequent contributor to and subsequently the editor of the Ladies’ Diary. This was an annual publication that contained useful information, calendars and mathematical puzzles. Many of these puzzles and problems, for which prizes were offered, were set by Heath, who initially marketed the British Palladium as an appendix.

Heath’s major publications were, however, Astronomia accurata, or, The Royal Astronomer and Navigator (1760), and The Seaman’s Guide to the Longitude (1770). These were both very combative publications, the first accusing  James Ferguson and Benjamin Martin of making errors in their astronomical tables, and the second attacking Maskelyne for having failed to publish Tobias Mayer‘s lunar tables. The tables, which were nearly ready, actually appeared that year, but Maskelyne and Heath subsequently remained on bad terms, disputing mathematics and table production.

From this disputatious context, we can imagine that the use of the term “Longitude prize” was a loaded one. The 1768 instance leads to a piece of Longitude doggerel, which, for your edification, I will reproduce below. The “prize” here produces a rhyme, but also reveals a negative judgement of the competitive, argumentative and money-grabbing nature of the longitude search.

The 1774 instance occurs within  a piece that compared the British Nautical Almanac with the FrenchConnaissance des Temps. The sub-title is “The Discoverers of the Longitude discovered” and, as we might guess, was critical of the Board of Longitude. It suggested that public money wasted, noting that as aspects of the British ephemeris appeared to be the same as the French, it must have been copied (I think I’m right to say that it was actually the other way round). The article, attributed to “A Sea Officer”, goes on:

The British Computers make as puzzling a Mystery of their mixed and borrowedCalculations (and some no Use at Sea) as of the Longitude they seek. But we, on-board the Navy, make the same Use of the Nautical Ephemeris as we do of a Pack of Cards or the Back-gammon Tables; to pass an idle Hour or to kill Time! For, as we find none is paid for chacing the Longitude-Prize but Longitude Schemers and Projectors, (for whose Profit we are annually out of Pocket by being compelled to buy their Work,) we have long given over the Chace ourselves, without endeavouring to come up with what is not worth ourpicking up.

It was clearly Heath himself: his chief target, Maskelyne, is referred to as “the reverend Superintendentor Commander in Chief of Longitude”. It is unsurprising that Maskelyne, in his autobiographical notes, chose to underline the fact that he never benefited financially from taking on the extra work surrounding the publication of the Nautical Almanac. It was not only Harrison who suspected him of being motivated by money.

These publications, produced after the date that the “Longitude Prize” is usually considered to have been awarded and the problem solved, are very clear in their view that the solution was still elusive.

—————————–

LONGITUDE ODE. By Mr. MOONSBY,
Tune of the Ass. Or otherwise to be set to MUSIC by Seig. Chrisstiano Longitudiano.

Disputes still arise,
For the Longitude Prize,
Since Whiston and Ditton are fled;
And H__r__n’s W___h,
Have prov’d a mere Catch,
And goes like one out of it’s Head, its Head,
And goes like one out of it’s Head [Note: See Mr. Maskelyne's Observations.]

Irwin’s Chair lost it’s Fame,
And has now but a Name,
Was surpassed by the Scheme of the Moon;
W_tch_l beat up a Breeze,
For the Longitude Fees,
But to School he was sent away soon, aye soon,
But to School he was sent away soon.

For D__nth__e of Sages,
With one Dozen Pages,
That voluminous Scheme quite knock’d down;
He shew’d where it err’d,
Got his own Scheme preferr’d,
Which made the Watchmaker to frown, to frown,
Which made the poor Q_____r to frown.

Yet D___nth_e, or Ly___n,
We cannot rely on,
Tho’ Cambridge of Oxford takes Place;
Parallax and Refraction,
Are but a Distraction,
Till prov’d to agree with the Case, the Case,
Till proved to agree with the Case.

The Palladium Brother
Has gone little further, [Note: See p.53, & Suppt to Royal Astron. &  Navigator, p.8]
Till his Theory and Practice unite:
Then, by Observation,
He can serve his Nation,
Without his being a Bite, a Bite,
Without his being a Bite.

Of the Longitude Hoard,
Which is rul’d by the Board,
No Em___rs__n ever yet shar’d;
And the Nautical Nac,
Is but a fam’d Crack,
Where a Halley yet never appear’d, appear’d,
Where a Halley yet never appear’d.

Of Cambridge and Lyon,
And Oxford, cry fye on!
No Longitude yet has been found;
The learned Professors,
Have all been Aggressors,
And M__sk__ly__ne‘s only renown’d, renown’d,
And M__sk__ly__ne‘s only renown’d!

(I’ll admit that there are a few references there that I haven’t yet worked out – all suggestions on these names and allusions are gratefully received!)

The British Journal for the History of Science turns 50

Cross-posted from The H Word.

The British Journal for the History of Science has been published since 1962. Photograph: Melanie Keene

This seems to be a good year for anniversaries in the history of science, particularly 50th anniversaries. Science studies clearly turned a corner in 1962. I have already mentioned the anniversary of Thomas Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, and there has been much attentionon Rachel Carson’s now-classic Silent Spring. This year also sees one of the discipline’s leading international journals, the British Journal for the History of Science, turn 50.

The British Society for the History of Science, which supports the BJHS, has been reflecting on the journal’s history and celebrating the anniversary by making a selection of past articles free to access.

This moment – when academic publishing is being scrutinised with questions of open access, impact ratings, and the role of print in a digital world – is an interesting one in which to reflect on the past and future of a journal. Will it continue to build up on my bookshelves, in physical form? What was the journal’s role in defining and cementing the discipline? Which articles have been most influential? How have our interests changed over the last half century?

Some of these issues are considered in the October issue of Viewpoint[PDF], the magazine of the BSHS. I particularly enjoyed a feature that got five current scholars to look over the articles published in the very first issue BJHS, from June 1962. They provoke some interesting reflections, although as Frank James writes:

An inattentive reader comparing the first with more recent issues of the BJHS might be forgiven for thinking that not much has changed in the history of science over the last fifty years. The subject matter looks remarkably similar – papers on the history of institutions, communication technology and genetics all continue to be written about in the Journal and elsewhere. But a detailed reading … reveals an entirely different approach….

One of the things that James notes is that four out of the five contributors to Issue 1 were scientists. In 1962 there were only a few tiny enclaves of professional historians of science. Today, although the discipline is still not large, the vast majority of articles in the BJHS are by academics working in history, history of science and science studies departments. The journal was a sign of this nascent professionalisation.

The change in the content of the BJHS thus chiefly reflected the way in which professional historians of science sought to differentiate their approach from what came before. In particular there was a rising interest in the social, cultural and economic contexts in which science and technology were developed and used. As a result, there was a reduced focus on the specialist technical content of scientific publications.

There are other changes. For example, Andrew Gregory, examining “Greek astronomy and its debt to the Babylonians”, notes that the last century saw a gradual shift away from a “great cultures” understanding of the development of science, to one that takes interest in a wider range of cultures. Historians now take note of the many routes through which knowledge has been transmitted, and have developed an interest in these cultures for their own sake, rather than purely for that of developing a story of progress from great civilisation to great civilisation.

As with so much academic research, the BJHS is not free to access. University libaries usually subscribe and members of the BSHS receive a print subscription and digital access to the whole 50-year back catalogue. Profits are shared between the publisher, Cambridge University Press, and the Society. It is a reasonable model compared to some, since it benefits the discipline as well as CUP, and there will, increasingly, be Research Council-funded research that will need to be made publicly accessible.

It seems a good omen that the Society and CUP should have decided to mark the anniversary by making a selection of articles open access. The list has been put together by two eminent former editors of the journal,Simon Schaffer and Janet Browne, and there are some corkers.

Ranging from the 1970s to 1990s, they show where history of science has headed since 1962. To pick a few, there is Hugh Torrens’presidential address on Mary Anning, Anne Secord on artisans and gentlemen corresponding on natural history in the 19th century, J.R.R. Christie considering big picture historiography of science, Steven Shapin looking at Robert Boyle’s self-fashioning and Deborah Warner asking “What is a scientific instrument?“

There is much in these physical and digital pages that is worth revisiting. It continues to provide food for thought, despite changes in fashion and developments in scholarship. Here’s to BJHS’s next 50 years!