History without Historicizing

One of the most important things which I have learned about process during my time studying history of science is that looking back, one must be careful not to be judgmental of the quality of past science. Despite something currently being considered wrong, it was at some point a fact. Just as former facts have come and gone, modern ones can do the same and therefore we cannot take our assumptions and apply them to other ages. This can come across in the tone used to describe something and likewise with the terms used. Last week, John discussed in class the coining of the term “scientist.” To us, this seems like about as basic a word as they come. One who performs art is called an artist; one who performs science is called a scientist. Yet, even this had to be invented. It was in 1833 that William Whewell first used the word, an umbrella term which was more general than the terms for people in certain fields. This neologism was coined just 4 years before Victoria was crowned queen, which adds to the appropriateness of studying Victorian “science” versus more individual or specific fields. Despite the existence of the term, however, there was not a sudden change in the scientific community, by which I mean that no such “scientific community” existed. There were guilds and societies for each of the specific fields but nothing that united them all. Thus, at what point did “scientist” go from being a word that was in existence to one that was in use? A jump into everyday terminology would be a big one to gap. At which point does “science” stop being an anachronism?

Blood, Sawdust, and Vampires

The medical walking tour featured many amazing things but I was most struck by the operating room. While other places certainly had a lot of history behind them and were full of remarkable remnants of bizarre medical practices, it was only in the operating room that they became real. Seeing a bone saw in a glass compartment is one thing, but holding it up to someone’s leg is quite another. Having learned and read about 19^th century surgical practices in the past, I knew the general gist of the process—no anesthetic, no antiseptic, and not great odds of survival. It was a sign in the corner of the attic-operating room which I found most interesting and considered an aspect which I had never thought of: how to deal with both blood lost and blood loss. The sign read:

The floor boards of the operating area form a false floor, being laid upon joists which rest upon the true floor: the 3 inch (7.5cm) space between is packed with sawdust. This would ensure that any blood which reached the floor was absorbed before it could pass into the church below. A mop and bucket in the corner would be used to clean up after the operation.

The image of blood-soaked sawdust is pretty horrible to thing about, but worse is the image of blood dripping onto people in the church downstairs. Blood loss must have been excessive during these operations, which though speedy were radical. I am currently about half-way through reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula, in which there are several scenes featuring blood transfusions. The fictional tale makes it seem to be a highly personal and threatening procedure, even referring to it as an operation. Further, there is no mention made of the blood clots and other problems that we now know to be issues when non-compatible blood types are mixed. With all the blood loss that was apparently a part of operations during the time, I am curious to learn more about transfusion possibilities, procedures, and problems.

Survival of the Fittest: Darwin and Wallace

The tour through the Natural History Museum rare books collection was really amazing—I am always slightly embarrassed by how much I enjoy seeing a book that was annotated by so-and-so or printed in such-and-such a year, and this was a veritable treasure trove. Who knew there was a copy of On the Origin of Species printed in Braille? What I found most interesting, however, (and what this post is really focused on) was the presentation of Wallace to the group. He was discussed as a man who was unfairly treated by historians and one who constantly was left in the shadow of Darwin. Taking into account the facts that I am a product of those same historians (could I even say one of them?) and that I have never taken a course exclusively on Wallace but have taken a few concerning Darwin, I don’t think that Wallace has been treated quite as unjustly as it was made to seem the other day. Surely, Wallace should have every claim to co-discoverer, or even discoverer, of the theory of natural selection. He did publish the article first and Darwin’s somewhat questionable tactics to get around this fact are often skimmed over or ignored. Yet, what is said is just as important as what is not said and it was the latter that I was thinking of during our talk.

Yes, Wallace’s paper was published in 1858 and Darwin’s book in 1859, but what happened after that? Wallace remained on the outskirts of society, at times even of the world, and to my knowledge did not publish again on the subject. What Wallace did do, however, was become involved in some strange and mystical aspects of 19^th century science, including spiritualism, mesmerism, and phrenology. These might have been seen as scientific at the time, but they were certainly a far cry from his work in evolution. Meanwhile, Darwin spent the remaining years of his life publishing work after work delving deeper into various aspects of natural selection only touched upon in Origin. For all intents and purposes, Darwin was branding himself, if you’ll forgive the 20^th century language. He found a niche in the scientific realm and was able to thrive and specialize in it. Darwin has become the great figure in the field not because he founded it (although this should not be totally taken from him when crediting Wallace), but because he made himself into the expert on the subject. In not discussing the period of Wallace’s life between 1858 and his death in 1913, much was left out of our presentation which would help explain the one-sided history that we know now.

Microscopes and the Great Exhibition

Today’s mini project fit into class this morning so that it was clear that we were supposed to have found ads for various medical tonics and quack’s schemes that may or may not have helped patients seeking a panacea. Yet, while researching it last night, this was not clearly the goal. So, I ended up with a document that caught my eye for a different reason: an advertisement for the “Microscopal Exhibition” at the Crystal Palace. An ad necessarily from 1851, the year of the Great Exhibition, it describes the things that can be seen magnified far beyond their normal size, including a frog’s circulatory system, insects in water, and ‘the lively flea, chained by the neck with a silver chain.” Despite (or because of?) the fact that I failed horribly last time I tried to put a collar on a flea, even today this sounds pretty cool, if a tad 6^th-grade-science-lab.

Yet, at the time, this was the cutting edge of technology and a clever business man was charging two pence for the spectacle of seeing live mites in cheese which looked “as large as black beetles” despite the fact there were probably a lot of live mites in a lot of hunks of cheese sitting in non-refrigerators all over London. The Great Exhibition was meant to be a display of power by Albert and England, featuring wonders and cutting-edge technology from around the world, and then even better things from the Brits. Although this ad doesn’t give any information about how many people actually paid the money to see this particular exhibit, it is safe to say that of the 6 million people who went to the Exhibition, quite a few did. It is pretty remarkable, therefore, to consider how much of what was once spectacle has become common and what was once a rarity in an exhibit is now an expected feature of every science lab.