Oct 31

Infection

This blog post is one of an on-going series arising from the AHRC-funded project Metamorphoses: Gaming Art and Science with Ovid. The project pairs up an artist (Sarah Craske, research fellow at the Centre for the History of the Sciences, University of Kent) and a scientist (Simon Park, Department of Microbial and Cellular Sciences, University of Surrey) to work on a 300-year-old copy of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The rules of the game are that Simon and Sarah may pursue any research questions, and produce any research output, so long as they agree on it. Charlotte Sleigh (Centre for the History of the Sciences, University of Kent) acts as referee and commentator on the process from a third, neutral perspective.

Thursday 16th October: ITV Meridian want to do a feature on the project. Sarah and Charlotte are available for filming, which takes place at Kent. Sarah and Charlotte are both separately concerned that the journalist may want to ask questions about Ebola, since one of the possible research avenues is to culture diseases that may have gathered on the book’s pages.

Sarah asks Simon, could there be Ebola on the book? Simon reassures her that as Ebola was only discovered in 1976, the book is highly unlikely to have come into contact with the virus during its extended history. Also, he points out, viruses require a host in order to stay viable. They have to grow in an animal; you can’t grow them (as you can a bacterium) on an agar gel.

Viruses are indeed pretty fragile, and don’t survive for long at all outside of bodily fluids, or on dry surfaces like the pages of a book. Our copy of Metamorphoses has been through major epidemics of measles and smallpox, but these diseases are caused by viruses and will not have left any viable fragments of DNA on the pages. For all their power to kill and terrify, viruses require human beings (or other organisms) in order to exist.
But it’s still interesting to think about the power of a book to infect. Back in the eighteenth century the most ‘infectious’ book was reckoned to be Tom Paine’s pamphlet Rights of Man (1791) which, it was thought, would infect its readers with a lust for a French-style revolution in Great Britain. Paine was tried and convicted in absentia for seditious libel, and sentenced to death.

Right now, we can think of two scary sources of contagion, one a virus (Ebola) and one a text (Islamic radicalisation on the Internet). Both require a medium in which to exist, multiply, and infect. In both cases that medium has elements of nature, and culture, and politics. For Ebola the nature part is a question of physical transmission; the culture and politics determine the health care organisations of affected countries, and the differential media accounts whereby one dead Texan is worth as many column inches as a thousand dead Sierra Leonians. For Islamic radicalisation, we could talk about scientific, psychological factors that predispose its jihadi converts to brainwashing, as well as the political and cultural conditions that give succour to the movement.
No sensible person would deny that both these types of infection should be wiped out; nor could such a person deny that that the full ability to achieve this comes from a hybrid of knowledge that is cultural and political as well as scientific.

Oct 13

Wunderkammer: autumn programme for the CHOTS reading group

Wunderkammer is the Centre for the History of the Sciences‘ reading group. For those who don’t already know, it is held fortnightly during term time, on odd weeks. This term we’ll meet in the back room of the Unicorn Pub on St Dunstan’s at 18:00. Here is the programme for the autumn term. Some readings are available online, but hard copies of all of them are made available in the office of the School of History. All are welcome to come along. Contact me if you have any questions or problems in getting hold of the readings.

 

14 October (Week 3): Time and Longitude as Popular (History of) Science  introduced by Rebekah Higgitt

  • Rebekah Higgitt, “The Contenders”, in Richard Dunn & Rebekah Higgitt, Finding Longitude: How Ships, Clocks & Stars Helped Solve the Problem of Longitude (Collins, 2014), pp. 34-65.
  • Lewis Dartnell, “Time and Place” & “The Greatest Invention”, in The Knowledge (The Bodley Head, 2014) pp. 248-86.

 

28 October (Week 5): Objectivity introduced by Charlotte Sleigh/Omar Nasim

  • Lorraine Daston & Peter Galison, “Epistemologies of the Eye”, in Objectivity (Zone Books, 2007), pp. 17-53.
  • Omar Nasim, TBC

 

11 November (Week 7): The Scientific Life  introduced by Ruth Wainman

  • Steven Shapin, “The Scientist and Civic Virtues”, in The Scientific Life: A Moral History of a Late Modern Vocation (University of Chicago Press, 2008), pp. 165-208.
  • Mike Savage, “1954: The Challenge of Technical Identity”, in Identities and Social Change in Britain Since 1940 (Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 67-92.

 

25 November (Week 9): Stepping Away from Social Construction? introduced by Rebekah Higgitt

 

9 December (Week 11): Beyond the Two Cultures introduced by Rebekah Higgitt/Charlotte Sleigh

  • Guy Ortolano, The Two Cultures Controversy: Science, Literature and Cultural Politics in Postwar Britain (Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 28-65
  • Second reading TBC

Jul 15

Charles Fort, WWI and Science

Or the uses of witchcraft in warfare —

But that, without the sanction of hypocrisy, superintendence by hypocrisy, the blessing by hypocrisy, nothing ever does come about —

Or military demonstrations of the overwhelming effects of trained hates — scientific uses of destructive bolts of a million hate-power — the blasting of enemies by disciplined ferocities —

And the reduction of cannons to the importance of fire crackers — a battleship at sea, a toy boat in a bathtub —

The palpitations of hypocrisy — the brass bands of hypocrisy — the peace on earth and good will to man, of hypocrisy — or much celebration, because of the solemn agreements of nations to scrap their battleships and armed aeroplanes — outlawry of poison gases, and the melting of cannon — once it is recognized that these things aren’t worth a damn in the Era of Witchcraft —

But of course that witchcraft would be practiced in warfare. Oh, no; witchcraft would make war too terrible. Really, the Christian thing to do would be to develop the uses of the new magic, so that in the future a war could not even be contemplated.

Later: A squad of poltergeists-girls — and the pick a fleet out of the sea, or out of the sky — if, as far back as the year 1923, something picked French aeroplanes out of the sky — arguing that some nations that renounced fleets, as obsolete, would go on building them, just the same.

Girls at the front — and they are discussing their usual not very profound subjects. The alarm — the enemy is advancing. Command to the poltergeist girls to concentrate — and under their chairs they stick their wads of chewing gum.

A regiment bursts into flames, and the soldiers are torches, Horses snort smoke from the combustion of their entrails. Re-enforcements are smashed under cliffs that are teleported from the Rocky Mountains. The snatch of Niagara Falls — it pours upon the battle field. The little poltergeist girls reach for their wads of chewing gum[1]

Charles Fort (1874-1932) is a problematic figure for the history of science. Associated with its latter-day admirers, the Forteans, his name has become a shorthand for the paranormal in general, and for UFOs in particular. Fort did suggest communication with other planets and other forms of life, but he never used the term UFO or posited anything concrete about alien travel to Earth. In fact he wasn’t very concrete about anything: his weird, wonderful and undefinable tetralogy from The Book of the Damned (1919) to Wild Talents (1932) hovers comically and philosophically between doubt and belief. It sketches wild ontologies to explain the anomalous phenomena he gathered, only to abandon them a book or even a paragraph later. The entire sequence may be read not, as Forteans do, as an argument for the existence of something, but as an argument (if that’s not too constricting a word) against something – namely, modern science.

This passage, almost a prose poem, is worth quoting at length for Fort’s rarely-celebrated literary qualities. It is also worthy of discussion because of its unusually moral, or political commentary – most of Fort’s critique of science is epistemological. Fort has been discussing, for 26 chapters, the possibility that some people possess ‘wild talents’, expressed through spontaneous combustion, or disappearances, or unexplained deaths. Now, in this passage, he entertains the idea that such talents have been, or might be, exploited in war: organised and focused with aggressive intent.

Or perhaps they already have been exploited in this way – the 1923 incident to which he alludes. Fort both believes and disbelieves it. Or, perhaps such talents might be exploited in future wars – that’s another story.

Witchcraft, in Fort’s text, reduces iron warships to ‘boats in bathtubs’. But then, as CHOTS historian Don Leggett has shown us, that’s exactly how the new hardware was tested scientifically[2]. In Fort’s reasoning: boats are already in bathtubs, therefore witchcraft is at work. (It never matters to Fort when he affirms the consequent, since he doesn’t believe it anyway.)

It’s a small step on to say that science is witchcraft. Witchcraft not for its magic, but for its malevolent intent. Yet at the same time, science, like religion, is the ‘suppressor of witchcraft’.

Of course science isn’t really witchcraft. But perhaps if contained within a system that separates from society, it functions as such. What a spell to cast, to make you think that a weapon is only a neutral piece of technology, used amiss.

The brass bands of hypocrisy: ‘celebrations’ of the First World War; sentimental indulgence and votes for trained hates around Europe —

The palpitations of hypocrisy: titillating horror of bayonets, dirty weapons not scientific. That today we have progressed to clean, scientific strikes —

The poltergeist girls, and boys, stick their wads of chewing gum under their chairs in the exam halls. They draw a deep breath and write their history essays on tanks.

 

[1] Charles Fort, Wild Talents (New York: Claude Kendall, 1932), pp. 310-11. Hypertext edited by Mr X, Consulting Resologist. http://www.resologist.net/talent27.htm

[2] Leggett, Don. “Replication, re-placing and naval science in comparative context, c. 1868–1904.” The British Journal for the History of Science 46.01 (2013): 1-21.

Jun 12

Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology

'Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology' exhibition at the Science Museum, London.

‘Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology’ exhibition at the Science Museum, London.

‘Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology explores how mental health conditions have been diagnosed and treated over the past 250 years.

Divided into four episodes between 1780 and 2014, this exhibition looks at key breakthroughs in scientists’ understanding of the mind and the tools and methods of treatment that have been developed, from Mesmerism to Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT) and Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) bringing visitors up to date with the latest cutting edge research and its applications.

Bringing together psychology, other related sciences, medicine and human stories, the exhibition is illustrated through a rich array of historical and contemporary objects, artworks and archive images.’

Just to be perverse and begin at the beginning, this write-up of Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology proposes to first consider solely the title of the Science Museum’s current attempt to bring the public up to speed on the sciences of the brain and mind (‘brain’ and ‘mind’ seeming to be more or less equivalent in the exhibitors’ ontological assumptions). This is because the name of the game here is slightly misleading, and for more than one reason.

First, to ‘maps’, of which I found none in the exhibition itself, mind-related or otherwise. Though the area set aside for Mind Maps is indeed sorted into helpfully colour-coded sections which chop up the last 234 years into manageable chunks (e.g. ‘From spirits to nerves, 1780–1810’, ‘Nervous exhaustion, 1880–1920’, etc.), these are not laid out any in any obviously logical way – and ironically, there is no map to help navigate them. Additionally, the blurb from the Science Museum website (see link below) claims there are ‘four episodes’ from history covered, while another page on the same site (via the ‘inside the exhibition’ link) says the ‘exhibition traces five significant moments’, and just to compound this confusion, I think I actually counted six sections, if the final ‘Into the future’ part is considered.

Second, another claim of the exhibition is that ‘these are not only stories about scientists and doctors, but also about their patients and the general public.’ This is certainly an admirable aim which sadly bears little resemblance to the reality of what is displayed, failing its billing in two ways – though the oft-overlooked perspectives of patients and public make commendable appearances, the focus is still largely on ‘great men’ and their ostensible breakthroughs, and even then, what are being presented are not really ‘stories’ but somewhat superficial anecdotes attached to a number of historical, material artefacts.

So, once the ‘maps’ and ‘stories’ in the title are dispensed with, we are left with something more like ‘Mind Materials: Vignettes from Psychology (and Related Sciences)’. Not as snappy I’ll admit, but it allows us to assess what is on display in a more honest and less hyperbolically expectant way. And in this light, the exhibition stands up far better.

Although as mentioned it’s not immediately clear where to start or how to follow the exhibits round Mind Maps, it is nevertheless a fascinating and stimulating collection which is rich enough to render other considerations moot. A looped video welcome from television journalist Samira Ahmed soon gives way to scattered display cases both large and small, some containing extremely striking objects. A huge early commercial Positron Emission Tomography (PET) scanner and its wealth of appended computer miscellany sit just next to the grotesquely eye-catching and complete dissected nervous system of a man, varnished directly onto a wooden board for teaching purposes in the late 17th century: in this juxtaposition of exhibits from either pole of the time-range covered, we see two very different ways of trying to get access to the interior workings of the nervous system.

Galvani-Reyes-Peschl-Science-2014

A display of Galvani’s scientific apparatus at the ‘Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology’ exhibition at the Science Museum, London.

Further on, key figures in the history of what are now called neurology and psychology are considered, not simply through their no doubt considerable intellectual contributions to knowledge production, but more via their materials, tools, inventions and practices. Thus we see Galvani’s Leyden jars for storing electricity, von Helmholtz’s early psychometric testing equipment, and even du Bois-Reymond’s fantastically named ‘Frog Pistol’ – does it even matter what this was for? I’m just glad it exists.

Chronologically later, as mind (or soul) and brain become ever more conflated, the line between artistic, scientific and technological objects grows appropriately blurrier, with Sherrington’s teaching model of a cat situated opposite a bizarre but beautiful little sketch of Freud by Dalí; or a cartoon self-portrait by a patient alongside their doctor at the Burden Neurological Institute in Bristol, this right next to devices used in the process of leucotomies from that same psychosurgically pioneering UK institution.

After a section on more recent developments in pharmacology, self-help and the continued but updated uses of electroencephalography (EEG), the exhibition ends (at least it did for me) with what purports to be its only ‘map’ – a large image taken from the Human Connectome Project, and perhaps the real reason the exhibition is titled the way it is. This picture, one of many captured for the project via Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI), is supposed to represent ‘the nerve pathways that connect different parts of the brain’ – but to me, though very pretty, it looks less like a map and more like a totally ruined slinky. Whilst highly intriguing, the explanatory power of such images is questionable to say the least when taken away from its background context, the very history of visualising the interior of brains and nerves – not to mention minds – so amply highlighted by the entire exhibition itself. I hope that for most people this one undoubtedly arresting image at Mind Maps’ (possible) end-point isn’t the sole one taken away as its most interesting, never mind its most important.

Romén Reyes-Peschl

Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology isrunning from 10 December 2013 – 26 october 2014 at the Science Museum, London. Admission to the exhibition is free.

http://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk/visitmuseum/Plan_your_visit/exhibitions/mind_maps.aspx

May 20

CHOTS Away Day: The Historic Dockyard, Chatham, 9 May 2014

Members of the University of Kent's Centre for the History of the Sciences meet outside The Royal Historic Dockyard, Chatham, Kent.

Members of the University of Kent’s Centre for the History of the Sciences (CHOTS) meet outside The Royal Historic Dockyard, Chatham, Kent.

It was in the mid-sixteenth century when the Royal Navy first used the riparian areas surrounding the River Medway for the construction, repair and storage of its ships, with the first warship, the Sunne, launched in 1586. From that time until now the dockyard on the Chatham shore has been in near-constant use building ships (and later submarines), with the impressive dry docks housed in large timber structures at the centre of activity. Today, just over 20 years after the Naval Dockyard was closed by Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative government, the site is a museum run by the Chatham Historic Dockyard Trust, who preserve and use the Dockyard for displaying objects and materials connected with the history of Naval shipbuilding and its associated industries.

Our day started with lunch at the on-site restaurant before we met Alex Patterson, the head of collections, for our personal guided tour around as much of the 80 acre site (with its over 100 buildings) as we could fit in. After a short explanation on some future plans of the Dockyard, where we learned that most of the timber buildings were constructed using de-commissioned warships after they were taken out of service, Alex led us into No.1 Smithery, where the forging, pipe-bending and general metalworking took place. This was the latest building to have been restored and used for displaying the shipbuilding practices that took place there, along with exhibiting maritime treasures such as a large collection of ship models, an art gallery and other unrelated objects (like the Gruffalo exhibition!).

Next up was one of the highlights of the day – 3 Slip. Built in 1838 by the Royal Engineers, it was Europe’s largest wide span timber structure and is still a remarkable edifice. Based on the upturned hull of a ship, 3 Slip was one of seven such buildings where ships and submarines were built, repaired and maintained throughout the centuries. It is now used to store really big things from the collections of the Historic Dockyard and the Royal Engineers Museum, and as such contains a wide variety and mix of different objects. From a midget submarine, railway carriages, military vehicles, steam-powered presses and rolling machines for use in the construction of ships and other metal working tools, the Slip contains everything you might want or need to start building a submarine or supply a small army!

A quick dash across the deck of HMS Gannet (1878), past a Royal Navy helicopter and around HM Submarine Ocelot (1962) led us to the bow of HMS Cavalier (1944), a Second World War naval destroyer. Cavalier is moored in the Victory Dock, where arguably the most famous naval warship of all time, HMS Victory, was built between 1759 and 1865. Opposite Victory Dock is the building once used for steam-heating and bending the large oak beams used to build wooden ships like the Victory. Our guide told us that each beam had to be heated for one hour for every inch it was thick, and with lengths of oak up to 8 inches used in the construction of these ships, this process could be very long indeed!

We were then shown around the ‘Steam, Steel & Submarines: The Royal Dockyard Story, 1832-1984’ exhibition, which contained the last figurehead to be used on the prow of a naval ship (the Admiral Rodney), a number of fine maps and models of the Dockyard site, and a customised Jolly Roger flag used by a Second World War British submarine crew. A brief tour of the archive and library followed, before we headed down into the stores where collections are kept, catalogued and where items are still being discovered.

The tour ended in the Victorian Ropery (dating back, somewhat confusingly, to Georgian times). This quarter-mile long building was, and still is, used to make rope on a commercial basis for ships, businesses and for any other reason one could need rope. A truly impressive space, being in the Ropery makes you realise just how important Britain and British industry was on a global scale over the last 500 years – A fitting end to a revealing and fascinating day… when can I go back?

Dr Oliver Carpenter

May 01

Wunderkammer: summer programme for the CHOTS reading group

Wunderkammer is a history of science reading group run by the Centre for the History of the Sciences. For those who don’t already know, it is held fortnightly during term time, usually on odd weeks. We meet in the back room of the Unicorn Pub on St Dunstan’s at 17:30. Here is the programme for the summer term. Some readings are available online, but hard copies of all of them are made available in the office of the School of History. All are welcome to come along. Contact me if you have any questions or problems in getting hold of the readings.

. 

13 May (Week 25): Science in the First(?) Media Age (introduced by Charlotte Sleigh)

 

27 May (Week 27): Geomythology (introduced by Joydeep Sen)

  • Adrienne Mayor, The First Fossil Hunters: Paleontology in Greek and Roman Times (Princeton University Press, 2000), Introduction and Chapter 1, pp. 3-10, 15-53.
  • W. Bruce Masse, Elizabeth Wayland Barber, Luigi Piccardi and Paul T. Barber, ‘Exploring the Nature of Myth and its Role in Science’, in Luigi Piccardi and W. Bruce Masse (eds), Myth and Geology (Geological Society of London, 2007), pp. 9-28.

 

10 June (Week 29): Rethinking Gentlemen & Technicians in the Early Royal Society (intro by Noah Moxham)

  • Mordechai Feingold, ‘Robert Hooke: Gentleman of Science’, in Michael Cooper and Michael Hunter (eds), Robert Hooke: Tercentennial Studies (Ashgate, 2006), pp. 203-217.
  • Michael Hunter, Robert Boyle: Between God and Science (Yale University Press, 2009) [pages TBC].

 

Apr 30

Science fictions and the history of science

For those who are fans of sci-fi, or interested in how sci-fi plays into the history of science, there are some things you might want to take a look at.

Firstly, this Friday there is a free lunchtime lecture at the Royal Society on “The Royal Society and science fiction”, being given by Professor Farah Mendlesohn, who is head of department for English, Communication, Film and Media at Anglia Ruskin University. The blurb reads:

The lone (mad) scientist is a common trope in science fiction, but hidden away is a fascination with secret and semi-secret societies who work for the future of all mankind. This talk will look at the representation of the Royal Society in science fiction and fantasy as fact, fantasy and metaphor.

For those who can’t make it to London, the talk should be available, like the Society’s other events, as a video afterwards.

Cover of the newly published edition of The Brick Moon

Cover of the newly published edition of The Brick Moon

Secondly, yesterday saw the republication of the 1870-71 short story, The Brick Moon, by Edward Everett Hale. It is being published by Jurassic London, along with a new story, Another Brick in the Moon, by Adam Roberts. Details of the publication are available here, and also from this post by Richard Dunn, Senior Curator at Royal Museums Greenwich, who co-wrote the introduction with Marek Kukula, Public Astronomer at the Royal Observatory Greenwich.

The original story is about an artificial satellite, the Royal Observatory, the Greenwich Meridian and possible solutions to the problem of finding longitude at sea. It is a perfect accompaniment to the Longitude Season, just getting underway in Greenwich.

Finally, as well as a major exhibition on the longitude story (opening in July), this season also includes an art and fiction response. Already open at the Royal Observatory is Longitude Punk’d, an intervention in, or takeover of, the pre-existing longitude galleries. Author Robert Rankin and other artists and makers have come up with a whole range of more or less ludicrous or plausible ideas about solving longitude or alternative realities in which clock maker John Arnold made himself clockwork legs and Astronomer Royal Nevil Maskelyne built an airship and hoped to contact parallel universes – just in case they knew his longitude. Read more from the curator here.

Mar 28

Graduate Student Profile: Jessica Miller

Science Comma talks to Science Communcation alumna, Jessica Miller.

Jessica graduated from the University of Kent in 2013 with an MSc (Distinction) in Science Communication.

Jessica graduated from the University of Kent in 2013 with an MSc (Distinction) in Science Communication.

1)      Why did you choose this course?

I have always enjoyed science; however, I realised during my BSc in Biological Sciences at the University of Exeter that laboratory work wasn’t for me. During the third year of my undergraduate degree I took a module in Science Communication. During this module we took an assignment where we wrote a New Scientist style article and also studied how science can influence policy making. I’ve always enjoyed writing and the Master’s course provided me with an opportunity to bring together my background in science, with my interest in writing and communication.

2)      What was good about the course?

Our course was very small which provided an opportunity for shared discussion and debate around the topics we were studying; this enabled us to delve deeper into the topics and to understand them more fully. Dan and Charlotte are always available if you need support or guidance and will make the time to see you. Additionally, in many of the assignments, we were given the freedom to explore the communication of our personal scientific interests. During my undergraduate studies I specialised in biomedical sciences and the Master’s course allowed me to pursue these topics further.

3)      What did you enjoy about it?

My two favourite modules in the course were called ‘Science @ Work’, which explored the presentation of science in the media and ‘Visualising Science’, which provided us with the opportunity to study the visual communication of science and the meaning and interpretation we apply to images of science. During these modules I wrote two of my favourite assignments during the course. The former explored the presentation of the MRSA scares in the UK media at the beginning of the last decade and the latter focussed on the use of imagery in anti-smoking advertisements. Both of these essays combined my interest in health and disease, with the skills I had developed in science communication.

4)      What do you do and how does it use the skills you learnt on the degree?

In October 2013 I began a one year internship with a Brussels-based NGO called the European Food Information Council (EUFIC). I work in the EU Projects Communications department, where I assist in producing communications materials for EU-funded projects relating to food and nutrition. The job is incredibly varied − one day I could be writing a science brief and editing a podcast, the next, I may be helping to organise a conference and drafting copy for a project’s social media site. I also have had opportunities to travel abroad for my job and in January I gave a short presentation at a kick-off meeting for one of our projects in Crete.

The Master’s course broadened my perspective on the relationship between science and society and helped me to consider how scientific ideas are formed, interpreted and used. This has been incredibly useful for my work. For example, one of the projects I work on looks at the topic of personalised nutrition ­− the design of more individual, healthier diets, based on dietary choices and genetic expression. This work has many ethical and legal implications, including the collection, storage and use of personal genetic data and is one example of how scientific techniques and concepts are used by society.

5)      Anything else to consider, for people considering the course?

One of the core strengths of this course is the opportunity to discuss and debate the ideas and topics which are covered in the seminars. Make the most of this and be prepared to share and express your views. It will help improve your oral communication skills and will enable you to get the most of the course.

6)      Any other advice for people looking to pursue a career in Science Communication?

It is always a good idea to build up experience outside your studies. This doesn’t just look good on your CV and provides you with new skills; it can also help you decide what career path you wish to pursue. During my Master’s I gained experience in a museum and in a medical research charity. Although the museum work allowed me to communicate directly with the public, I realised this sector wasn’t for me. In contrast, I found the charity work enormously enriching – both in terms of developing my skills and in guiding my career choices.

My second piece of advice is to develop your practical social media skills. It can time and effort, especially if you cannot obtain professional experience; however, you could set up a Tumblr or Twitter account, where you can post content about the latest research in the areas of science which interest you. Try following similar social media pages and learn how to communicate science through social media. If you can develop practical social media skills, this will enable you to stand out in the job search.

Mar 20

Reclaiming Thalidomide Victims’ Lives: Post-war powered arm prosthesis

Pneumatic Arm Prosthesis, 1964

Pneumatic Arm Prosthesis, 1964, on display at the Science Museum, London.
Photographed by Marina Spiteri

The 1960s witnessed ever-more complicated limb prosthetics, moving beyond the unrealistic, aesthetically unappealing wooden limbs of the early twentieth century, towards modernistic, beautifully functioning and natural-looking designs. This defined the transformation of post-war science. The pneumatically-powered prosthetic arms (pictured) were designed for Thalidomide victims, yet fit with and shaped trends in post-war science as it broadened its outreach; impacting upon post-war citizens’ lives, becoming economically useful and, of course, growing aesthetically futuristic.

Powered prostheses, first developed in Germany in 1915, were rarely used between the wars, as D. S. Childress notes in his article, ‘Historical Aspects of Powered Limb Prostheses’. However, after the Second World War, the British government’s full employment policies meant amputee ex-soldiers, of which there were thousands, needed these prosthetics in order to work, leading to increased demand for sophisticated prosthetic limbs. The need to re-integrate them into working society and radically improve their lives provided science with the opportunity to present itself as beneficial to all citizens, regardless of disability. This shaped notions that science should shift from elitism and become relevant to everyone, as embodied in medical science through the 1948 NHS Act. These technologies also economically assisted the state by contributing to overarching processes of efficiently rebuilding Britain with a healthy work-force. The particular prosthetic development photographed intrinsically shaped notions of post-war science as focused on economic viability and usefulness; its pneumatic functioning, whereby cylinders of CO₂ were compressed to cause movement, avoided the costliness of batteries but still functioned efficiently. The development of prosthetic limbs was therefore one manifestation of the post-war movement away from the destruction, dullness and deprivation of war, towards an exciting, shining technical age defined by new scientific relevance, economic viability and accessibility.

The context behind this example of powered arm prosthesis exemplifies how technologies previously employed militarily were being adapted to shape post-war citizens. The late fifties and early sixties saw over ten-thousand children born globally with physical disabilities due to thalidomide use during early pregnancy. These children faced stigmatization and inability to work in adulthood, and only science’s new civilian focus could transform their lives. This powered arm was the first to use D.C. Simpson’s innovative technique of extended physiological proprioception, meaning it was controlled by protraction-retraction, elevation-depression shoulder movements. Research scientists developed the technology at Edinburgh’s children-focused Princess Margaret Rose Hospital. From 1964, it was fitted under the clothes of sixty children from different backgrounds, explaining the child-sized proportions of this artefact. Adult-sized versions were developed as the children were followed into adulthood, as research was carried out into the developing product’s suitability. Not only the accessibility and non-elitist nature of science in the period, but also the new focus on paternalistic, government-funded scientific research, was consequently shaped through this artefact. Here, technology was providing the best possible quality of life to these otherwise disadvantaged children; centralised, post-war technology clearly now had a humanitarian role, particularly in medical science. This medical equipment also addressed scientists’ concern to maintain their revered post-war status; the Thalidomide scandal significantly undermined their authority, and their ability to efficiently right their wrongs was the profession’s attempt to reassert their reliability– in effect claiming citizens could still trust in new-age science as the gateway to the future.

As demonstrated by this pneumatic arm, post-war scientific technologies incorporated exciting, modern designs and used new materials. Pre-war prosthetics had been constructed with plain wood, often looking unrealistic and merely ‘filling the gap’ left by missing limbs. Although a far-cry from the remarkable sleekness of contemporary models, even here in 1964, we see robotic, space-age looking metal, moulded in a complex weave of wires to form the arm, and newly-developed polymers shaping the visible hand. The miraculous realism of the hand, which, amazingly, even showed the human palm’s intricate wrinkles, assisted in portraying science as transcending the basic needs of prosthetics and really focusing on the individual. Science’s new employment of plastic was genuinely revolutionising pre-war products. The hand would have been on show in the public sphere too, exhibiting this miracle of bioengineering and shaping notions of science as a life-changing phenomenon for the post-war citizen. The functionality of science and its new interest in the individual is also evident here. Designed for children, the arm was flexible, being loosely secured around the midriff, catering for rigorous play and helping post-war amputees fit into normal life. Again, this shaped views of science as entering the post-war citizen’s life for their benefit in a shiny, new way.

Prosthetic limbs do not jump out as exciting and innovative, or having shaped post-war science. Nonetheless, the employment of new materials and its use in the civilian sphere for thalidomide victims helped portray science as humanitarian, economically efficient and futuristic. Reciprocally, it helped to re-integrate the disadvantaged into society, bringing post-war science into their lives and showing its relevance to the individual.

Marina Spiteri

Second Year Undergraduate

Member of the Science, Power and Politics in the Twentieth Century module

Further Reading

[1] D. S. Childress, ‘Historical Aspects of Powered Limb Prostheses’, Clinical Prosthetics & Orthotics, Vol.9, Iss.1, (1985), pp. 2 – 13

[2] ‘Thalidomide’, Science Museum, Brought to Life, http://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk/broughttolife/themes/controversies/thalidomide.aspx

[3] M. J. Dolan, ‘Upper Limb Prosthetics’, NHS Lothian,

http://www.smart.scot.nhs.uk/index.php/bioengineering-1963-2013-home-page/upper-limb-prosthetics

[4] H. H. Kessler and E. A. Kiessling, ‘The Pneumatic Arm Prosthesis’, American Journal of Nursing, Vol.  65, Iss. 6, (June 1965), pp.114 – 17

Mar 04

The Festival of Britain (1951): Shaping citizens for science

Festival of Britain Guide Book 1951

This guide to the 1951 Festival of Britain, as well as two contemporary documentaries, Festival in London (1951) and Brief City (1951-2), show that the Festival clearly inspired contemporary notions of science and the post-war citizen. These sources also show that such notions inspired the development of the Festival itself.

They show the importance of modernity in post-war life. For example, according to Brief City, the buildings at the South Bank were very modern in design: the dome was the largest in the world at that time, meaning that its construction involved the use of the cutting-edge of architectural design. Yet Festival in London also linked modernity to traditions and continuity, as Britain was at a “moment poised between the past and the future”. The Festival celebrated products made using the skills of British workmen. The commentator stated that such products were renowned around the world, which invokes a sense that Britain was still able to compete at an international level. This was necessary as a result of Britain’s reduced status as a world power in consequence of the decline of the Empire, and the impact of World War Two, which demonstrated the new limitations to Britain’s military prowess. Therefore, in the eyes of the producers of this film, what the post-war citizen needed to do in order to aid the successful reconstruction of Britain after the war was actually to recognise the best aspects of the country and simply continue these to the best of their ability. The progressive nature of science assisted post-war citizens in this end. Collective input was also required to improve upon Britain’s past greatness.

A major way in which to achieve this was through science. Jacob Bronowski, the author of the guide, also emphasised the need to look to the future whilst looking to the past for inspiration. For him, this involved understanding the efforts of great British scientists such as Darwin and Newton, so that their work could be built upon so that citizens come to understand even more about the world around them. His guide would have helped to popularise science as it was educational in nature; when describing complex notions such as the recycling of cells by the body, he used simple analogies so that they would be more easily understood: “The body is like a town; each year some people die and some are born, yet the population remains the same”. As the historian Ralph Desmarais argued, Bronowski wished to counter the bad reputation of science which had developed in consequence of the use of the atomic bomb on Japan at the end of World War Two. Bronowski thus emphasised the magic and wonder of science in order to appeal to as wide an audience as possible, and also demonstrated the usefulness of science in all areas, ranging from industry, for example, by coming to a better understanding of atoms, we can create alloys, which can have more diverse uses than unalloyed metals, to medicine, for instance by helping to develop medicines and techniques to treat illnesses. In his guide, he proved that science was vital to an understanding of ourselves and the world around us. Consequently, its role was as significant in peacetime as in wartime.

Another crucial aspect of science for Bronowski was its internationalism. As he stated, the knowledge obtained by scientists belongs “to all mankind”. As F.M. Leventhal stated, the intended international elements of the Festival had to be removed due to a lack of funding, but Bronowski still managed to demonstrate in importance of internationalism: whilst science was key to the development of the nation, scientific knowledge should still be exchanged with other nations in order to learn as much as possible. As internationalism had been a highly significant element of science since the time of H.G. Wells, this again demonstrates Bronowski’s use of the Festival to promote his own interpretations of science and to emphasise the best aspects of the subject. Therefore, continuity was also important with regards to science.

However, the documentary Brief City demonstrated a fear that such modernity and continuity might not be so easily achieved. The sombre, dramatic music and desolate scenes shown at the beginning of the film, images of the scene of the Festival after it had finished, invoke a sense that the high hopes and dreams for the nation might have been too optimistic, and also that science did not in reality hold the promise that it had been granted. Visitors, who were shown to be extremely happy in Festival in London, might merely have been caught up in the moment, with little firm adherence to the notions represented at the festival. These fears were perhaps a response to the huge problems that had been prevalent in Britain since the 1930s: the Great Depression, malnutrition, and declining British international status, and perhaps also due to some of science’s negative achievements during World War Two, including the atomic bomb. The virtues of Britain, past and present, might not have been enough to inspire post-war citizens to accept science and contribute to the best of their ability towards change and the reconstruction of the nation.

These sources, therefore, show how the Festival was used to instil a more favourable opinion of science in the post-war citizen, and proved that science had been, and would continue to be, vital to the success of the nation. Post-war citizens were expected to contribute towards this end by continuing British traditions and using them in tandem with science. However, the more negative depictions of British life following the Festival in Brief City suggest that, although the Festival invoked a sense of hope for the future, it in no way guaranteed that the future, as it was represented, would occur.

Lisa Jermy

Second Year Undergraduate

Member of the Science, Power and Politics in Twentieth Century Britain module

 

 Further reading:

  • Brief City, dir. by Maurice Harvey and Jacques Brunius (Massingham Productions Ltd., 1951-2), http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/films/1945to1951/filmpage_bc.htm
  • Bronowski, J., Exhibition of Science, South Kensington: A Guide to the Story it Tells, (H.M. Stationery Office, London, 1951)
  • Conekin, Becky., The Autobiography of a Nation: The 1951 Exhibition of Britain, Representing Britain in the Post-War World, (Manchester University Press, Manchester, 2003)
  • Desmarais, Ralph., ‘Jacob Bronowski: a humanist intellectual for an atomic age, 1946-56’, The British Journal for the History of Science, 45 (December 2012), pp. 573-589
  • Festival in London, dir. by Philip Leacock (Central Office of Information for Commonwealth Relations Office, 1951), http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/films/1945to1951/filmpage_fil.htm
  • Forgan, Sophie., ‘Festivals of Science and the Two Cultures: Science, Design and Display in the Festival of Britain, 1951’, The British Journal for the History of Science, 31 (June 1998), pp. 217-240
  • Leventhal, F.M., ‘”A Tonic to the Nation”: The Festival of Britain, 1951’, Albion: A Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies, 27 (Autumn 1995), pp. 445-453