Category Archives: History

Supping With The Devil

A short note on my latest reading – ‘The Jasons’ by Ann Finkbeiner.

jasons

The book tells the true story of a group of US scientists, ‘The Jasons,’ who still to this day get together for six weeks or so every summer to analyse defence and security issues, make reports, and propose technical solutions and further work to the US government.

The Jasons were, and are, real ‘A -List’ intellectuals from the worlds of physics, chemistry and biology. They choose the problems they are able and inclined to work on, and are self-selecting of new members – apparently without government interference.

The first Jasons were drawn from the Manhattan project pool, in the age of Dr Atomic; names like Edward Teller and Hans Bethe.

I’m not going to repeat the background: here is a NY Times review of the book and the Jason’s Wikipedia entry. But a few points stuck with me:

Ideas – the shear out-of-the-box / lateral thinking, call it what you will; these guys were having serious fun with serious issues. It’s not something the Jasons are most famous for, but Nick Christofilos’s idea in the 1960s to build one long continuous runway across the USA, so the Russians couldn’t pin down SAC aircraft, tickled me. He also pushed for beam weapons and ‘electron cloud’ defensive umbrella shields; the seeds of Regan’s SDI – however impractical and misguided. He proposed an Extremely Low Frequency (ELF) communication system for submarines, to deliver six words a minute at 25Hz; that’s a 7,400-mile wavelength requiring an antenna 8,500 miles long. One of the interviewees in the book says the system was built – wires were laid !

Motivation – there doesn’t seem to be one factor. The intellectual challenge – sure, but Finkbeiner puts patriotism high on the list too. Several Jasons have described a feeling of practical usefullness, a wish to expand their science into applied technology, to become engineers – multi-disciplinary at that. This touches on the differences between scientists and engineers….and other groups, which I find fascinating.

Despite a crying need for co-operation, there is still today much structural (e.g. funding) and cultural resistance to the inter-disciplinary ethos (I speak as an engineer who served time on the commercial dark side and now hangs out with scientists). As a related aside, check out this recent Los Alamos Study.

Of their time? Born of an acute Cold War terror, the founding Jasons’ revulsion to some of the military projects they got involved with, and the price they might pay in academic and popular reputation, was more than countered by their contemplating the result of inaction. Some Jasons felt they’d made ethical trade-offs, the magnitude of which wasn’t clear to them until it was too late. Are we in the same situation today? If you are a scientist, would you commit to work in total secrecy on projects the results of which might never be published?

And while ‘The Jasons’ deals with the great and the good of an academic elite, were not the dilemmas they faced and the decisions they made in many ways similar to those facing thousands of lesser known scientists and engineers who work in the defence industry?

 

Update 7/7/2011

Also of interest: article in Imperial Magazine on war and innovation (download pdf)

Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, George?

The sun is shining, the outside doors are open, and from the window of the Royal Society library I can see the tops of trees along the Mall.

Michael Lemonick is introduced by the RS's Felicity Henderson
Michael Lemonick is introduced by the Royal Society's Felicity Henderson (photo, thanks Sven Klinge)

Today, at this first in a season of lunchtime talks at the RS, I’m learning from  Michael Lemonick some things I never knew about William and Caroline Herschel.

You can hear the audio and video (slides) yourself on the RS podcast page.  Lemonick’s book ‘The Georgian Star’ is published by W.W.Norton.Co.  In the meantime, this short commentary.

Michael Lemonick at the Royal Society (photo Sven Klinge)
Michael Lemonick at the Royal Society (photo, thanks Sven Klinge)

Sir William Herschel is best known as the discoverer of Uranus, a planet that did indeed in the days of William’s sponsor George III go by the popular name of George or ‘Georgium Sidus’ to be precise.  But discovering light blue planets that spin at a funny angle is only part of William’s and his sister Caroline’s  story.

Having moved to London from Germany, William Herschel the music teacher was enthralled by the stars he saw overhead whilst travelling between clients.  Disappointed with the telescopes of the day, he started to build a whole series of his own that would culminate in a 4ft mirrored, 40 ft long giant sponsored by the King himself.

William Herschel (photo WikiCommons)
William Herschel (photo WikiCommons)

Joined by his sister in Bath, both Herschel’s were professional astronomers in the pay of the King, making Caroline the first ever professional female astronomer (he on £200pa, she as ‘assistant’ on £50pa).

Between them they discovered 3000 galaxies, and Caroline alone identified 8 comets.  Uranus was mistakenly declared a comet on its discovery in 1781.  Impressively, the Herschel star charts were still in practical use into the 1950s and 60s.

catherine_herschel
Caroline Herschel

The Herschel’s were amongst the first astronomers to take an interest in the structure and evolution of the universe, rather than following the more practical motivations of the time – like enabling better navigation at sea.  William tried to measure stellar distance by the parallax method, but failed due to equipment sensitivity.  He was more successful at plotting out the shape of our galaxy – the Milky Way.

Herschel's plot of our galaxy (image WikiCommons)
Herschel's plot of our galaxy (image WikiCommons)

William Herschel is in some ways the father of infra-red astronomy, having discovered the infra-red region of the spectrum from its warming effect on bottles of liquid; he called them ‘calorific rays’.   As Lemonick pointed out, there seems some injustice in the naming of the James Webb space telescope due to launch in 2013, which will work predominantly in the IR spectral range (there is  a William Herschel telescope already on the Canary Islands) .

And lastly – I never knew this.   It was the common belief of the time, shared by Herschel, that all the planets were inhabited, with the sun just another planet – albeit a particularly bright golden one.

The logic extended to a belief that the luminescent surface of the sun was the visible top side of clouds and, charmingly, that sunspots were holes in the cloud through which – presumably with a powerful enough telescope – one could view ‘sun people’.    Those were the days…..

Buon Compleanno Galileo – “Eppur si muove”

“And yet it moves” – supposedly the rider Galileo Galilei added to his confession to the Inquisition when questioned about the earth’s movement around the sun.

And clock hands move too – across timezones.  That makes it comfortably still 15th February in my equal most favouritistical country, the USA –  so,  HAPPY BIRTHDAY GALILEO!

To tell you all about him:  heeeeeeeere’s Carl…..

Royal Institution Speaker Calls for an End To Culture Wars

Yesterday evening at the Royal Institution, I watched the respected biographer and academic Richard Holmes make an empassioned plea for an end to the ‘two cultures’ rift between science and the arts – a reference  to the term coined by CP Snow in his Rede Lecture of 1959.

Coleridge with his biographer, Richard Holmes, at the RI last night.  Photo Sven Klinge
Coleridge with his biographer, Richard Holmes, at the RI last night. (Photo Sven Klinge)

In a packed auditorium, familiar as the venue for the annual Christmas Lectures, Holmes challenged his hosts to do their bit by including humanities speakers as a fixture in the RI lecture programme.   He certainly held the historical high ground, sharing a daiz occupied in another age by Sir Humphrey Davey, Michael Faraday and significantly the poet Samuel Coleridge.

Faraday at the Royal Institution
Faraday at the Royal Institution

Dipping into his new book The Age of Wonder, Holmes used the lives and achievements of explorers like Sir Joseph Banks and the romantic polymath Erasmus Darwin (grandfather to Charles) to illustrate an age when science and art moved together to their mutual benefit.  He continued through the lives of the Herschels: from William and Catherine and the discovery of Uranus, to Catherine’s formative influence on the young John Herschel.  Then on to Humphrey Davy and Michael Faraday, finishing with Charles Darwin in the mid-nineteenth century.   Readers who enjoyed hearing about Joseph Banks’s culturally sensitive integration activities in this earlier post on the Otaheite Dog, will find more revelations in the same vein in Age of Wonder.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Holmes  bemoaned the lack of general access to source texts, including Banks’s Endeavour Journal and Darwin’s Botanic Garden – another sign of the literary/science imbalance of two cultures thinking.  Both of these works are wonderful pieces of literature as well as scientific documents.   The Botanic garden is a compendium of virtually all 18th century science expressed as poetry, in a format where the footnotes are as inspiring as the main text.    The good news is that both are available online.

Richard Holmes (Photo courtesy Sven Klinge)
Richard Holmes (Photo courtesy Sven Klinge)
Age of Wonder
Age of Wonder

Holmes believes that if there there was one event more than any other that influenced Snow’s proclamation on the two cultures, it was the horrific association of science with the atomic bomb.   An audience member blamed the divide in the UK on the arts/science choices students were forced to make at A-Level.   Whatever the reason, Holmes’s comments are a timely introduction to a week in which the two cultures theme figures large, with as part of the London Consortium’s Art and Science Now Programme,  a mix of all-day conference sessions and receptions  scheduled at the Wellcome Institute on Thursday, the Science Museums’s Dana Centre on Friday, and the  Tate Modern Art Gallery on  Saturday.  More on those later.

UPDATE:  My report on the Art and Science Now ‘Two Cultures’ event is HERE

End Of An Icon?

It was sad to hear the news today that Waterford Wedgwood, the company formed from an amalgamation of Waterford glass and Wedgwood pottery, has fallen into administration.

The name Wedgwood, and its most characteristic and recognised Jasper Ware products, are well known icons of the British pottery industry.   Perhaps less well known are the links between the founder of Wedgwood pottery, Josiah Wedgwood, and the Darwin family – including Erasmus Darwin, the inspiration for this blog.

vase
Wedgwood's Portland Vase

As discussed in this earlier post, Erasmus and Josiah were close friends and core  ‘Lunar Men’.  The two exchanged ideas and letters on a range of topics from canals to pyrometers,  Erasmus bringing his chemistry knowledge to bear in developing new colours for pottery.   He later designed a windmill for grinding  pigments at Wedgwood’s factory at ‘Etruria’.

Wedgwood’s daughter Susannah gave Erasmus music lessons and, by the by, came to marry his son Robert, establishing a trend maintained by Charles Darwin when he married his first cousin Emma, the daughter of Josiah (II).

Portland Vase by Wedgewood at the Huntingdon Gallery, San Marino
Portland Vase at the Huntington Gallery, San Marino CA

Wedgwood’s most famous pottery design is the ‘Portland Vase’, a reproduction in Jasper Ware of a piece of (probably) Roman cameo-glassware.  In 2003, something of a controversy blew up regarding the true age of the vase, one which, as this Guardian article explains, science was not able to unravel.

Portland Vases are still being made at Wedgwood but, priced at £4893, are evidently not moving in sufficient quantity to save the business.  When Erasmus received one of the first of these technically challenging pieces, he characteristically proceeded to analyse and document the various Roman scenes; he dedicates 7 pages of text and 4 fold-out drawings to it in his Botanic Garden of  1791.

Update 5 Feb 2012  Wedgewood Museum to close (In the Guardian) Link HERE

 

Christmas Feast at the Athenaeum Club

One short post as Christmas Eve draws to a close on the west coast of America.

And a flavourful evening it’s been too, in both the culinary and scientific senses; for tonight I dined at CalTech’s Athenaeum Club in Pasadena, California.

Athenaeum in Pasadena
Athenaeum in Pasadena

The first club dinner in February 1931 was attended by Albert Einstein, Robert A. Millikan, and A. A. Michelson; the club has since hosted the likes of Richard Feynman (physicist), David Baltimore (biologist) and Maarten Schmidt (Astronomer).   I got through the door on the strength of my father-in-law’s double qualification as Caltech graduate and former Jet Propulsion Lab (JPL) employee.

(Chemical) Abstract Dining in the Athenaeum Library
(Chemical) Abstract Dining in the Athenaeum Library

I’ve eaten in the main dining room before, but tonight was especially interesting as we were hosted in one of the more private library rooms.   That meant I got to enjoy the somewhat surreal experience of tucking into my prime rib surrounded by the last fifty years’ worth of Chemical Abstracts; food for thought as it were….groan.

Food for thought
Food for thought

Clearly time to stop, take the indigestion tablets, and go to bed.

Merry Christmas.

Christmas Presents

With Christmas upon us, reflect if you will on how the greatest pleasure can result from the simplest of gifts.  Babies, and children below the age of two, invariably delight more in a present’s packaging than its content; and things don’t improve much with age.

firstchristmascard1
World's First Christmas Card

Nor do value and satisfaction correlate (value is in any case an alien concept to many children).   A wind-up torch at £20 is of moderate interest to my young nephew; but far more engaging is the squishy polythene tube,  filled with a shimmering emulsion and impossible to hold, at £1.50.

Unsurprisingly, you won’t be hearing any appeals for simplicity from the toy industry.  If Amazon UK’s Top 10 toy list is anything to go by, it’s going to be a Christmas in front of the   monitor for many households.  Six of the ten favorites are either game console or game related, three are iPoddy things, and, worryingly for a nation already rushing to obesity, the number five slot is taken by a chocolate fountain.  Also selling well are various robotic animals, Wall-E related goods, and the ubiquitous Guitar Hero.

That’s a pretty technological Christmas then.  How did people ever get by without all this stuff?  Cue the nineteenth century Christmas……

Transistors, integrated circuits, and laser technology were absent from the Victorian toy maker’s toolkit; but in the latter half of the nineteenth century, science and technology based toys and ‘fancy goods’ were, as today, a staple draw for vendors at Christmas time.   They appeared in the special seasonal catalogues of vendors with names we have long forgotten: Theobald & Co. of Kensington, Shoolbred & Co on the Tottenham Court Road, Parkins & Gotto of Oxford Street, and the Economic Electrical Supply Company on the Edgeware Road.   More familiar, and still to be found on Regent Street today, is Hamley’s – then ‘Hamley’s Model Doll and Toy Warehouse’ .  With roots going back to 1760 Holborn, the firm was well established by1849, when a Henry Charles Harrod opened a small grocery store in London’s Knightsbridge district.

Animatronics were the rage in the 1880’s.  Customers to Parkins  & Gotto, if sufficiently motivated by the mechanised smoking fisherman that greeted them at the entrance, could take away their own mechanical wonder in the form of an elephant, capable of walking with children on its back; theirs for £20.  Hamley’s also offered animated animals and birds, some with sound effects; and a mechanical fish that could swim in water.   One of the more complex devices involved a clockwork polar bear chasing a sailor up a ladder, with another sailor fighting ‘the brute’ off (indulge in a modern vision with Palin and McCain substituting for the sailors).  Theobald’s offered an electrified clock case that gave a shock when opened.  Toys based on optical effects were popular, like the zeotrope, that relied on persistance of vision to give the impression of continuous moving images; and the Rainbow Bubble, a demonstration of Newton’s Rings between soap bubbles.

Zeotrope
Zeotrope

Indoor fireworks, indeed fireworks in general, were a popular Christmas treat. Pharaoh’s Serpents, known to us perhaps as ‘snakes in the grass’, ejected copious combustion products in the form of sinuous worms.   Mid-nineteenth century health and safety pundits, popularly perceived as lax by today’s standards, warned of the toy’s perilous main ingredient –  hydrated mercuric sulpho-cyanide.   We might note, with some irony given how global trade later developed, one contemporary journalist’s observation that: “this plaything has had its day in this country, although the number sent to China and Japan is said to be enormous.”    How we chuckled.

Other firey stocking fillers of the Victorian age, guaranteed to turn any modern health & safety inspector apoplectic,  included  Flash Paper – a commercial spin-off of Schonbein’s recent invention of Gun Cotton.  Big deal, flash paper is available today; but not so Crocodiles Tears or Larmes de Diable – which produced a beautiful light show when thrown into water; what else from beads of potassium metal in a water soluble coating.

Magic Photographs were another entertaining Christmas novelty.   Popular in the 1880’s, these were featureless white papers yielding an image when moistened with water.    Made by treating silver images that had been developed, fixed, but not toned, with mercury bichloride, an invisible image of white silver chloride on white mercury chloride was produced.  The image could be revived by soaking the paper, which included a backing sheet impregnated  with sodium hyposulphite, in ordinary water – magic!

And finally – as today, toys were seen as educational; but, perhaps anticipating the worries today’s parents feel when their kids pull away from them in matters digital, there were concerns.   This quote, from an 1866 edition of the Lancet, comments on the educational value of toys, while playfully alluding to the danger that an over-inquiring mind might present to the establishment:

“If the word “science” mean that which is known, and if the term “knowledge” indicate that which is demonstrated and understood, then a child who comprehends the true story of any half dozen of the new scientific toys would be a serious antagonist to tackle in a discussion. It is probable, however, that the rising generation is content with the charming results, and inclined to fight shy of all explanations. This is lucky for pastors and masters who might be rather bothered by close questioning………”

Happy Christmas all  !


Oldest Animal

UK newspaper ‘The Independent’ today featured this spine tingling story about what is probably the world’s oldest animal, and reminding us that man doesn’t hold all the cards – especially when it comes to longevity.

A Galapogos tortoise (photo WikiCommons)

I gave Nippy, the world’s oldest gibbon, a mention earlier this year when he passed away at almost 60 years of age. Now we find there is actual photographic evidence that a giant tortoise from St.Helena has probably lived to more than 175 years. That would make ‘Jonathan’ the world’s oldest living animal.

Of course there are trees and funghi that have lived much longer, but without resorting to the fantasy of Tolkien’s noble ‘Ents’, its not the same thing.

Ancient sequoia……not the same thing (photo WikiCommons)

The last excitement we had in the same vein was the death of the Galapagos tortoise ‘Harriet’, who reached 175 years spot-on, and the accolade she may have owned the oldest eyeballs to have formed an image of the living Charles Darwin.

Roast Dog and Aquatint

In 1769, James Cook visited the island of Otaheite, or modern Tahiti, to observe the transit of venus.

And these are the Otaheite Dog and Wolf, or at least 1788 aquatint renditions of them, made with some license if the awkward stance and anthropomorphic gaze are to be believed;  but let that not distract from their story.

Acquatint of the Otaheite Dog by Charles Catton (Tim Jones's collection)
Acquatint of the Otaheite Wolf by Charles Catton (Tim Jones's collection)

Drawn from life, engraved, and published by Charles Catton in his ‘Animals, Drawn From Nature and Engraved in Aqua-tinta‘, in 1788, the prints are technically interesting as representing the first use of aquatint for natural history illustration.

Catton started life as a coach painter, expertly representing animals in heraldry, and achieving the rank of coach painter to George III. Later in his career he helped document animals observed by adventurers like John White, who travelled to the South Seas in 1787, and whose ‘A Journal of a Voyage to New South Wales’ featured Catton’s picture of an Australian kangeroo.  Like most artists at this time,  Catton didn’t actually travel with the explorers, but worked from live and dead specimens sent home from the New World expeditions.

Catton's Kangeroo for John White

A contemporary advertisement for the journal contains a statement on accuracy that, applied to the Otaheite dog, is indefensibile by modern standards:

“The Public may rely, with the most perfect confidence, on the care and accuracy with which the drawings have been copied from nature, by Miss Stone, Mr. Catton, Mr. Nodder, and other artists; and the Editor flatters himself the Engravings are all executed with equal correctness, by, or under the immediate inspection of Mr. Milton.”

Despite their failings, Catton’s aquatints were an honest attempt to represent reality.  What they lack, with the animals drawn dead and out of context, is any essence of the beasts: be that energy, poise, or sloth.

Catton’s Otaheite dog and wolf look similar, which is intriguing given John White made the same observation of their Australian counterparts:

“This animal is a variety of the dog, and, like the shepherd’s dog in most countries, approaches near to the original of the species, which is the wolf, but is not so large, and does not stand so high on its legs.

The ears are short, and erect, the tail rather bushy; the hair, which is of a reddish-dun colour, is long and thick, but strait. It is capable of barking, although not so readily as the European dogs; is very ill-natured and vicious, and snarls, howls, and moans, like dogs in common.

Whether this is the only dog in New South Wales, and whether they have it in a wild state, is not mentioned; but I should be inclined to believe they had no other; in which case it will constitute the wolf of that country; and that which is domesticated is only the wild dog tamed, without having yet produced a variety, as in some parts of America.”

Note the language: “approaches near to the original of the species”.  Some concept of evolution clearly existed way before Darwin published his 1859 Origin of Species.

Joseph Banks
Joseph Banks

The London Natural History Museum’s beautiful ‘Voyages of Discovery’ describes the Pacific crossing made by James Cook, Sir Joseph Banks, and Sydney Parkinson on the Endeavour, including their visit to Otaheite. What it fails to mention is the Otaheite dog and, more importantly – how to cook it.  For that we must turn to primary sources.  In ‘A Journey of a Voyage to the South Seas‘, Sydney Parkinson describes how civilised Englishmen came to share the Otaheite locals’ penchant for tasty roast dog:

fire“These people also are fond of dog’s-flesh, and reckon it delicious food, which we discovered by their bringing the leg of a dog roasted to sell. Mr. Banks ate a piece of it, and admired it much. He went out immediately and bought one, and gave it to some Indians to kill and dress it in their manner, which they did accordingly. After having held the dog’s mouth down to the pit of his stomach till he was stifled, they made a parcel of stones hot upon the ground, laid him upon them, and singed off the hair, then scraped his skin with a cocoa shell, and rubbed it with coral; after which they took out the entrails, laid them all carefully on the stones, and after they were broiled ate them with great goût; nor did some of our people scruple to partake with them of this indelicate repast. Hav-ing scraped and washed the dog’s body clean, they prepared an oven of hot stones, covered them with bread-fruit leaves, and laid it upon them, with liver, heart and lungs, pouring a cocoa-nut full of blood upon them, covering them too with more leaves and hot stones, and inclosed the whole with earth patted down very close to keep in the heat. It was about four hours in the oven, and at night it was served up for supper: I ate a little of it; it had the taste of coarse beef, and a strong disagreeable smell; but Captain Cook, Mr. Banks, and Dr. Solander, commended it highly, saying it was the sweetest meat they had ever tasted; but the rest of our people could not be prevailed on to ate any of it.”

And that about wraps it up for the Otaheite Dog.  Yummy.

Fireworks (and the Very Useful Application of Bishops)

As we approach the 5th November, many people in the UK will be considering which firework party to attend. But on the night, they probably won’t be thinking too hard about why they’re standing out in the cold, gripping a baked potato, and “oohing” and “aahing” to the explosive delights. Because the British public have been doing this for a while – 403 years to be exact, since that fateful day when a bunch of disgruntled catholics tried unsuccessfully to vapourise King James I and the English parliament. There you have it: gunpowder, treason and plot.

Thankfully, science as a social construct goes beyond applying the physical consequences of rapid combustion under containment to the government of the day. Centuries before Guido Fawkes got his catholic knickers in a twist, enterprising chemists were delighting expectant crowds at fireworks displays.

Vauxhall Gardens Fireworks - 1800s

A popular 18th and 19th century venue for fireworks was the Vauxhall Gardens pleasure park in London. While the elaborate promenades, bandstands, and the ‘firework temple’ have all disappeared, youngsters can still be found unwittingly (and illegally) maintaining the firework tradition on the patch of public park that remains, as this picture from 2003 shows.

Fireworks - Vauxhall Gardens 2003. Photo: Tim Jones

The manufacture of fireworks has always been a risky business. Factories typically comprise many small and separated work units, such that if one goes up in smoke the remainder are isolated from the blast. This aerial photograph well illustrates the layout at the now defunct Standard Fireworks plant.

Fireworks manufacturies do not make for good neighbours, as this 1858 newspaper report of a terrible accident in central London illustrates (interestingly the year before Vauxhall Gardens’ final closure). While regrettable, the event deliciously opportuned some wry social commentary towards the religious establishment and aristocracy of the day.

Also of interest:

Coke and Borg’s Biography of Vauxhall Gardens (Guardian review by PD Smith here)