History of Science最新文献

The nineteenth century is often remembered as the age in which steamships and steam locomotives connected the globe with a speed and efficiency previously unseen. Although contemporaries frequently equated the use of these rapid-transportation technologies with the progress of civilization, their expansion also had some negative consequences. Among these was the more rapid and widespread diffusion of many diseases along transportation corridors as nonhuman stowaways on ships and trains. Most infamously, cholera extended its reach globally by appropriating and using modern transportation routes in ways that were unintended and disastrous for their human creators. This article goes beyond the technological optimism of the time, and its now widely accepted pitfalls, and expands the scope of Anatolian provincial modernization to incorporate a complex web of interactions between human and nonhuman agents in the context of technological use and nonuse. It argues for a complex cocreation of modern conditions between these agents, rather than seeing these conditions as solely produced by human actions or environmental limits. Among the different human agents, interaction greatly increased between Ottomans and European states and their citizens. As the Ottoman Empire became increasingly integrated into global transportation and economic networks, it also experienced the spread of cholera. In the Anatolian interior, cholera epidemics spread along the railroad. I examine the 1893 cholera epidemic in Eskişehir, an important junction town on the Ottoman Anatolian Railroad, which had just begun operation the previous year. The railroad was widely celebrated for its intended uses: tremendously increasing the speed and transportable volume of cargo and enabling travel for military and nonmilitary purposes. The cholera epidemic, however, was enabled by the unwitting use of the railroad lines as conveyors of sickness and death. Furthermore, human attempts to stop cholera's spread by interrupting train service undermined the technology's intended uses but also demonstrated the availability and potential effectiveness of nonuse as an option.

There existed a tradition of mimetic experimentation in the late nineteenth century, whereby morphologists sought to scale down sublime natural phenomena to tabletop devices in the laboratory. Experimenters constructed analogs of the aurora, attempting to replicate the colors and forms of the phenomenon with discharge tube experiments and electrical displays, which became popular spectacles at London's public galleries. This paper analyses a closely allied but different kind of imitation. Between 1872 and 1884, Professor Karl Selim Lemström (1838-1904) attempted to reproduce the aurora borealis in all of its complexity atop four mountains in northern Finland. Crucially, his "artificial aurora" was to materialize at the same scale as the original phenomenon and in its natural habitat in the polar atmosphere. With his experiment Lemström hoped to uncover the workings of the aurora and the electrical currents that he believed were always present within the atmosphere; his epistemological framework was one of learning by making. This paper sheds light on the broader problem of what it meant to authentically replicate a phenomenon that remained largely enigmatic, and, most importantly, how this replication could be verified. This prompts a discussion as to whether model experiments needed only to appear visually similar to the objects they purported to imitate, were required to preserve their form, or needed to be materially identical in order to the original to be identified as legitimate "reproductions" in the late nineteenth century.

This special section on technology-in-use in the last decades of the Ottoman Empire strives to strengthen the dialogue between historians of the late Ottoman Empire and historians of technology interested in the way technologies were appropriated, domesticated, and used beyond the great centers of technological innovation, with a special emphasis on all kinds of users, including nonhuman ones. The ruling elites of this multiethnic and multireligious land empire strove to instrumentalize new inventions and techniques to improve the empire's geopolitical standing, but in an era marked by interimperial competition, by the rise of nationalism, and by the global expansion of capitalism, the circulation, appropriation, and use of these innovations and techniques proved far beyond their control. From steamships and railways to electricity, the focus is on the ways technologies were appropriated and used in the Ottoman Empire, how they were integrated into the everyday lives of the people, and how they shaped and were shaped by profit-making and political agendas, which reveals the rapid and enormous impact of new technologies on peripheral regions of the world.

Between 1893 and 1908, at least six private consortia and the municipality of Baghdad were denied permission to operate steamships on the Tigris and Euphrates on the grounds that a navigation concession had already been granted to the Privy Purse (hazine-i hassa). The Privy Purse justified its insistence on monopoly with reference to the emerging ideology of development (nafia), though its ideas about the role of steam technology in nafia stood in contrast to those of private investors and other Ottoman bureaucrats. Working from the hazine-i hassa's planning memos and contracts, I show that the private treasury envisioned a primarily agrarian future for Iraq, with steamships serving agricultural aims. As such, it focused on envisioning future steamships rather than managing its existing fleet, while still acquiring dominance over land and transport in the region. However, private companies and officials contested this vision, emphasizing the materiality of existing steamships, their roles in trade, and the potential for commercial competition as a means of resisting British imperial encroachment. After the Committee of Union and Progress came to power in 1908, the Privy Purse was disestablished and its properties reverted to the Finance Ministry, opening a brief window during which steamship companies were encouraged to proliferate. Quickly, however, new comprehensive schemes were proposed, though with railways replacing steamships as the corollary to Iraq's imagined riches. Engaging questions about the futurity of both infrastructure and capital, as well as those posed by the technology-in-use paradigm, this article suggests that the hazine-i hassa is a rich starting point for analysis because the scalar and ontological tensions it embodied highlight how different kinds of futures interact in development planning to affect the present.

Can climate be Chinese, and if so, then how? Drawing on personal writings, popular discourse, and scientific reports, this essay considers the work of early Chinese meteorologists in relation to the revolutionary national politics of the early twentieth century. Historians of China have established that nationalism motivated the pursuit of meteorology and other natural sciences, but I advance the more radical position that there was no clear distinction between the practice of climate science and the political ideology that motivated it. With special attention to the career and legacy of Zhu Kezhen from the Xinhai Revolution through World War II, I test this thesis in two arenas: Chinese meteorologists' production of spatial knowledge, and their production of cultural knowledge. The nation was integral to the questions, methods, and analyses of atmospheric science, which helped to reify the Chinese nation-state.

This article focuses on the earlier encounters and uses of electricity, its technology, and its infrastructure to understand how electricity formed a contested terrain of politics among the city's varying actors, such as state officials, financial investors, and consumers, in late Ottoman Istanbul, roughly between the 1870s and early 1920s. I contend that people used electricity as a political tool in their everyday lives even before they could access it physically. Electricity skepticism during the reign of Sultan Abdülhamid II (1876-1909) increased Istanbul residents' inclination for an electrified future; the longer the sultan's prohibitions lasted, the more they fueled this inclination, causing problems about the use of electricity. In contrast to the previous regime's skepticism about electricity use, the Committee of Union and Progress (1909-18) administrators considered electricity a public service that a larger population could use rather than a source of energy for a small, privileged elite. The first urban-scale power plant was completed in 1914. However, the inability to import technical equipment and raw materials due to political and financial troubles caused by World War I (1914-18) and the Occupation Period (1918-23) hampered electricity production and consumption, causing serious problems in electricity use on public and private scales. Amid the wave of challenges, the city inhabitants witnessed numerous unpleasant encounters with electricity use; some perished in tram accidents, while others became criminals. At a time when much of society viewed electricity as a vital element for progress and economic growth, the prevalence of crowded trams, tram accidents, blackouts, and instances of electricity theft within the Ottoman capital called into question the notion of electricity as a technological promise and public good. Consequently, the initial enthusiasm for electricity's transformative potential waned due to tensions between expectations and daily realities, resulting in a cautious approach toward technological modernity.

What kind of people make good scientists? What personal qualities do scholars say their peers should exhibit? And how do they express these expectations? This article explores these issues by mapping the kinds of virtues discussed by American scientists between 1945 and 2000. Our wide-ranging comparative analysis maps scientific virtue talk across three distinct disciplines - physics, psychology, and history - and across sources that typify those disciplines' scientific ethos - introductory textbooks, book reviews, and codes of ethics. We find that, when inducting students into a discipline, evaluating peers, or codifying their professional standards, postwar American scientists routinely named virtues like carefulness, objectivity, and honesty. They applied such virtues not only directly to scholars' characters, minds, and attitudes (thereby equating virtues with personal qualities), but also to their methods, modes of reasoning, and working habits (in the form of what we call virtue-qualifiers). Strikingly, we find that physicists, psychologists, and historians drew upon largely similar repertoires of virtue. For all of them, scientific work required carefulness, thoroughness, and accuracy. Not all virtues, however, were equally important in all disciplines (notably objectivity), nor did each ethos-forming genre place equal emphasis on the directly personal nature of such virtues. All in all, our research establishes an extended framework for understanding the ways virtues remained present in postwar American scientific discourse writ large.

This article focuses on the history of the customs laboratories in the United States between the 1870s and the 1930s, focusing especially on the decades up to World War I. It pays attention to the various dimensions of these laboratories, in particular the context of their creation. The first customs laboratory was established in New York in 1878, and over the subsequent years, similar laboratories were set up across the country. The evolution of this network was influenced by factors such as the increasing specialization of these spaces, their geographic distribution, and changes in their organization and scope. The article also explores the types of imported merchandise analyzed in these labs; the roles of their staff, especially customs chemists, both within and outside these laboratories; their impact on the circulation of goods and in generating revenue from taxation; and the main challenges faced by customs chemists in adapting and standardizing their work. After discussing the necessity of customs laboratories in the United States, the article examines their progressive specialization, with a detailed study of the customs laboratory in New York. This laboratory was the largest and most significant due to its location and longevity. Finally, the paper considers the relationship between customs labs and the law, and how these spaces adapted to new challenges during the first third of the twentieth century.

In the eighteenth century, the sciences and their applications adopted a new attitude based on quantification and, increasingly, on a notion of precision. Within this process, instruments played a significant role. However, while new devices such as the micrometer, telescope, and pendulum clock embodied a formerly unknown potential of precision, this could only be realized by defining a set of practices regulating their application and control. The paper picks up the case of pendulum clocks used in eighteenth-century observatories in order to show the process of learning in the course of which the pendulum clock first became a precision instrument. By examining the results of an especially developed statistical analysis, conducted to compare the performance of eighteenth-century clocks, it highlights the diversity of conditions, attitudes, and manners of handling that are characteristic for the epoch. In this way, it underlines the necessity of standardization of timekeeping practices rather than exclusively focusing on the technological development of clocks. Ultimately, the paper discusses the role of makers and users in order to show the evolution of a "precision instrument."

In June 1928, Captain Barnett W. Harris, an amateur naturalist from Indiana, arrived in Zululand to experiment on wild animals with his invention - the mercy bullet. This "bullet"consisted of a hypodermic needle filled with anesthetic drugs that could render an animal unconscious - an early model of what is now known as the tranquilizer gun. The history of this gun typically begins with Colin Murdoch, a New Zealand pharmacist and veterinarian, who patented the invention in 1959. While largely absent in the archives, through tracing popular science publications and press, this article exposes a longer history of animal tranquilizers from an unlikely source. Tracing Harris's story allows this article to speak to different historical discourses that influenced his rise as a celebrated inventor, and later to his disappearance from the scientific arena. This article argues that debates about pain relief (for both humans and nonhuman animals) and developments in military technology at the turn of the twentieth century resulted in experiments with narcotic bullets, a precursor to this "mercy bullet moment." While hailed across the press as the man who might transform animal capturing into a humane practice, the workings of Harris's bullet remained ambiguous. Despite this, he promoted his invention through several lecture series and radio presentations to the American public in the 1930s, where elements of scientific showmanship can be observed. Overall, Harris's omission from the history of animal tranquilizing demonstrates the multiple contingencies that define a moment of scientific "success" - or, in this case, push some into relative obscurity.