Tag: history of science

Sep 21 2015

Book review: The Values of Precision edited by M. Norton Wise

valuesofprecisionThe Values of Precision edited by M. Norton Wise is a collection of essays from the Princeton Workshop in the History of Science held in the early 1990s.

The essays cover the period from the mid-18th century to the early 20th century. The early action is in France and moves to Germany, England and the US as time progresses. The topics vary widely, starting with population censuses, then moving on to measurement standards both linear and electrical, calculating methods and error analysis.

I’ve written some notes on each essay, skip to the end of the bullet points if you want the overview:

  • The first article is about the measurement of population, mainly in pre-revolutionary France. This was spurred by two motivations: firstly, monarchs were increasingly seeing the number of their subjects as a measure of their power and secondly, there was a concern that France was experiencing depopulation. In the 17th century the systematic recording of births, deaths and marriages was mandated by royal direction. In the period after this populations were either estimated from a count of “hearths” or from the number of births. The idea being that you could take either of these indirect measures and multiple them by some factor to get a true measure of population.
  • The second article is by Ken Alder, he of “The Measure of All Things” and is another trip to revolutionary France and their efforts to introduce a metric system of measurement. The revolutionary attempt failed but the system of standards they created prevailed in the middle of the 19th century but not without some effort. Alder highlights the resistance of France to metrification, and also how the revolution bred a will to introduce a rational system based on natural measurements rather than a physical object created by man. He also discusses some of the benefits of the pre-metric system: local control, the ability for workers to take a cut without varying price, connection to effort expended/quality. This last because land was measured in terms of the amount of grain used to seed it or the area one person could harvest in a day – this varies with the quality of the land.
  • Jan Golinski writes on Lavoisier (again from France at the turn of the Revolution) regarding “exactness” and its almost political nature. Lavoisier made much of his exact measurements in the determination of the masses of what are now called hydrogen and oxygen in producing a known mass of water. This caused some controversy since other experimenters of the time saw his claims of exactness in measurement to be mis-used in supporting his theory for chemical reactions. There were reasons to be sceptical of some of his claims, he often cited weighed amounts to more significant figures than were justified by the precision of his measurements and there are signs his recorded measurements are a little too good to be true. These could be seen as the birthing pains of a new way of doing science which didn’t just apply to chemical measurements of the time, but also to surveying and the measurement of population. These days the inappropriateness quoting of more significant figures than are justified by the measurement is drummed into students at an early age.
  • Next we move from France to Germany and a discussion of the method of least squares, and the authority of measurements by Kathryn M. Olesko. Characters such as Legrendre and Laplace had started to put the formal analysis of error and uncertainty in measurement on the map. This work was carried forward by Gauss with the method of least squares, essentially this says that the “true” value of a measurement is that which minimises the squared difference of all the measurements made of that value. It is an idea related to probability, and it is still deeply embedded in how we make measurements today and also how we compare measurement to theory. In common with events in France, the drive for better measurement came in Germany with a drive to standardise weights and measures for the purposes of trade. The action here takes place in the first half of the 19th century.
  • The trek through the 19th century continues with Simon Schaffer’s essay on the work in England and Germany on electrical units with a particular view to establishing whether the speed of light and the speed of propagation of electromagnetic waves were the same. This involved the standardisation of units of electrical resistance. It was work that went on for some time. Interesting from a practicing scientists point of view was the need for the bench scientist and instrument makers to work closely together.
  • The next chapter is a step away from the physical sciences with a look at life insurance and the actuarial profession in the first half of the 19th century. Theodore Porter describes the attitude of this industry to precision and calculation, noting that they fended off attempts to regulate the industry too tightly by arguing that there business could not be reduced to blind calculation. The skill, judgement and character of the actuary was important.
  • The Image of Precision is about Helmholtz’s work on muscle physiology in around 1850, he used an apparatus which showed the extension of a muscle graphically following stimulation, and measured the speed of nerve impulses using similar methods. The graphical method was in some senses less precise than an alternative method but it was a more compelling explanatory tool and provided for better understanding of the phenomena under study.
  • Next up is a discussion of the introduction of so-called “direct-reading” ammeters and voltmeters by Ayrton and Perry in around ~1870. This was an area of some dispute, with physicists claiming that determinations of volts and amps be made by reference to the basic units of length, time and mass. Ayrton and Perry were interested in training electrical engineers whose measurements would be made in environments not conducive to these physicist-preferred measurements. Not conducive in both a technical sense (stray magnetic fields, vibration and so forth) nor in the practical sense (an answer within 1 percent in 10 minutes was far superior to one within 0.5 percent in 2 hours).
  • As we approach the end of the book we learn of Henry Rowland, and his diffraction gratings, made at John Hopkins university. Rowland had toured Europe, and on his return set to making high quality diffraction gratings to measure optical spectra. This is a challenging technical task, to be useful a diffraction grating needs many very closely spaced lines of the same profile. Rowland sent out his diffraction gratings for a nominal price, making no profit, but did not reveal the details of his methods. It took many years for his work to be better, and even longer yet for better diffraction gratings to be available generally.
  • The collection finishes with the construction of mathematical tables, starting with a somewhat philosophical discussion of the limits of calculation but moving onto more pragmatic issues of the calculation and sharing tables. The need for these tables came original with the computationally intensive calculations for determining the longitude by the method of lunar distances. The 19th century saw the growth in mathematical analysis in a range of areas, spreading the need to make mathematical tables. Towards the end of the century machine calculation was used to help build these tables, and do the analysis they supported. Students of my generation will likely just about remember using tables of trigonometric and other functions, these days in my practical work they are entirely replaced by computer calculations done on demand.

There is a lot in here which will speak to those with a training in science, physics in particular. The techniques discussed and the concerns of the day we will recognise in our own training. The essays hold a slight distance from practitioners in this arts but that brings the benefit of a different view. Core to which is the way in which precision in measurement is a social as well as technical affair. To propagate standards of measurement requires the community to build trust in the work of others, this does not happen automatically.

I like this style of presentation, each essay has its own character and interest. The range covered is much larger than one might find in a book length biography, and there is a degree of urgency in the authors getting their key points across in the space allocated.

In this book the various chapters do not overlap in their topics and cover a substantial period in time and space with the editor providing some short linking chapters to tie things together. All in all very well done.

Aug 26 2015

Book Review: Stargazers–Copernicus, Galileo, the Telescope and the Church by Allan Chapman

stargazersIt’s been a while since my last book review here but I’ve just finished reading Stargazers: Copernicus, Galileo, the Telescope and the Church by Allan Chapman.

The book covers the period from the end of the 16th century, the time of Copernicus and Tycho Brahe, to the early 18th century and Bradley’s measurement of stellar aberration passing Galileo, Newton and others on the way. Conceptually this spans the full transition from a time when people believed in a Classical universe with earth at its centre, and stars and planets plastered onto crystal spheres, to the modern view of the solar system with the earth and other planets orbiting the sun.

This development parallels that in Arthur Koestler’s classic book "The Sleepwalkers”, however Chapman’s style is much more readable, his coverage is broader but not so deep. Chapman introduces a wealth of little personal anecdotes and experiments. For instance on visiting Tycho Brahe’s island observatory he recounts a meeting with a local farmer who had in his living room a marked stone from the Brahe’s observatory (which had been dismantled by the locals on Brahe’s death). Brahe was hated by his tenants for his treatment of them, a hate that was handed down through the generations. Illustrations are provided in the author’s own hand, which is surprisingly effective. He discusses his own work in reconstructing historical apparatus and observations.

Astronomy was an active field from well before the start of this period for a couple of reasons: firstly, astrology had been handed down from Classical times as a way of divining the future. To was believed that to improve the accuracy of astrological predictions better data on the locations of heavenly bodies over time was required. Similarly, the Christian Church required accurate astronomical measurement to determine when Easter fell, across increasingly large spans of the Earth.

The period covered by the book marks a time when new technology made increasingly accurate measurements of the heavens possible, and the telescope revealed features such as mountains on the moon, sunspots and the moons of Jupiter visible for the first time. Galileo was a principle protagonist in this revolution.

Amongst scientists there is something of the view that the Catholic Church suppressed scientific progress with Galileo the poster boy for the scientist’s case. Historians of science don’t share this view, and haven’t for quite some time. Looking back on Sleepwalkers, written in 1959 I noted the same thing – the historians view is generally that Galileo brought it on himself in the way he dismissed those that did not share his views in rather offensive terms. Galileo lived in a time when the well-entrenched Classical view of the universe was coming under increased pressure from new observations using new instruments. In some senses it was the collision with the long-held Classical view of the universe which led to his problems, the Church being more committed to this Classical view of the physical universe rather than to anything proposed in Scripture.

The role of the Church in promoting, and fostering science, is something Chapman returns to frequently – emphasising the scientific work that members of the Church did, and also the often good relationships that lay “scientists” of different faiths had with Church authorities.

Chapman introduces some of the lesser known English (and Welsh) contributors to the story. Harriet who made the earliest known sketches of the moon. The Lancashire astronomers, who made the first observations of the transit of Venus. John Wilkins whose meetings were to lead to the foundation of the Royal Society. He also notes the precedent of the Royal College of Physicians, formed in 1518. The novelty of the Royal Society when compared with earlier organisations of similar character was that the Fellows were responsible for new appointments, rather than them being imposed by a patron. This seems to have been an English innovation, repeated in the Oxbridge colleges, and Guilds.

Relating to these English astronomers was the development of precision instruments in England. This seems to have been spurred by the Dissolution of the monasteries. The glut of land, seized by Henry VIII, became available to purchase. The purchase of land meant a requirement for accurate surveying, and legal documents. Hence an industry was born of skilled men wielding high technology to produce maps.

I was distracted by the presence of Martin Durkin in the acknowledgements to this book, he was the architect of “polemical” Channel 4 documentary “The Great Global Warming Swindle”, so it cast doubt in my mind as to whether I should take this book seriously. On reflection Chapman’s position as presented in this book seems respectable, but it is interesting how a short statement in the acknowledgements made me consider this more deeply.

Overall, Stargazers is rather more readable than Sleepwalkers, not quite so single-tracked in it’s defence of the Catholic Church as God’s Philosophers and a different proposition to Fred Watson’s book of the same name, which is all about telescopes.

Jan 20 2015

Book review: Sextant by David Barrie

sextantThe longitude and navigation at sea has been a recurring theme over the last year of my reading. Sextant by David Barrie may be the last in the series. It is subtitled “A Voyage Guided by the Stars and the Men Who Mapped the World’s Oceans”.

Barrie’s book is something of a travelogue, each chapter starts with an extract from his diary on crossing the Atlantic in a small yacht as a (late) teenager in the early seventies. Here he learnt something of celestial navigation. The chapters themselves are a mixture of those on navigational techniques and those on significant voyages. Included in the latter are voyages such of those of Cook and Flinders, Bligh, various French explorers including Bougainville and La Pérouse, Fitzroy’s expeditions in the Beagle and Shackleton’s expedition to the Antarctic. These are primarily voyages from the second half of the 18th century exploring the Pacific coasts.

Celestial navigation relies on being able to measure the location of various bodies such as the sun, moon, Pole star and other stars. Here “location” means the angle between the body and some other point such as the horizon. Such measurements can be used to determine latitude, and in rather more complex manner, longitude. Devices such as the back-staff and cross-staff were in use during the 16th century. During the latter half of the 17th century it became obvious that one method to determine the longitude would be to measure the location of the moon relative to the immobile background of stars, the so-called lunar distance method. To determine the longitude to the precision required by the Longitude Act of 1714 would require those measurements to be made to a high degree of accuracy.

Newton invented a quadrant device somewhat similar to the sextant in the late 17th century but the design was not published until his death in 1742, in the meantime Hadley and Thomas Godfrey made independent inventions. A quadrant is an eighth of a circle segment which allows measurements up to 90 degrees. A sextant subtends a sixth of a circle and allows measurements up to 120 degrees.

The sextant of the title was first made by John Bird in 1757, commissioned by a naval officer who had made the first tests on the lunar distance method for determining the longitude at sea using Tobias Meyer’s lunar distance tables.

Both quadrant and sextant are more sophisticated devices than their cross- and back-staff precursors. They comprise a graduated angular scale and optics to bring the target object and reference object together, and to prevent the user gazing at the sun with an unprotected eye. The design of the sextant changed little since its invention. As a scientist who has worked with optics they look like pieces of modern optical equipment in terms of their materials, finish and mechanisms.

Alongside the sextant the chronometer was the second essential piece of navigational equipment, used to provide the time at a reference location (such as Greenwich) to compare to local time to get the longitude. Chronometers took a while to become a reliable piece of equipment, at the end of Beagles 4 year voyage in 1830 only half of the 22 chronometers were still running well. Shackleton’s mission in 1914 suffered even more, with the final stretch of their voyage to South Georgia using the last working of 24 chronometers. Granted his ship, the Endeavour had been broken up by ice and they had escaped to Elephant Island in a small, open boat! Note the large numbers of chronometers taken on these voyages of exploration.

Barrie is of the more subtle persuasion in the interpretation of the history of the chronometer. John Harrison certainly played a huge part in this story but his chronometers were exquisite, expensive, unique devices*. Larcum Kendall’s K1 chronometer was taken by Cook on his 1769 voyage. Kendall was paid a total of £500 for this chronometer, made as a demonstration that Harrison’s work could be repeated. This cost should be compared to a sum of £2800 which the navy paid for the HMS Endeavour in which the voyage was made!

An amusing aside, when the Ordnance Survey located the Scilly Isles by triangulation in 1797 they discovered its location was 20 miles from that which had previously been assumed. Meaning that prior to their measurement the location of Tahiti was better known through the astronomical observations made by Cook’s mission.

The risks the 18th century explorers ran are pretty mind-boggling. Even if the expedition was not lost – such as that of La Pérouse – losing 25% of the crew was not exceptional. Its reminiscent of the Apollo moon missions, thankfully casualties were remarkably low, but the crews of the earlier missions had a pretty pragmatic view of the serious risks they were running.

This book is different from the others I have read on marine navigation, more relaxed and conversational but with more detail on the nitty-gritty of the process of marine navigation. Perhaps my next reading in this area will be the accounts of some of the French explorers of the late 18th century.

*In the parlance of modern server management Harrison’s chronometers were pets not cattle!

Dec 28 2014

Book review: Maskelyne – Astronomer Royal edited by Rebekah Higgitt

MaskelyneOver the years I’ve read a number of books around the Royal Observatory at Greenwich: books about finding the longitude or about people.

Maskelyne – Astronomer Royal edited by Rebekah Higgitt is unusual for me – it’s an edited volume of articles relating to Nevil Maskelyne by a range of authors rather than a single author work. Linking these articles are “Case Studies” written by Higgitt which provide background and coherence.

The collection includes articles on the evolution of Maskelyne’s reputation, Robert Waddington – who travelled with him on his St Helena trip, his role as a manager, the human computers used to calculate the tables in the Nautical Almanac, his interactions with clockmakers, his relationships with savants across Europe, his relationship with Joseph Banks, and his family life.

The Royal Observatory with its Astronomer Royal was founded by Charles II in 1675 with the goal of making astronomical observations to help with maritime navigation. The role gained importance in 1714 with the passing of the Longitude Act, which offered a prize to anyone who could present a practical method of finding the longitude at sea. The Astronomer Royal was one of the appointees to the Board of Longitude who judged applications. The observations and calculations done, and directed, from the Observatory were to form an important part of successful navigation at sea.

The post of Astronomy Royal was first held by John Flamsteed and then Edmund Halley. A persistent problem to the time of Maskelyne was the publication of the observations of the Astronomers Royal. Flamsteed and Newton notoriously fell out over such measurements. It seems very odd to modern eyes, but the observations the early Astronomers Royal made they essentially saw as their personal property, removed by executors on their death and thus lost to the nation. Furthermore, in the time of Maskelyne the Royal Observatory was not considered the pre-eminent observatory in Britain in terms of the quality of its instruments or observations.

Maskelyne’s appointment was to address these problems. He made the observations of the Observatory available to the Royal Society (the Visitors of the Observatory) on an annual basis and pushed for the publication of earlier observations. He made the making of observations a much more systematic affair, and he had a keen interest in the quality of the instruments used. Furthermore, he started the publication of the Nautical Almanac which provided sailors with a relatively quick method for calculating their longitude using the lunar distance method. He was keenly aware of the importance of providing accurate, reliable observational and calculated results.

He was appointed Astronomer Royal in 1765 not long after a trip to St Helena to make measurements of the first of a pair of Venus transits in 1761, to this he added a range of other activities which including testing the lunar distance method for finding longitude, the the “going” of precision clocks over an extended period and Harrison’s H4 chronometer. In later years he was instrumental in coordinating a number of further scientific expeditions doing things such as ensuring uniform instrumentation, providing detailed instructions for observers and giving voyages multiple scientific targets.

H4 is a primary reason for Maskelyne’s “notoriety”, in large part because of Dava Sobel’s book on finding the longitude where he is portrayed as the villain against the heroic clockmaker, John Harrison. By 1761 John Harrison had been working on the longitude problem by means of clocks for many years. Sobel’s presentation sees Maskelyne as a biased judge, favouring the Lunar distance method for determining longitude acting in his own interests against Harrison.

Professional historians of science have long felt that Maskelyne was hard done by Sobel’s biography. This book is not a rebuttal of Sobel’s but is written with the intention of bringing more information regarding Maskelyne to a general readership. It’s also stimulated by the availability of new material regarding Maskelyne.

Much of the book covers Maskelyne’s personal interactions with a range of people and groups. It details his exchanges with the “computers” who did the lengthy calculations which went into the Nautical Almanac; his interactions with a whole range of clockmakers for whom he often recommended to others looking for precision timepieces for astronomical purposes. It also discusses his relationships with other savants across Europe and the Royal Society. His relationship with Joseph Banks garners a whole chapter. A proposition in one chapter is that such personal, rather than institutional, relationships were key to 18th century science, I can’t help feeling this is still the case.

The theme of these articles is that Maskelyne was a considerate and competent man, going out of his way to help and support those he worked with. To my mind his hallmark is bringing professionalism to the business of astronomy.

In common with Finding Longitude this book is beautifully produced, and despite the multitude of authors it hangs together nicely. It’s not really a biography of Maskelyne but perhaps better for that.

Sep 21 2014

Book review: Falling Upwards by Richard Holmes

fallingupwardsI read Richard Holmes book The Age of Wonder some time ago, in it he made a brief mention of balloons in the 18th century. It pricked my curiosity, so when I saw his book Falling Upwards, all about balloons, I picked it up.

The chapters of Falling Upwards cover a series of key points in the development of ballooning, typically hydrogen balloons from the last couple of decades of the 18th century to the early years of the 20th century. One of the early stories is a flight from my own home city, Chester. Thomas Baldwin recorded his flight in Airopaidia: Containing the Narrative of a Balloon Excursion from Chester, the eighth of September, 1785. The book does not have the air of a rigorous history of ballooning, it introduces technical aspects but not systematically. It is impressionistic to a degree, and as a result a rather pleasant read. For Holmes the artistic and social impact of balloons are as important as the technical.

In the beginning there was some confusion as to the purposes to which a balloon might be put, early suggestions included an aid to fast messengers who would stay on the ground to provide but use a small balloon to give them “10 league boots”, there were similar suggestions for helping heavy goods vehicles.

In practice for much of the period covered balloons were used mainly for entertainment – both for pleasure trips but also aerial displays involving acrobatics and fireworks. Balloons were also used for military surveillance.  Holmes provides chapters on their use in the American Civil War by the Union side (and very marginally by the Confederates). And in the Franco-Prussian war they were used to break the Prussian siege of Paris (or at least bend it). The impression gained though is that they were something like novelty items for surveillance. By the time of the American Civil War in the 1860’s it wasn’t routine or obvious that one must use balloon surveillance, it wasn’t a well established technique. This was likely a limitation of both the balloons themselves and the infrastructure required to get them in the air.

Balloons gave little real utility themselves, except in exceptional circumstances, but they made a link to heavier-than-air flight. They took man into the air, and showed the possibilities but for practical purposes generally didn’t deliver – largely due to their unpredictability. To a large extent you have little control of where you will land in a balloon once you have gone up. Note, for example, that balloons were used to break the Prussian siege of Paris in the outbound direction only. A city the size of Paris is too small a target to hit, even for highly motivated fliers.

Nadar (pseudonym of Gaspard-Félix Tournachon), who lived in Paris, was one of the big promoters of just about anything. He fought a copyright battle with his brother over his, adopted, signature. Ballooning was one of his passions, he inspired Jules Verne to starting writing science fiction. His balloon, Le Géant, launched in 1863 was something of a culmination in ballooning – it was enormous – 60 metres high but served little purpose other than to highlight the limitations of the form – as was Nadar’s intent.

From a scientific point of view Falling Upwards covers James Glaisher and Henry Coxwell’s flights in the mid-nineteenth century. I was impressed by Glaisher’s perseverance in taking manual observations at a rate of one every 9 seconds throughout a 90 minute flight. Glaisher had been appointed by the British Association for the Advancement of Science to do his work, he was Superintendent for Meteorology and Magnetism at the Royal Greenwich Observatory. With his pilot Henry Coxwell he made a record-breaking ascent to approximately 8,800 meters in 1862, a flight they were rather lucky to survive. Later in the 19th century other scientists were to start to identify the layers in the atmosphere. Discovering that it is only a thin shell – 5 miles or so thick which is suitable for life.

The final chapter is on the Salomon Andrée’s attempt to reach the North Pole by balloon, as with so many polar stories it ends in cold, lonely, perhaps avoidable death for Andrée and his two colleagues. Their story was discovered when the photos and journals were recovered from White Island in the Artic Circle, some 30 years after they died.

Falling Upwards is a rather conversational history. Once again I’m struck by the long periods for technology to reach fruition. It’s true that from a technology point of view that heavier-than-air flight is very different from ballooning. But it’s difficult to imagine doing the former without the later.