Joseph Agassi, The Very Idea of Modern Science: Francis Bacon and Robert Boyle. Heidelberg, New York and London: Springer, 2013. Pp. xvii+315. ISBN 978-94-007-5350-1. £90.00 (hardback).

2014 ◽  
Vol 47 (3) ◽  
pp. 570-572
Author(s):  
Sheldon Richmond
Author(s):  
David Beerling

The scientific revolution of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, if indeed it can be recognized as such, saw the foundations of modern science established. Developments by iconic figures, notably Francis Bacon (1561–1626), Galilei Galileo (1564–1642), Robert Boyle (1627–91), and Isaac Newton (1642–1727), among others, advanced the study of the natural world by moving it away from mystical concepts and grounding it firmly in the rational. Bacon outraged his intellectual contemporaries with the belief that scientific knowledge should be built on empirical observation and experimentation, and pursuing this theme is alleged to have done for him in the end, at the age of 65. According to Bacon’s former secretary, the legend goes that Bacon was travelling in a coach towards London with one of the King’s physicians on a snowy day in April 1626 when he decided to investigate whether meat could be preserved by ice. Seizing the opportunity for an experiment, Bacon purchased a chicken in Highgate, then a small village outside London, gutted it, and proceeded to stuff the carcass with snow to see if it delayed putrefaction. In his excitement he became oblivious to the cold, caught a chill, and took refuge in the Earl of Arundel’s nearby house in Highgate, the Earl being away serving time in the Tower of London. Bacon died a few days later, probably from pneumonia, after being put up in a guest room with a damp bed disused for over a year, but not before penning a letter to the Earl communicating the success of the experiment. This delightful story of Bacon’s ultimate demise would have been fitting for his contribution to modern science, but is probably apocryphal. Surviving records indicate Bacon was already ill before the end of 1625, and inclined to inhale opiates and the vapours of chemical saltpetre (potassium nitrate) to improve his spirits and strengthen his ageing body. In those days, the saltpetre was impure, a mixture of potassium nitrate, sodium nitrate, and other compounds that may have given off toxic vapours. It seems possible, likely even, that Bacon overdosed on his inhalation of remedial substances to compensate for his ill health.


Author(s):  
Victor Nuovo

Although the vocation of Christian virtuoso was invented and named by Robert Boyle, Francis Bacon provided the archtype. A Christian virtuoso is an experimental natural philosopher who professes Christianity, who endeavors to unite empiricism and supernatural belief in an intellectual life. In his program for the renewal of the learning Bacon prescribed that the empirical study of nature be the basis of all the sciences, including not only the study of physical things, but of human society, and literature. He insisted that natural causes only be used to explain natural events and proposed not to mix theology with natural philosophy. This became a rule of the Royal Society of London, of which Boyle was a principal founder. Bacon’s rule also had a theological use, to preserve the purity and the divine authority of revelation. In the mind of the Christian virtuoso, nature and divine revelation were separate but complementary sources of truth.


Author(s):  
Erin Webster

The Curious Eye explores early modern debates over two related questions: what are the limits of human vision, and to what extent can these limits be overcome by technological enhancement? Today, in our everyday lives we rely on optical technology to provide us with information about visually remote spaces even as we question the efficacy and ethics of such pursuits. But the debates surrounding the subject of technologically mediated vision have their roots in a much older literary tradition in which the ability to see beyond the limits of natural human vision is associated with philosophical and spiritual insight as well as social and political control. The Curious Eye provides insight into the subject of optically mediated vision by returning to the literature of the seventeenth century, the historical moment in which human visual capacity in the West was first extended through the application of optical technologies to the eye. Bringing imaginative literary works by Francis Bacon, John Milton, Margaret Cavendish, and Aphra Behn together with optical and philosophical treatises by Johannes Kepler, René Descartes, Robert Hooke, Robert Boyle, and Isaac Newton, The Curious Eye explores the social and intellectual impact of the new optical technologies of the seventeenth century on its literature. At the same time, it demonstrates that social, political, and literary concerns are not peripheral to the optical science of the period but rather an integral part of it, the legacy of which we continue to experience.


Philosophy ◽  
1998 ◽  
Vol 73 (1) ◽  
pp. 47-61 ◽  
Author(s):  
IDDO LANDAU

Francis Bacon has received much attention from feminist philosophers of science. Many of their discussions revolve around his use of sexist, or supposedly sexist, metaphors. According to Sandra Harding, for example, ‘Bacon appealed to rape metaphors to persuade his audience that the experimental method is a good thing.’ Moreover, she claims that ‘when we realize that the mechanistic metaphors that organized early modern science themselves carried sexual meanings, it is clear that these meanings are central to the ways scientists conceptualize both the methods of inquiry and the models of nature’ (ibid.). Carolyn Merchant asserts that witch trials ‘influenced Bacon's philosophy and literary style’. And according to Evelyn Fox Keller, Bacon's explanation of the means by which science will endow humans with power ‘is given metaphorically — through his frequent and graphic use of sexual imagery.’ Fox Keller concludes that Bacon's theory is sexist, but in a more troubled and ambivalent way than Merchant and Harding believe it to be. Thus, she writes that ‘behind the overt insistence on the virility and masculinity of the scientific mind lies a covert assumption and acknowledgment of the dialectical, even hermaphroditic, nature of the “marriage between Mind and Nature.”‘ (p. 40; emphasis added). Likewise, ‘the aggressively male stance of Bacon's scientist could, and perhaps now should, be seen as driven by the need to deny what all scientists, including Bacon, privately have known, namely, that the scientific mind must be, on some level, a hermaphroditic mind.’ (p. 42).


2003 ◽  
Vol 63 (1) ◽  
pp. 250-251
Author(s):  
Margaret C. Jacob

The Marxists had it right all along, they just got tripped up by their materialism. Early modern capitalism opened vast new worlds, particularly in the arts and sciences, only the traffic went both ways. Creative agents invented new markets and pushed commerce in directions that favored enterprises immensely cosmopolitan and innovative, often solely for the sake of beauty and display. Commerce offered a context but the nobility, and not an imagined bourgeoisie, had the edge when it came to exploiting the market for objets. Paintings could be traded for property, land, and houses. Princes could sponsor natural philosophers, and the fluidity in values meant that good investors, like good practitioners of the arts and sciences, took an interest in all aspects of learning. The interrelatedness of the representational arts and natural philosophy stands as one of the central themes in this tightly integrated collection of essays. We now have a vast historiography telling us that we should no longer teach early modern science without reference to the art of the time, and vice-versa. The point is beautifully illustrated by an exhibition recently held at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles (spring 2002) on the art of Pieter Saenredam. Working in Utrecht in the 1630s, he used geometry to regularize and make precise the angles and corners found in the exquisite paintings he made of the city's churches. He knew as much about geometry as he did about chiaroscuro. At precisely the same moment, an hour or two away by barge, Descartes in Leiden put the final touches on his Discourse on Method (1637). In effect he explained to the world why precision and clarity of thought made possible the kind of beauty that Saenredam's paintings would come to embody.


Sign in / Sign up

Export Citation Format

Share Document