The Royal Society’s first rejection of the kinetic theory of gases (1821), John Herapath versus Humphry Davy

On 24 May 1820 a manuscript entitled ‘A Mathematical Inquiry into the Causes, Laws and Principal Phenomena of Heat, Gases, Gravitation, etc.’ was submitted to Davies Gilbert for publication in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society . The author was John Herapath (1790-1868), and his article included a comprehensive (if somewhat faulty) exposition of the kinetic theory of gases. Sir Humphry Davy, who assumed the Presidency of the Royal Society on 30 November 1820, became primarily responsible for the fate of the article and wrote several letters to Herapath concerning it. After it became clear that there was considerable opposition to its publication by the Royal Society, Herapath withdrew the article and sent it instead to the Annals of Philosophy , where it appeared in 1821 (1). Herapath’s theory received little notice from scientists until thirty-five years later, when the kinetic theory was revived by Joule, Krönig, Clausius, and Maxwell. The incident is significant in the history of physical science because it illustrates an important distinction between the two doctrines concerning the nature of heat—the kinetic and the vibration theories—a distinction which is often forgotten because of the apparent similarity of both doctrines as contrasted with the caloric theory. It also throws some light on the character of early nineteenth century British science, both in and out of the Royal Society.

1834 ◽  
Vol 124 ◽  
pp. 53-54

As the identity of the large mass of meteoric iron in the British Museum with the celebrated Otumpa iron, described by Rubin de Celis in the Philosophical Transactions for 1786, has been the subject of frequent inquiry, the following short historical notice, relating to that mass, is communicated by Woodbine Parish, Esq. F. R. S., by whom, when His Majesty’s Chargé d’Affaires at Buenos Ayres, it was sent to England. -C. K. “Dear Sir, “Agreeably to my promise, I have taken some trouble to ascertain the precise history of the large mass of native iron which I sent home to Sir Humphry Davy from Buenos Ayres, and which is deposited in the British Museum. There is no doubt of its coming from the same place as that described by Rubin de Celis, though whether it be a fragment of that particular mass upon which he made his report, or a smaller one in its immediate vicinity, I am not able to say, for there certainly is an impression at Buenos Ayres that there is not only one, but that several masses of this iron are to be found in that part of the Gran Chaco referred to by Rubin de Celis. I was under the impression that it had been sent for in order to be forwarded to Madrid; but in this I was led into error; and I have only lately ascertained through Mr. Moreno, the Buenos Ayrean Minister, that the real history of its being at Buenos Ayres is as follows.


Isis ◽  
1963 ◽  
Vol 54 (2) ◽  
pp. 206-216 ◽  
Author(s):  
Henry T. Bernstein

2014 ◽  
Vol 307 (9) ◽  
pp. L661-L667 ◽  
Author(s):  
John B. West

Humphry Davy (1778–1829) has an interesting place in the history of respiratory gases because the Pneumatic Institution in which he did much of his early work signaled the end of an era of discovery. The previous 40 years had seen essentially all of the important respiratory gases described, and the Institution was formed to exploit their possible value in medical treatment. Davy himself is well known for producing nitrous oxide and demonstrating that its inhalation could cause euphoria and heightened imagination. His thinking influenced the poets Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth, and perhaps we can claim that our discipline colored the poetry of the Romantic Movement. Davy was also the first person to measure the residual volume of the lung. The Pneumatic Institution was the brainchild of Thomas Beddoes, who had trained in Edinburgh under Joseph Black, who discovered carbon dioxide. Later Davy moved to the Royal Institution in London formed, in part, to diffuse the knowledge of scientific discoveries to the general public. Davy was a brilliant lecturer and developed an enthusiastic following. In addition he exploited the newly described electric battery to discover several new elements. He also invented the safety lamp in response to a series of devastating explosions in coal mines. Ultimately Davy became president of the Royal Society, a remarkable honor for somebody with such humble origins. Another of his important contributions was to introduce Michael Faraday (1791–1867) to science. Faraday became one of the most illustrious British scientists of all time.


1983 ◽  
Vol 16 (1) ◽  
pp. 1-47 ◽  
Author(s):  
David Philip Miller

The career of Humphry Davy (1778–1829) is one of the fairy tales of early nineteenth-century British science. His rise from obscure Cornish origins to world-wide eminence as a chemical discoverer, to popular celebrity amongst London's scientific audiences, to a knighthood from the Prince Regent, and finally to the Presidency of the Royal Society, provide apposite material for Smilesian accounts of British society as open to talents. But the use of Davy's career to illustrate the thesis that ‘genius will out’ is not without its problems. As Davy began to reap the benefits of his early chemical discoveries, and to acquire status and wealth, his dedication to research waned. The ‘new’ Davy who emerged in the years after Waterloo, though admired by many sections of the metropolitan scientific community, was also widely criticized. Ambivalence became marked with Davy's election to, and conduct in, the Presidency of the Royal Society.


Author(s):  
Tim Fulford

The recently published Collected edition of Davy's letters throws new light on the importance and modus operandi of Banksian patronage as a means of organizing and promoting science. It demonstrates how dependent on, and manipulative of, Banks's favour Davy's careerism was, despite his later fame as an original genius. Here, I select from the edition some examples that offer new perspectives on how the patronage relationship worked—how Davy fashioned himself to be patronized, as well as how Banks operated as patron. Discussing Davy's activities at the Royal Institution, at the Royal Society and for the Board of Agriculture, I show that his public success allowed him to shift the power balance in this relationship, so that he was able to call upon Banks's support over issues of his choice, and, during the safety lamp affair (1815–18), to cause Banks to take the rare step of entering a scientific controversy in the newspapers. This shift to a highly public medium heralded a significant change: in a new era of widespread industrialization, in which engineers operating outside scientific institutions had increasing scope to put their inventions into production, priority—and the general reputation of scientific knowledge—increasingly needed demonstration before a wider court of public opinion than hitherto. Davy pulled Banks into a new, exposed, position in an expanded and oppositional public sphere. After Banks died, and Davy was no longer a protégé of a powerful patron but was himself in a position to distribute patronage—Banks's successor as President of the Royal Society and Commissioner of the Board of Longitude—the letters reveal the strengths and limitations of Banksian governance in an era in which science was specializing and was increasingly discussed in the national press. Davy rejected some of his predecessor's policies but essentially retained Banks's method of directing science by privately exerting influence and controlling patronage. I suggest that this method was relatively successful at the Royal Society, where Davy managed (uneasily) to incorporate a generation of mathematical savants excluded by Banks; at the Board of Longitude it failed: Davy's efforts to emulate Banks as the promoter of exploration fell foul of institutional intransigence that he had neither power nor influence enough to shift.


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