In recent decades, historians have become increasingly interested in the logistical challenges and difficulties encountered by those responsible for the collection, preservation and safe transport of specimens from the field to the museum or laboratory. This article builds on this trend by looking beyond apparent successes to consider the practices and practicalities of shipboard travel and maritime and coastal collecting activities. The discussion focuses on the example of William Henry Harvey, who travelled to Australia in pursuit of cryptogams – non-flowering plants like mosses, lichens and algae – in 1853. In his private correspondence to family and friends, Harvey offered insights into the challenges and obstacles faced by all collectors in the period. His experiences were fundamentally shaped by the material culture, embodied knowledge and physical constraints he encountered on the way. On one level, shipboard and onshore collecting activities were facilitated by the connections forged by new technologies and Britain's global empire. But they also depended on specific contexts and relied on local agents and actors, as well as on the physical and technical facilities (and limitations) of those doing the collecting. The examples of Harvey and others shed light on the real, ‘lived’ experiences of individual collectors, the difficulties and challenges they encountered in amassing their collections, and the networks of people on which they relied.

The emergence of conferences in the late nineteenth century significantly changed the ways in which the international scientific community functioned and experienced itself. In the early modern Republic of Letters, savants mainly related through print and correspondence, and apart from at local and later national levels, scholars rarely met. International conferences, by contrast, brought scientists together regularly, in the flesh and in great numbers. Their previously imagined community now became tangible. This paper examines how conferencing reshaped the collective of international scientists by zooming in on the massive meetings of the International Congress of Applied Chemistry, 1893–1914. Drawing on Emile Durkheim's studies of religious gatherings it analyses the ritualization of routine conference practices, such as plenary ceremonies, toasts, ladies’ programmes and committee meetings. It looks at how roles were distributed as participants performed as hosts and guests, and in masculine and feminine and national and international identities. Importantly, it shows both how the sacralization of chemistry as a higher aim served to instil senses of dedication in order to organize labour and mitigate conflict, and how the self-perception of the international chemical community was based on contemporary understandings of parliament, democracy and representation.

The early decades of the twentieth century were marked by widespread optimism about biology and its ability to improve the world. A major catalyst for this enthusiasm was new theories about inheritance and evolution (particularly Hugo de Vries's mutation theory and Mendel's newly rediscovered ideas). In Britain and the USA particularly, an astonishingly diverse variety of writers (from elite scientists to journalists and writers of fiction) took up the task of interpreting these new biological ideas, using a wide range of genres to help their fellow citizens make sense of biology's promise. From these miscellaneous writings a new and distinctive kind of utopianism emerged – the biotopia. Biotopias offered the dream of a perfect, post-natural world, or the nightmare of violated nature (often in the same text), but above all they conveyed a sense that biology was – for the first time – offering humanity unprecedented control over life. Biotopias often visualized the world as a garden perfected for human use, but this vision was tinged with gendered violence, as it became clear that realizing it entailed dispossessing, or even killing, ‘Mother Nature’. Biotopian themes are apparent in journalism, scientific reports and even textbooks, and these non-fiction sources shared many characteristics with intentionally prophetic or utopian fictions. Biotopian themes can be traced back and forth across the porous boundaries between popular and elite writing, showing how biology came to function as public culture. This analysis reveals not only how the historical significance of science is invariably determined outside the scientific world, but also that the ways in which biology was debated during this period continue to characterize today's debates over new biological breakthroughs.

When Michael Hunter first publicized the idea of ‘Psychoanalysing Robert Boyle’ I understood that his main aim was to test three competing psychoanalytical theories against the historical evidence provided by the life and work of Robert Boyle. Although this would have been a valuable exercise, and one that the British Society for the History of Science meeting partly engaged, the papers by Brett Kahr, John Clay and Karl Figlio published here raise some far more compelling issues which I shall explore in the ensuing discussion. Before turning to this discussion I offer a few introductory remarks.

In February 2020, the British Society for the History of Science hosted its first entirely digital conference via Twitter, with the dual goals of improving outreach and engagement with international historians of science, and exploring methods of reducing the carbon footprint of academic activities. In this article we discuss how we planned and organized this conference, and provide a summary of our experience of the conference itself. We also describe in greater detail the motivations behind its organization, and explore the good and bad dimensions of this relatively new kind of conferencing. As the climate crisis becomes more acute and, in turn, the pressure to reduce the carbon footprint of academic activities increases, we argue that digital conferences of this style will necessarily become more central to how academia operates. By sharing our own experiences of running such a conference, we seek to contribute to a rapidly growing body of knowledge on the subject that might be drawn on to improve our practices going forward. We also share some of our own ideas about how best to approach digital conference organization which helped us to make the most of this particular event.

Two hundred years ago the founder members of the Linnean Society of London decided that by forming a Library for use of the Fellows, and thus by owning books jointly, they could have access to a far wider range of publications than they could hope to as individuals. The Library was thus conceived as an integral part of the Society and its functions and on 15 April 1788 the first records in the Donation Book (‘one folio for entering Presents and Benefactions’ 26 January 1788) show that Thomas Marsham, the Treasurer, J. Dickson and Jonas Dryander all presented the Society with books ranging from Gerard's Herbal of 1597 to various works by Linnaeus. These fifteen books were soon joined by others, notably from Sir Joseph Banks whose donation of ‘duplicates’ from his own library occupies some four pages in the record of donations for 3 March 1789. The need to house these acquisitions is reflected in the decision of the Fourth Meeting to provide ‘a room or library appropriated to the reception of their books…’ and the purchase of a deal bookcase in February 1790.

For many of those who attended the Charles Lyell Centenary Symposium, one of the high points was the reappearance of Lyell himself (ably impersonated by John Thackray) in the lecture theatre of the Royal Institution, where some extracts from his London lectures of 1832–3 gave a vivid demonstration of his persuasive rhetoric. These extracts were also felt to illustrate Lyell's characteristic method of geological interpretation and his deeper concerns with the implications of his science, perhaps more clearly than in other published material from the earlier part of his career. At the request of several members of the symposium, I therefore give here a full version of these passages, without the ‘cuts’ and minor alterations that were necessary for the ‘performing script’. The purpose of this paper is simply to make this source-material more accessible, so that it can be used to enrich our understanding of Lyell's approach to geology at this period. I have recently published an account of the circumstances of Lyell's lectures at King's College London in 1832–3 and those at the Royal Institution in 1833, with a summary of their contents, so I shall present these fuller extracts here with the minimum of editorial notes. The two passages chosen are the longest and most continuous of those which Lyell wrote out in full rather than in note form.

In 1661 Gerard Kinckhuysen published at Haerlem an introduction to algebra written in Dutch. Because of the clarity and compactness of its presentation it was considered suitable for dissemination to a wider class of readers than those able to read Low Dutch. Nicolaus Mercator, a wellknown mathematician of German origin, who had come to England as a young man in the later 1650s, was asked by Lord Brouncker to prepare a Latin translation of it. To this Isaac Newton, at the request of Isaac Barrow and John Collins, added explanatory notes and comments, and the manuscript was sent to Collins in London on 11 July 1670. Newton's draft, though still unpublished, is preserved, but Mercator's original translation was believed to have been lost. Only recently I rediscovered it in the Bodleian in a bound volume deriving from the estate of the Oxford mathematician John Wallis, which contains several books and pamphlets once in his possession.

This article is divided into four sections:

I. A survey of Kinckhuysen's Algebra ofte Stel-konst.

II. A summary of Newton's notes and additions to it.

III. An account of the unsuccessful efforts of Collins and Newton to publish the Mercator translation, enlarged with Newton's comments—this is abstracted from Collins' correspondence with Newton, Wallis and Gregory.

IV. A description of the volume now in the Bodleian Library, press-marked ‘Savile G. 20’, which has Mercator's translation interleaved with the printed Dutch original and bound with other books once owned by Wallis.

In 1761, George III commissioned a large group of philosophical instruments from the London instrument-maker George Adams. The purchase sprang from a complex plan of moral education devised for Prince George in the late 1750s by the third Earl of Bute. Bute's plan applied the philosophy of Frances Hutcheson, who placed ‘the culture of the heart’ at the foundation of moral education. To complement this affective development, Bute also acted on seventeenth-century arguments for the value of experimental philosophy and geometry as exercises that habituated the student to recognizing truth, and to pursuing it through long and difficult chains of reasoning. The instruments required for such exercise thus became tools for manipulating moral subjectivity. By the 1730s there was a variety of established modes in which the Newtonian philosophy might be used to argue for the legitimacy of Hanoverian rule. The education of George III represents a less recognized iteration of this relationship, concerned not with public apologetics, but rather with the transformation of an ‘indolent’ youth into a virtuous monarch.

Centring on John Flamsteed (1646–1719), the first Astronomer Royal, this paper investigates the ways in which astronomers of the late seventeenth century worked to build and maintain their reputations by demonstrating, for their peers and for posterity, their proficiency in managing visual technologies. By looking at his correspondence and by offering a graphic and textual analysis of the preface to his posthumous Historia Coelestis Britannica (1725), I argue that Flamsteed based the legitimacy of his life's work on his capacity to serve as a skilful astronomer who could coordinate the production and proper use of astronomical sighting instruments. Technological advances in astrometry were, for Flamsteed, a necessary but not a sufficient condition for the advancement of astronomy. Technological resources needed to be used by the right person. The work of the skilful astronomer was a necessary precondition for the mobilization and proper management of astronomical technologies. Flamsteed's understanding of the astronomer as a skilled actor importantly shifted the emphasis in precision astronomical work away from the individual observer's ability to see well and toward the astronomer's ability to ensure that instruments guaranteed accurate vision.

The change in the physiological conception of body fluid during the Seventeenth Century exemplifies the beginning of changes in chemical ideas away from humours as irreducible components of fluid systems towards water as the common solvent of an indefinitely large range of solutions. Against the Galenic humoral view of body fluids J.-B. van Helmont (1579–1644) postulated ‘latex’, a humour distributed through the body and common to several body fluids. The theory of latex explained experimental findings and provided a basis for Helmont's introduction of diuretics into the treatment of dropsy. Francis Glisson (1597–1677) adopted the theory of latex. In this paper it is shown that Helmont contradicted, in part at least, the distinctness of humours by a doctrine of a common reservoir from which various body fluids are drawn. It is further argued that, on the available evidence, Helmont is the originator of this idea of a common reservoir. Through hitherto unremarked and unpublished manuscript evidence, it is shown that Glisson, in adopting the theory of latex, and its therapeutic application, modifies and extends it. In the manuscripts Glisson expresses himself in the language of Helmontian philosophy. Given Glisson's known influence (in, for example, spreading Harvey's doctrine of the circulation), the question arises what part, if any, is attributable to him in the transmission of the doctrine of the common reservoir. From the point of view of experimental science, that doctrine makes a break with the past no less radical than does, say, that of the circulation. It appears that we have here yet another major contribution of Helmont to the scientific revolution with, through Glisson, a possible channel of transmission of this contribution.

The forma fluens/fluxus formae debate concerns the question as to whether motion is something distinct from the body in motion, the flow of a distinct form identified with motion (fluxus formae), or nothing more than the successive states of the body in motion, the flow of some form found in one of Aristotle's ten categories (forma fluens). Although Albertus Magnus introduced this debate to the Latin West he drew his inspiration from Avicenna. This study argues that Albertus misclassified Avicenna's position, since Albertus could not conceptualize motion at an instant, whereas it is claimed here this was the very position Avicenna adopted. The paper includes an overview of Albertus's discussion and a brief survey of the Avicennan sources upon which Albertus drew. The heart of the paper treats Avicenna's analysis of motion at an instant. Avicenna's general argument was that since spatial points have no extremities, nothing in principle prevents a moving object from being at a spatial point for more than an instant, understood as a limit. It is then argued that Avicenna had the philosophical machinery to make sense of a limit, albeit not in mathematical terms, but in terms of an Aristotelian potential infinite.

Towards the end of the career of many a distinguished scientist, or shortly after his or her death, an edition of the scientist's articles is published under the title: ‘The Collected Papers of…’. While not wishing to slight either the ceremonial importance or real utility of such collections, they must be clearly distinguished from the sort of editions on which the Collected Papers of Albert Einstein is modelled. The former are primarily intended to make the published papers of a great scientist easily accessible to other scholars and students working in the same field as an aid to their research. The reader is provided with little or no help in understanding or evaluating the historical role these writings played in the development of this field, the circumstances leading to their creation, or how they fit into the life of their creator.

Around 1960, leading figures in the international conservation circuit – such as Julian Huxley, Frank Fraser Darling and E. Barton Worthington – successfully propagated new visions about the value of undomesticated African mammals. Against traditional ideas, they presented these mammals as a highly efficient source of protein for growing African populations. In line with this vision, they challenged non-interventionist ideals of nature preservation, and launched proposals for active management through game ‘ranching’ and ‘cropping’. As such, they created a new socio-technical imaginary for Africa's future, in which the consumption of wildlife meat took up a central position. This article explores the motivations of Western conservationists for this drastic rebranding. It argues that the rationale of considering African wildlife in terms of protein played an important symbolical role at various levels. It was crucial in the reorganization of the transnational networks of conservation, but also in the boosting of their scientific reputation, in the restructuring of their institutional ties, and in their attempts to maintain an authoritative position for Western ecologists in a rapidly decolonizing world.