In 1668 the poet John Dryden wrote how in the previous hundred years
there were ‘more Noble Secrets in Opticks, Medicine, Anatomy, Astronomy,
discover’d than in all those credulous and doting Ages from Aristotle to
us’. As Floris Cohen aptly comments, although posterity concurred with this,
critical questions have arisen.

Was modern science born during this period, or was it earlier? Was
it, perhaps, in the 1540s – the time of Copernicus? Or did the scientific
revolution orginate in medieval times when the works of Greek science first
became available to Western scholars in their original form? Again, what
do we define as ‘modern science’?

This has been a subject for discussion ever since the publication of
Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason in 1781. Today, however, the history
of science has developed into an academic discipline of its own. Indeed,
we now need piloting through a maelstrom of ideas, claims, counterclaims
and even onslaughts from social scientists. Here Cohen proves a wonderful
guide.

Beginning with the 17th century, he quickly moves to two centuries later
and the positivist ideas of Ernst Mach and thence to the catholic outlook
of Pierre Duhem which, in the early years of this century, took the scientific
revolution right back to late medieval times. From there, we move through
the views of the main scientific historians and then to a discussion of
the causes that gave rise to this revolution.

This is fascinating stuff which brings us to the way early modern science
emerged from previous Western thoughts about the natural world and from
events in the history of Western Europe. We are thus brought face to face
with the question of why modern science is a product solely of Western civilisation,
and never arose in India, Islam or even China. This is an issue that Cohen
considers seriously.

Despite the development of Hindu numerals and some speculation on atomic
concepts, India appears to be a nonstarter. As for Islam, not only did it
recover early Greek texts and translate and comment upon them, but it made
original contributions, notably in astronomy and in optics. But the religious
atmosphere proved inimical, and any modern science was stillborn.

In China the situation was different, and true sciences did flourish,
as Joseph Needham has clearly shown in his Science and Civilisation in China.
Chinese scholars discovered the magnetic compass, invented the seismoscope
for detecting earthquakes, the equatorial mounting for astronomical observing
instruments and unique methods for charting stars (both adopted by Tycho
Brahe). What is more, they invented gunpowder, paper and printing and the
first mechanical clock.

Cohen is appreciative of Needham’s achievements, but he notes the opposition
of some Westerners to accepting the evidence. For instance, their assumption
that Johann Gutenberg invented movable type, even though Gutenberg used
basic methods invented in China three centuries earlier. Again the Chinese
knew as early of the 5th century of the attractive properties and direction-seeking
ability of the lodestone and how to make steel behave similarly, though
the magnetic compass was not used for navigation until perhaps as late as
the 10th century. This, however, is still a century before knowledge of
it came to Europe.

But perhaps the most astounding invention was that of the escapement
– the soul of the mechanical clock – displayed in all its glory in 11th-century
China. Certainly the verge-and-foliot escapement of the 14th century in
the West may have been independently devised though it is hardly likely
that rumours of the escapement principle had not been transmitted westwards
by traders along the Old Silk Road. This raises the matter of transmission
by word of mouth; something which perhaps Cohen might profitably look into.

Niggles apart, this is a magnificent and monumental book. The first
real history of the history of science, wonderfully written, and enlightened
with personal comments and asides that are always relevant. Indeed, it is
itself a veritable landmark in the history of science.

Colin Ronan is the author of The Shorter Science and Civilisation in
China (Cambridge).

AN acquaintance of mine told me that for him the name Maskelyne conjured
up the noted 19th- and 20th-century family of stage magicians. True, there
seems to have been a possible family connection between them and the Reverend
Nevil Maskelyne, but there all similarity ends. As Derek Howse’s excellent
and detailed biography shows us, the astronomer Maskelyne was no magician
but an energetic scientist, whose appointment as Astronomer Royal in 1765
led to the revitalisation of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich as an astronomical
centre.

Housed in Christopher Wren’s beautiful building, designed ‘for the Observators’
habitation and a little for pompe’, Maskelyne took to heart the royal commission
to ‘perfect navigation’, something which was already engaging his attention.

This biography is essentially an account of Maskelyne’s career, and
considers in detail all that he achieved, in particular the deliberations
and decisions of the Board of Longitude, in which Maskelyne played so central
and so controversial a part; these Howse handles with masterly detachment.
Though his book is sympathetic to Maskelyne – and why not, since every biographer
worth his salt must have at least some empathy for their subject – Howse
has gone out of his way to examine every possible piece of evidence to arrive
at an assessment that should lay to rest criticisms of Maskelyne’s unfairness
to John Harrison, inventor of the marine chronometer. He makes it evident
that though Harrison was somewhat shabbily treated by the Board, this was
not due to malice from the Astronomer Royal, even though Maskelyne certainly
believed that it was necessary to make astronomical observations in addition
to and in spite of the marine chronometer. But that was prudent, and Maskelyne’s
epoch-making work in producing the Nautical Almanac to make the task more
practicable from the mariner’s point of view is handled here in masterly
style.

Lest the reader be left with the impression that the fifth Astronomer
Royal’s time was spent entirely on administration and navigational astronomy,
Howse gives us a good account of Maskelyne’s aptitude for pure research
by detailing the successful attempt to measure the mass of the Earth by
noting the deflection of a plumb line by Mount Schiehallion in Scotland.

Though Maskelyne’s family affairs are mentioned, and the book includes
a reproduction of a delightful watercolour of Flamsteed House painted by
his daughter, readers who hope for any deep insight into his private life
will be disappointed; Nevil Maskelyne seems to have been a private man.
With its excellent appendices and lively comments, this thorough-going scientific
biography is well written. It is obviously going to become a standard text.
Perhaps someone in their wisdom will send a copy to the editor of the New
Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians so that he can see that Maskelyne’s
contemporary, the musician turned astronomer William Herschel, never was
Astronomer Royal as his Dictionary of Music unfortunately assures us.

Colin Ronan is an astronomer and historian of science, at the Needham
Research Institute, Cambridge.