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Summing up

Each week, mentors will compile a short list of questions that have come from learners during discussions to ask the educators, Professor Frank James and Professor Sharon Ruston.

This step will be visible by Friday 17 November 2017.

You may wish to have another look at Lancaster University’s Comment Discovery Tool. It is updated daily with all the most recent comments.

Join us at the Royal Institution - Sunday 26 November 2017

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Week 3 summary

3.2 Linda Lloyd

I would like to ask for more explanation of the statements in the video ‘applied science over engineering practice’ and ‘little science in the lamp’.

Could the course tutors expand on this, please?

Ever since Francis Bacon asserted at the end of the sixteenth century that ‘knowledge itself is power’, a major strand in British philosophy has been the assumption that by increasing our understanding of nature (through science), control over it would be extended (through engineering).

The problem was that in the ensuing two centuries not much evidence appeared to support such a claim. Possibly Josiah Wedgwood’s development of his ceramics or James Watt’s invention of the separate condenser for steam engines, but not much else and the role of scientific knowledge in Watt’s work is still debated extensively in the historical literature.

So, the invention by Davy, the leading English chemist of the day, of a device developed in a laboratory that actually worked in hard practical environment of a coal mine, rapidly became seen as very strong evidence of the key role of science in engineering. (The general argument is still of enormous rhetorical value in current debates with many scientists, engineers, politicians etc trotting it out in rather uncritical ways.) Davy’s lamp gained this reputation, first because it was invented by a chemist and, second, because in the course of his controversy with Stephenson, Davy, supported by Michael Faraday, explicitly turned the lamp into scientific invention – a rhetoric that Stephenson was unable to match.

However, the absence of a laboratory notebook for the end of 1815 when Davy and Faraday were developing the lamp, suggests that other interpretations of the invention are possible, such as that I proposed in my Newcomen Society paper (linked to step 3.4). In this I argued that scientific practice and knowledge (particularly the latter) played only a minor role in the development of the lamp. That their work developed, not quite by trial and error (though that is a perfectly respectable process), but by gradual individual innovations in successive design of the prototype lamps, ending with the gauze lamp. Davy and others, under pressure of the subsequent priority dispute, were then able to turn the lamp into an applied piece of science of enormous value in engineering practice. Such was, is, the power of this rhetoric that this interpretation of the lamp survived, almost unchallenged until the present century. It is, however, a deeply misleading story which continues to affect how the relationship of science and practice is perceived today.

Professor Frank James, Royal Institution and University College, London

3.5 Judith Newman

Davy sounds very contemptuous of Stephenson’s lamp. I wonder if he was equally intolerant of any other rivals in his field of science. I get the impression that he was somewhat arrogant, although he every right to be proud of his achievements. He doesn’t moderate his language in the letters. Perhaps he didn’t consider that they would one day be open to public view. Did he make many enemies, I wonder?

It is certainly true that Davy was writing privately – for the most part – in the letters on the lamp, certainly in the letters to John Hodgson and John Buddle, which are among the least guarded of his entire correspondence. Davy also had had previous problems with issues of priority – but priority is an issue for men of science generally at this time (at all times?). On the question of Davy’s intolerance of other rivals and his making of enemies, there was a previous episode in Davy’s career that may be of interest.

In July 1812, Davy signed articles establishing his partnership in a gunpowder manufactory, with his close friend John George Children and another friend, James Burton. It seems that Davy originally intended to be a full partner in the venture; he wrote to his brother John on the matter of money that he had lent him on 15 October 1811: ‘please consider it as a loan which you shall repay when you are a rich physician & I a poor gunpowder merchant’.

In keeping with his sense of himself as a natural philosopher – rather than merely an experimentalist – Davy determined to apply the law of definite proportions to the manufacture of gunpowder. He claimed that this law was ‘perhaps the most important of our science’ because ‘Nature acts by this fixed and immutable law’. In the same source (lectures to the Royal Institution), Davy makes a distinction between the ‘practical and philosophical chemist’. June Fullmer in Young Humphry Davy claims that there is evidence that Davy was at this time intending to profit commercially by means of a patent and that he had not yet arrived at the stage where he would refuse to engage with the idea of taking out a patent for one of his inventions. His marriage to the wealthy socialite Jane Apreece in April 1812 has been proposed as a factor in his decision to eschew monetary gain; her letters and Michael Faraday report of her behaviour towards him suggest she was a social snob who introduced Davy to a world of shooting and hunting parties in various aristocratic mansions.

Davy continued to send Children positive letters: for example, on 14 October 1812 Davy referred to ‘our gunpowder works’. Later in October he visited Children in Tonbridge and received a serious injury to his eye when he managed to prepare the explosive compound nitrogen trichloride for the first time. However in a letter dated 7 April 1813 we see the first glimmers of Davy being unhappy with his association with the gunpowder manufactory. He attempts here and in later letters to dictate exactly what is written on the labels of the canisters. In the course of a few months in Davy’s letters, then, ‘our gunpowder works’ has become ‘your new Manufactory’. By his letter of 21 July 1813, Davy describes himself being ‘much disturbed & vexed by enquiries respecting the price of my gunpowder which from the labels I find is supposed to be sold by me.’ Such enquiries place Davy in the role of a merchant and this demeans him; he continues with ‘it must be understood by the public that I have given my gratuitous assistance & advice only.’ He specifies the form of words that labels must take, and emphasises the care that must be taken. For example, he writes that the words ‘under my directions […] implies that I am a superintendent of the manufactory’.

Davy wrote some more letters in this vein expressing his ‘extreme harass & anxiety’ at the way his ‘name was used’ to Children on 22 July 1813. In the same letter he also stated ‘I have resolved to make no profit of any thing connected with Science — I devote my life to the public in future & I must have it clearly understood that I have no views of profit in any thing I do.’ This is one of a number of such comments that appear in the letters across Davy’s entire career and it seems that this was the moment that he determined henceforth to ‘make no profit’ by his scientific activities. Here we also see his desire to present himself as a servant to the public. On 23 July 1813 still bothered by the wording of the labels he writes: ‘I must not have it supposed that I sell my name I would not do it for millions’.

I think that this episode offers us an insight into the safety lamp controversy. We see Davy trying to control the way that people think of him and his scientific achievements. John George Children may get the final word on this matter, though, with the publication of our edition of Davy’s letters: when Davy wrote to him on 6 February 1816 (i.e. a few years later) after he has returned from his travels abroad, he again asks Children to make legal his withdrawal from the company and this in the midst of the financial difficulties Children was going through at this time. On this letter, Children wrote angrily in pencil: ‘This letter contains a flat lie. Davy had as real a concern in this himself as any – as we should have found had it prospered. J. C.’ The evidence we have in those early letters quite clearly supports Children’s accusation here. Children stayed Davy’s friend (at least as far as we can tell) going so far as to be asked by Davy to defend him in a later priority case, which you will hear more about next week, the copper sheathing of ships’ bottoms. In an article to the British Press, 1 November 1824 Children explicitly made the connection between this invention (the copper sheathing of ships) and the safety lamp and the way Davy has been treated. I think all three episodes show Davy to be anxious about his reputation, his social and class status, and unsurprisingly he makes enemies.

Professor Sharon Ruston, Lancaster University

  1. 5 Beth S

He seems to be fond of threatening lawsuits and name-dropping rich and famous ‘friends’. We have a few of those around still today ;)

My real question is why he would get so emotional about all this? Did he really feel threatened? If so, by what exactly? Wasn’t his reputation and wealth secured by now?

This is a great question and one that I’m not sure I can answer but which it is interesting to mull over. It is correct that Davy’s reputation and wealth were now secure: he had given up his paid positions at the Royal Institution and elsewhere and now lived the life of a gentleman, moving from one fishing and shooting party to the next at the aristocratic houses to which he and his wife were invited. There is a touch of vanity and pride perhaps – as well as genuine humanitarian desire to help – in Davy’s responding to the call of the coal mine owners when they wrote to ask him to put his mind to the task of making mining safer. His first letter to them is full of confidence – he is sure that he can help and is excited by the prospect of such an enquiry. In his subsequent dealings with Stephenson there is of course the very real prospect that Davy believed Stephenson had stolen his idea, but the fact that he cannot countenance the idea that Stephenson may have come up with a very similar idea completely independently does not show Davy to his best advantage.

The letters written about the safety lamp controversy are fascinating and offer an interesting glimpse into Davy’s psyche during this strained and unsettling episode. In these letters, Davy persists in misspelling Stephenson’s name in his letters until late in 1816, which may well be deliberate. Clanny is written as ‘Clansy’, perhaps also deliberately, in a letter to Hodgson. It certainly is deliberate and telling that Davy never identifies Stephenson with the title ‘Mr’ thus alluding to his lower status. Instead, as the dispute continues, Davy describes Stephenson and his supporters using a number of unflattering terms, such as here to Hodgson on October 27, 1816: ‘I can only pity those persons whose malevolence induces them [to] find in the incoherent dreams of an ignorant mechanic not told at all or told only to persons as ignorant as himself the germs of an important discovery.’ There is an echo here of Macbeth: ‘It is a tale / Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, / Signifying nothing.’ (5. v. 26-8). Stephenson is an ‘ignorant mechanic’, which phrase evokes Bottom in Midsummer Night’s Dream here, whose ‘incoherent dreams’ are not to be taken as containing the ‘germs of an important discovery.’ This repeats the claim that Stephenson’s invention was not informed by scientific knowledge and that there was a single ‘important discovery’. Davy’s letters from here on become increasingly angry. Uncharacteristically, there are words missing as seen in the quotation above. They are often cross-written or written down the side. Davy seems annoyed at himself for engaging in the debate at all and we witness sarcasm, pettiness, and class superiority.

All of the above seems to me to suggest that Davy did really feel threatened by Stephenson’s claim but why he felt threatened is still uncertain. He certainly couldn’t just shrug off the other claims of priority and he does not take his own advice not to rise to the bait: ‘I have no desire to go out of my way to crush gnats that buzz at a distance & that do not bite me’ (29 October 1816). The buzzing was loud to him and he did respond as though bitten. By the 6 January 1818 he has quite worn himself out with it all: ‘I have already tormented myself more than I ought to have done about these scoundrels’. I think his response to the claims of Stephenson and Clanny shows a man ill at ease with his new social position and ill-equipped to deal with criticism. For all of his arrogance, he appears to lack the confidence to rise above the fracas. The earlier episode with Children shows how much he wished to control the way that his name and reputation were invoked. I wonder whether the whole episode reveals that he was uncomfortable in his new social context and desperate to belong.

Professor Sharon Ruston, Lancaster University

Davy’s iconography

One issue which has not figured much in the comments on Davy is his iconography which bearing in mind the number of portraits we included of him in the various sections is an interesting omission, so I thought a few comments on this at the end of week three might be of use.

Davy was enormously concerned with how he was depicted in his portraits and with what objects. The earliest known image of him was painted while he was in Bristol, probably in 1800, and shows him with a Jacobin haircut. The second portrait of him (and the first in oils) painted by Henry Howard in 1803 depicts him leaning on a desk strewn with notebooks in thoughtful philosophical mode, with some electro-chemical apparatus in shadow on a shelf. During the first decade of the nineteenth century, Davy’s reputation as a chemist stemmed from his electro-chemical researches and these were foregrounded in Archer Oliver’s enormous portrait of him painted around 1812. One of Davy’s batteries which he used to discover sodium, potassium etc is depicted prominently in the bottom right corner. And again he his sitting at desk with his notebooks (these are identifiable and are still in the collections of the Royal Institution) together with other apparatus.

Following the safety lamp controversy, the content and structure of Davy’s iconography changed. For instance, the portrait by Thomas Lawrence (President of the Royal Academy of Arts) of Davy (as President of the Royal Society of London) shows him standing, hand on a table, next to his safety lamp, explicitly asserting his rights to the invention. There exist at least four full size copies of this portrait, as well as a number of prints, suggesting that this would be how many people would have seen Davy as he would have wanted. And the 1821 portrait by Thomas Phillips commissioned by John Lambton (one of Davy’s major supporters in the north during the controversy) shows Davy sitting at a desk gazing (adoringly?) at the lamp. To push home his claims, Davy had his coat of arms as a baronet depict flame in chains.

It was this image of Davy as the inventor of the lamp that was propagated by public works of art following his death. His statues in Penzance, on Burlington House in London, in the Natural History Museum in Oxford and the plaque in the Victoria and Albert Museum all depict Davy with his lamp. All this shows how much effort went into securing wide-spread support for the rhetoric that Davy, as a chemist, was instrumental in promoting the continuing industrialisation of Britain.

Professor Frank James, Royal Institution and University College, London

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Humphry Davy: Laughing Gas, Literature, and the Lamp

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