High 4. This exceptional work tackles such a broad subject while maintaining absolute clarity of subject matter for the general reader. The author explains his choice of starting point at 1543 as marking both landmark publications in the fields of astronomy and biology respectively of Copernicus’ ‘On the Revolution of Celestial Bodies’, and Andreas Vesalius’ ‘On the Structure of the Human Body’. Copernicus revolutionised astronomy by proposing an alternative to the geocentric Ptolemaic model of the universe, which had held sway since the second century AD. Yet, Copernicus also bridged classical and modern science, as his theory of a heliocentric universe did not rest on empirical methods. He even had misgivings, which delayed publication of his ideas, fully formed as early as 1510, that his model did not adequately explain how the stars appeared fixed, given the implicit motion of the Earth around the Sun. Upon publication, soon after his death, his ideas did not spark wide sales or a religious backlash due to a preface written by a Lutheran pastor stipulating that they constituted one theoretical mathematical model and not any accurate depiction of the Universe. Gribbins states that Vesalius, like Copernicus, drew inspiration from ancient thinkers, specifically, Galen. With human dissection frowned upon in the second century AD, the latter’s work, based on studies of animals, thus contained inaccuracies. Vesalius had no such limitations, enjoying the tacit support of the city authorities in Padua to time his human dissections in the wake of public executions. Thus, overcoming the shortcomings in Galen’s research, he greatly advanced knowledge of human anatomy. One of those to profit from Vesalius’ successors at Padua University was William Harvey, whose later marriage to the daughter of the physician to Elizabeth I, Lancelot Browne, led both to his appointment as physician at St Barts, and as court physician to both James I and Charles I. These duties meant his momentous discovery of the circulation of the blood was completed in his spare time. What established Harvey as a key figure in the history of modern science was his use of empirical reasoning to establish his theory. Previously, it was assumed veins transported blood for use by human tissue, while arteries carried the ‘vital spirit’ from the lungs. Harvey demonstrated by simply measuring the capacity of the human heart that blood must be continually circulating, and that both veins and arteries played a role. The next influential figure in astronomy, Tycho Brahe, was a firebrand from the ranks of the nobility of Danish-controlled Sweden. His 1572 observation of a supernova led him to dismiss previous theories of the stars being fixed and permanent, and fired his obsession to plot more accurate projections of the movement of heavenly bodies. As his own star rose, the Danish monarchy sought to raise their prestige, giving him his own island of Hveen in the Danish Sound to establish as his home and his own observatory complex. Yet, in 1588 Brahe’s arrogance alienated the monarchy, forcing him to seek refuge as mathematician to the Holy Roman Emperor in Prague. The wealth of observational data Brahe accumulated thereby came into the possession of Johannes Kepler, employed as the former’s assistant in 1601 after years of correspondence. In contrast to Brahe, Kepler had no advantages of birth, his father being an impoverished noble and wastrel, forced to eke a living as a mercenary soldier, before simply disappearing. Kepler’s adherence to Copernican views not only led to his shelving plans to enter the Lutheran ministry but brought him at odds with Brahe’s request that his data be used to support the Ptolemaic model. Despite his eyesight being devastated by childhood smallpox, preventing him observing the heavens himself, his immense powers of mathematical reasoning allowed him to use Brahe’s data to ‘flesh out’ the motion of the planets, especially their elliptical orbits round the Sun. Though his later work would be hindered by the turmoil of the Thirty Years’ War, and defending his mother against charges of witchcraft, one of his earlier ideas would inspire the work of those who were to follow; namely, his assertion of a force keeping planets in thrall to the Sun, which he termed ‘vigour’. In the author’s opinion, the first individual truly deserving comparison with the modern scientist was William Gilbert due to his tireless testing of his hypotheses on electricity and magnetism. He was not only the first to study these forces since the ancient Greeks, but also to employ wholesale empirical techniques. Even Galileo regarded him as the founder of ‘experimental science’. A gentleman amateur and last personal physician to Elizabeth I, he would finally publish his findings of 18 years of study in 1600, three years before his death. Not only did he discover the rules of magnetic attraction and repulsion, and identify the Earth as one enormous magnet (thereby naming the extremities of magnets as ‘poles’), but so thorough was his research that no new substantial discoveries would be made in this field till the 1820s. Moreover, by arguing that the orbits of the planets were held constant through the force of magnetism, even suggesting distant stars might be Sun-like bodies with their own orbiting habitable planets, his work influenced Kepler. This is not to deny Galileo’s prominence, who undoubtedly published the first modern scientific textbook with his ‘Discourses and Mathematical Demonstrations Concerning Two New Sciences’. This summarised his work on mechanics, spelled out his belief in the scientific method, and stated mathematical rules governed the workings of the universe. After his trial, Galileo’s book had to be smuggled out of Italy, becoming a European bestseller decades after its original publication in 1638. It is impossible to assess Galileo’s influence on scientific thought without linking it to his clash with the papacy, with its implicit conflict between faith and reason. As Galileo’s reputation grew so his support for Copernican views, declared heretical in 1616, caused greater scrutiny from Rome. Though his position became more uncertain with the deaths of his principal protectors in Rome in 1621, he was invited to author a book detailing the two rival models of the universe. This was with the tacit suggestion that he could teach both models, but not openly support the Copernican one. His ‘Dialogue on the Two Chief Systems’, published in 1632, adopted the traditional format of presenting ideas through an imaginary dialogue, but made serious miscalculations. Not only did he use the names of two dead ex-associates, rather than fictional characters, to pitch for the Copernican model, but also had them gradually win over the impartial commentator. Finally, in naming of the defender of the heliocentric model in homage to Simplicus, the Ancient Greek commentator on Aristotle’s work, he lay himself open to charges that the name could also imply a ‘simpleton’. Though passed for publication by the papacy’s censor, a papal commission was subsequently set up into the work, summoning the author to Rome to face charges of heresy. Although the trial was a victory for Galileo’s Jesuit enemies, his supporters were eventually able to commute his sentence to one of enforced confinement at home. Descartes’ importance to this story is his influence on the development of mathematics, and physics. Serving as a military engineer in several European armies, he was able to refine his mathematical reasoning, and establish that the position of any object could be represented as a co-ordinate of three numbers, marking the foundation of analytical geometry. His family’s substantial wealth allowed him to renounce his military career to pursue independent studies around Europe between 1629 and 1633, during which time he prepared a huge treatise on physics. News of Galileo’s trial delayed him publishing his work, but his devout Catholicism did not deflect him from stating that the world was governed by the laws of physics, thereby vouchsafing his influence on European scientific thought in the century to come. A contemporary of Galileo and Descartes, Robert Boyle was the leading light in the establishment of the scientific method in England, drawing on the inspiration of Francis Bacon, who stated that all research should spring from data to furnish explanations, rather than initiate with a theory and proceed to establish facts to support it. Despite his eponymous First Law, his most famous work is contained in ‘The Sceptical Chymist’, published in 1661. In this work, he coined the term ‘chemical analysis’ to determine the composition of materials, and declared that all matter was composed of constituent particles. Yet, he also sought to bring Baconian rigour to alchemy, rather than discard it completely. In discussing the relative merits of Robert Hooke and Isaac Newton, Gribbins states an unbiased historian would be unable to distinguish between their contributions to science. Hooke rose from humble beginnings, working as a servant to richer students to fund his studies, and providing tireless assistance to Boyle, whose patronage and generosity gave him access to the Royal Society. Aside from transforming this gentleman’s club into the archetypal scientific forum it became, his greatest work, ‘Micrographia’, was published in 1664, marking the first substantial publication on microscopy. Moreover, Hooke coined the term ‘cell’, was the first to claim that fossils represented former life-forms, stated light was composed of waves, and nearly uncovered oxygen a century before its actual discovery. From the outset Newton was obsessive about his research, often experimenting on himself to the point of nearly going blind from staring at the sun, or by inserting a needle in his eye to study the resulting coloured images. Many of his discoveries date from his early career, due to the distraction of his life-long interest in alchemy. Yet, the secretiveness of his character and his work allowed him to claim timing of discoveries which may have been at odds with reality. Moreover, not only did Newton dismiss others’ genius in terms of his own, but he commonly held grudges. In the author’s view, Hooke’s greatest mistake was to incur Newton’s hatred and die before him, allowing Newton to rewrite history. Their altercation resulted from Newton learning of Hooke’s disgruntlement at his failure not to acknowledge the influence of the latter’s work on his. Unquestionably, in correspondence stretching over a decade before publication of Newton’s ‘Principia Mathematica’ in 1687, Hooke provided many insights to further the former’s work, for which he should have received credit. To illustrate this, Hooke referred to planets exerting ‘gravitational power’ towards their centres. More importantly, he also stated that all bodies placed in motion would continue in a straight line, unless deflected by another force – now known as Newton’s First Law of Motion. Such was Newton’s determination to avoid accrediting Hooke’s work any value that his epic publication on light and colour, which he sat on for 30 years, was not published till 1704, 12 months after his rival’s death. Newton’s scientific legacy is immense, including the development of calculus, allowing the accurate measurement of change over time. There is no doubt that Newton developed this first, nor that Leibnitz arrived at the idea independently, and that the latter’s is the more comprehensible version. Yet, were it not for Edmund Halley’s constant haranguing, and soothing of Newton’s moods, together with his willingness to fund the printing, none of Newton’s ideas may ever have been published. Halley, whose inventiveness equalled that of Hooke, should be considered as the first true post-Newtonian scientist. He first came to prominence, as a confident undergraduate, in querying the veracity of astronomical data with the newly appointed first Astronomer Royal, John Flamsteed. Though once regarded as the latter’s protégé, Halley’s affairs with married women and colourful lifestyle clashed with Flamsteed’s prudish character. This fact, combined with the Astronomer Royal’s attitude that, due to his limited salary and need to provide his own instruments, his work was his own, led to his refusing to share any data with Halley and others who wished to record more accurately the trajectory and position of heavenly bodies. Gribbins regards Halley’s analytical mind to have been on a par with that of Hooke’s, and notes his main achievement was in mapping the position of the stars. Though, credit for the publication of his definitive version of the star catalogue in 1725 should partly go to Newton, who petitioned Queen Anne for a royal warrant to access Flamsteed’s data after the latter’s death. The author notes that in many scientific disciplines in the wake of Newton, this history becomes adorned by a long list of developments from many quarters so that science became the protagonist at the expense of many of the individuals who contributed. Yet, this work still provides fascinating accounts of some whose name became so influential. First among these is Linnaeus, whose obsessive compulsive need to establish order resulted in his classification of every botanical species. One astonishing detail is that he achieved this monumental feat whilst simultaneously pursuing his medical studies. To him can be attributed the binomial system we know today, and though the idea of identifying a species through two-word names was not his, he systematised it. It is also Linnaeus who first classified species according to hierarchical relationships down from class, order and genus. More controversially, in his revised 10th edition of 1758, he was the first to classify mankind in the same vein, placing us under the order of primates, stating courageously ‘If I were to call man “ape” or vice versa, I should bring down all the theologians on my head. But, perhaps I should still do it according to the rules of science’. Gribbins highlights that the crediting of scientific discoveries has often been down to pure luck with the work of many enthusiastic and gifted amateurs failing to achieve the acclaim their work would merit. As such, there was nothing original about the idea of evolution by the time Darwin entered centre stage. However, as the author stresses, what was distinct about the work of both Darwin and Wallace was their originating a sound scientific basis behind the theory. Darwin’s own grandfather, Erasmus, had published his own ideas on evolution based on observations drawn from human intervention in the breeding of certain species, even suggesting that all life may have originated from one common source. Upon returning from the voyage of the Beagle in 1836, Charles Darwin became convinced that evolution was a fact of life, but had still not identified the mechanism which lay behind it. The author reveals that a key step in him solving this was his reading of the work of Thomas Malthus in the autumn of 1838. The latter’s work, especially on those factors which kept animal populations in check, such as pestilence, predators, and the availability of food supplies enabled him to leap to the conclusion that the key behind evolution was the ‘struggle of the fittest’ in response to such pressures. Though his theory was fully-formed by 1842, Darwin did not rush to publish it, afraid of upsetting both his wife’s and the general public’s religious beliefs, and unleashing public disapproval. Yet, in his second edition of the ‘Voyage of the Beagle’ published in 1845, he added material, scattered across paragraphs, which, if read as a whole, would spell out this theory on natural selection. Moreover, a manuscript penned by him a year earlier was left among his papers with a bequest to his wife that it be published after his death. Alfred Russell Wallace had been a run-of-the-mill surveyor till he took the courageous step of funding his own expedition as an amateur enthusiast naturalist to South America between 1848 and 1852. Though he lost a younger brother to yellow fever and his specimens to the ocean floor when his ship home was lost at sea, Wallace continued to pursue his dream of unlocking the mystery of evolution in the Far East. This region was virgin territory to such research ensuring any specimens he collected would be both more scientifically valuable and lucrative. Throughout this 8-year expedition, he would maintain a close correspondence with Darwin, who was one of Wallace’s customers for specimens. Within their exchanges Darwin hinted at publishing his own theory of evolution without providing concrete details, and this merely served to drive Wallace on to form his own ideas. Totally, independently, Wallace also hit upon the connection with Malthus’ theories, and sent a paper in the spring of 1858 to Darwin outlining his ideas requesting the latter’s views. Despite being shocked at seeing the possibility of his own ideas being pre-empted, Darwin honourably sent Wallace’s paper onto his friend Charles Lyell, intending that it should be proposed for publication. The latter, keenly aware that Darwin was enmeshed in arranging the funeral of his infant son from scarlet fever, took the matter into his own hands, deciding to publish the paper with a preface consisting of Darwin’s own outline of his theory from 1844, and thereby ensuring the latter’s place in the pantheon of great scientists. As Gribbins reveals, though one would expect Wallace to harbour resentment at these events, he himself always refereed to the theory of natural selection as ‘Darwinism’ and would even write that the greatest satisfaction he could derive from his own work was that it acted as a spur to his contemporary to publish his ‘Origin of the Species’. Such levels of respect were mutual as it would be Darwin who would rescue Wallace’s reputation, which had become tarnished from his tinkering with spiritualism, and his financial security, by petitioning Queen Victoria to grant Wallace a pension for life in recognition of his contribution to science. There is not enough room here to give mention to many other eminent scientists who grace the pages of Gribbins’ history, and the author litters each story with fascinating detail. Perhaps, this is the one weakness of the book in that it does attempt to cover such a vast terrain of scientific endeavour that at times the reader becomes exhausted at the number of stories within the overall narrative. However, one of the abiding strengths of this work is the manner in which the author is able to shine the historical limelight on those who have slipped into the shadows. One such individual rescued from obscurity by Gribbins is Edward Tyson, who should be regarded as the father of comparative anatomy. Though professionally a doctor at the infamous Bethlehem Hospital in London, determined to reform the climate of abuse which pervaded the asylum, his most important legacy to science was a series of landmark dissections he performed in the 1680s and 90s as an enthused amateur scientist. In the first, assisted by Hooke, he discovered a porpoise’s mammalian internal structure. In the second of a young chimpanzee in 1698, he would anticipate Darwin in listing 48 areas of resemblance closer to humans than other monkeys. Another noteworthy figure worthy of rediscovery is Robert Recorde. It is to him we owe our basic language of mathematics, without which scientific research would not have made the rapid progress it did. As a graduate of both Oxford and Cambridge, this native of Tenby, South Wales, would introduce in his works of the 1540s and 50s the mathematical symbols ‘+, -, and =’ but would himself be destined to die unheralded in a debtor’s prison.