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Marksism: The Shape of Things to Come?

EDITORIAL

Marksism: The Shape of Things
to Come?

Following the success of the first Radical Philosophy
special number (RP34 on Women, Gender and Philosophy),
and as an extension of our long-standing interest in the
subject, we are devoting this issue to the theme of
Science, History and Philosophy. As Peter Osborne explained in the last editorial, our working practices have
taken a slightly new turn. While the editorial collective
continues to maintain overall control over the contents and
direction of the magazine, the preparation of each number
has now passed into the hands of an individual member of
the group, the issue editor. The reward for circulating,
photocopying, correcting and reading all the artides submitted to us is a small space at the head of RP. Here the
issue editor can introduce the contents, discuss a favourite
interest, admire or abuse a book, bring a subject to the
attention of our readers or otherwise exercise his or her
intellectual musdes.

I would like to use this opportunity to notice a work which
has also been reviewed elsewhere in this issue: John
Marks’s Science and the Making of the Modern World. John
Fauvel has made plain his opinion that this is a bad book,
so it might be thought prudent to let the matter rest there.

But without wishing to be provocative or unduly pessimistic, I think it would be wrong to let Marks’s work pass
quietly into oblivion. Not so long ago, a right-wing attack
such as this on the content and structure of an academic
discipline would have been treated with derision and ridicule. I know more than one erstwhile subversive who felt it
insulting to be excluded from Julius Gould’s 1977 report on
‘Marxist infiltration’ into higher education. Nowadays such
attacks carry more weight and come clothed in a variety of
disguises. Far from shrugging them off, radicals now recognise that assaults by the right demand serious attention and
equally serious rebuttal.

That the so-called ‘radical right’ is currently engaged
in a major offensive on polytechnic and university courses
in philosophy, sociology and liberal studies is hardly news.

Thus far, however, small and young disciplines like the history and philosophy of science (HPS) have not been singled
out for particular attention by Keith Joseph and his henchmen. That HPS is to undergo what is euphemistically termed ‘natural contraction’ has been greated with a measure
of relief by teachers and students of the subject.

The message of this book, as I read it, is that this
relative security may soon be greatly disrupted. What Tory
plans purportedly entail is not the destruction of our educational system but its replacement by another kind of
training, one which aims to be relevant to the needs of the
current economic and political structure. The purpose of
Marks’s text is to create a different kind of HPS, one
which as we shall see would fit admirably into these plans.

By altering the fundamental nature of the discipline, HPS
departments and courses on the social studies of science

based in the humanities would become unnecessary.

the danger of this book.

Hence

HPS in from the cold

To be sure, Science and the Making of the Modern World
seems innocent and innocuous enough. With its lavish illustrations, superb designs and careful lay-out – not to speak
of the reputable publisher’s imprint it bears – some may
even judge it a positive contribution to the subject. After
all, textbooks such as this establish courses rather than
undermine them. Yet, peculiarly, this is a textbook searching for a market in which for many years few historians
and philosophers of science have gone about their business
with manuals of this kind. In a sense, the whole purpose of
HPS has been to put into question those cosy historical and
philosophical scenarios which scientists enioy painting for
themselves. To think of science as one mode of thought
amongst others, or as a practice with a variety of social
and political consequences, is to encourage critical reflection. As the articles on Newton and Darwin in this issue
suggest, even apparently straightforward scientific advances involve a wide range of issues. Darwinism continues
to require study not simply because of its founder’s prestige as a scientist, but because evolutionary theory concerns a rich diversity of themes. Most evidently, this ‘biological’ problem cross-cuts a series of political and philosophical notions which impact directly on our conceptions
of place, time and social relations. Our approach to
Darwinism, then, must be searching, exacting and critical.

Neat and tidy textbook summaries of the ‘Plato to Nato’

kind which Marks aims to provide must fail to capture the
critical import of HPS. They sanitise the subject with great
effect, but they also deprive HPS of its raison d’etre. To
claim boldly to offer an ‘authoritative’ and ‘well-balanced’

treatment of evolutionary theory in a dozen pages, a person would need to be very wise or very foolish, misguided
or mischievous.

To say that HPS is by its nature a critical activity is
not to suggest that Marks’s attempt is the first to make it
conservative. The three major textbooks in HPS are all to
varying degrees reactionary works, and Dampier’s History
of Science (1929), Butterfield’s Origins of Modern Science
(1949), and Gillispie’s Edge of Objectivity (1960) have all
inspired Marks in his own labours. Moreover, the last of
these – by one of the most influential figures in the profession and the editor of the monumental (and highly selective) Dictionary of Scientific Biography – should stand as a
reminder of how much HPS owes its early development to
the conjuncture and requirements of the Cold War. To the
US government of the 1950s, it was clear that science
needed to develop rapidly and without hindrance if it was
to combat the menace of the East. In like manner, society
had to be defended by countering the menace at home. Two
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sides of the same coin minted by the new HPS: science
would develop by being defended from society and society
would be protected by relying on the products of science.

Once accepted, this ideology could be usefully reinforced
by those whose job it now was to explore the interface
between the two spheres. While McCarthy and his cohorts
took charge of culture, HPS with suitable funding and
opportuni ties would look after science; tidy up the loose
ends, reassure the sceptics, and show how scientific progress was bound up with the American (or Western) way of
life.

While American HPS was doing its best to earn its
keep, the Congress on Science and Freedom in Europe was
showing how, in the words of its Chairman Michael Polanyi,
science was a free market in ideas just as society was a
free market in commodities . Everything was fitting
together nicely. History, philosophy, sociology and good
old-fashioned common sense taught how science could only
develop in open, liberal and spontaneous societies. Science
developed inthe West and could only have developed in the
West. The real problems would arise once ‘alien’ cultures
got a slice of the action, once (as Gillispie put it) ‘the instruments of power created by the West come fully into
the hands of men who are not of the West’. Societies which
had not chosen to follow the capitalist path could neither
produce their own scientific knowledge (the disastrous
Lysenko episode was a great help here), nor should they be
free to poach that of other nations. Science may have had
its roots in a unitary and unified method, but its fruits
had to be preserved from those ‘formed in cultures and
religions which leave them quite devoid of the Western
sense of the ultimate responsibility to man in history’ .

The immediate backdrop to the rise of HPS as a profession was the Cold War. And, on centre stage, the bomb.

‘What’ asked Gillispie rhetorically, ‘will the day hold when
China wields the bomb? And Egypt?’ . After all, just
think what use the ‘cultured’ West with its ultimate responsibility to mankind made of it .••
This is a question Marks himself addresses. Yet in a
book packed from end to end with a mass of statistics,
graphs, diagrams, tables and other assorted forms of data,
we are never presented with details of the deaths resulting
from the devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945.

Indeed, Marks has the gall to suggest that dropping bombs
on Japan actually caused less destruction and loss of life
than would have’ resulted from an invasion. This, of course,
is nonsense, and Marks knows it is nonsense. Each of the
Joint Chiefs of Staff advised that it was highly probable
that Japan could be forced into unconditional surrender
without deploying the atomic bomb and indeed without an
invasion . It is clear that the bomb was not used primarily against Japan to save American lives but in order to
intimidate the Russians into accepting Western objectives
in Europe .

When atoms were atoms, and students knew their place

Dr. John Marks is currently a lecturer in physics at the
Polytechnic of North London. His speciality is nuclear physics and before he turned to the academic life he worked
at the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment, Aldermaston. Some readers may remember him as the author with
Keith Jacka and Caroline Cox (who contributes four chapters to the book) of The Rape of Reason, a wretched little
volume published nine years ago in a ser ies edited by
Rhodes Boyson which also included such classics as
Goodbye to Nationalisation and Down with the Poor.

The Rape of Reason was an account of the four-year
struggle by students and some staff at PNL for more student participation on academic boards, in defence of the
sociology department, and in opposition to the appointment
of the white refugee from Rhodesia, Terence Miller, to the
post of Director. Marks, dubbed by his own proud admission
the ‘most unpopular man in the polytechnic’, devoted a
good deal of his time away from the laboratory and the

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library scribbling notes to the press exposing ‘corruption’,
‘subversion’ and ‘infiltration’ in the polytechnic and giving
‘evidence’ that a carefully-managed conspiracy orchestrated by Moscow and Peking was threatening the collapse
of Western Culture as we know it. No point in dropping the
bomb this time, since the conspirators had found a home in
the unions, amongst the New Left, sociologists and social
workers, the British Sociological Association, the NCCL
and CAFD, and even under the very pillars of the establishment. ‘Week after week,’ wailed Marks, recounting his
battles, ‘the skilful satirists of Private Eye and BBC
Television destroyed the faith of the young in those who
occupied any official position or held any enduring values •••
A new mode of sensibility appeared: amoral, nihilistic and
trendy. This cultural revolution – apparently spontaneous in which Britain was the pioneer for the Western world,
was a key event. It made for the defenceless society’ .

Confronted with such a formidable array of ‘ideologues’,
Marks, Cox and Jacka made a final rallying call: ‘The
defenders of tolerance (0 must now move to the attack’

.

Marks quickly played his gambit. Having established
unimpeachable credentials as an expert on education (his
expertise on HPS would develop later), he joined other
better-connected figures to produce the infamous Black
Paper 1977. Amongst the aims of the group which produced
this report were to institute severe cuts in arts and social
science departments in higher education, to support private
schooling, and to lobby for the introduction of student
loans.

To the contributions of Patrick Moore, Hans
Eysenck, Max Beloff and Jacques Barzun, Marks added his
own neat typology of academic life. Universities and polytechnics were made up of two kinds of people: Academics
on the one hand, and on the other Marxists. The first were
logical, constitutional, pluralist and tolerant; the second
were devious, irrational, conspiratorial and not to be tolerated. The purpose of the contrast was clear. Not only were
the two groups locked in conflict, but that conflict was
irreconcilable. The ‘new ideologues’ (a category which included anti-racists, feminists, sociological relativists, and
Marxists) could not be brought into line by means of debate
or academic confrontation. They had to be booted out of
the universities, schools and polytechnics.

Up to this point, as I have indicated, such rantings
were heard on the outer fringes of the educational debate
and treated by most with a mixture of incredulity, contempt and abuse. Marks’s writings were simply too hysterical, high flown and bizarre to be taken seriously either
by the left or the right. But of course the political climate
of the ‘eighties is very different to that of the previous
decade. In 1982, the Tory Centre for Policy Studies issued
a document on education, The Right to Learn, which actually gave the stamp of approval to ideas which had been
discredited only a few years before. By this time, Marks
had turned his attentions to the history and philosophy of
science. His course on ‘Science and the Making of the
Modern World’ has been enforc~d on all science students at
PNL for the past few years. So along with the view that
the number of sociology and social studies departments
throughout the country should be ‘drastically reduced’,
Marks now argues that science students should be encouraged to ‘appreciate the influence of social factors in
the organization of the social institutions concerned with
science’ . Bad new for sociology, but good tidings for
HPS.

Not quite. The problem is that so many sociologists,
historians, and philosophers of science are highly critical,
‘partisan’, ‘biased’, ‘agitational’ and frankly incompetent.

Here then is the proposal. Only those who can identify with
the aims and aspirations of contemporary science should
be entrusted to lecture on HPS. Posts involving this subject should only be filled by staff who have ‘direct experience of work in those, or related fields’ – that is, by scientists or ex-scientists . Only by these means will a relevant and meaningful kind of HPS be developed. It is, say

our two authors, ‘a very different approach from the onesided “doctor-bashing” and “science-knocking” attitudes
which characterize some courses’ . Enter John Marks
(ex-Aldermaston) and Caroline Cox (ex-nurse).

All of which, I would suggest, places a big question
mark over the future of HPS in this country, particularly
since such views may well become (if they have not done
so already) official Tory education policy. After all, Keith
Joseph has already rejected calls for the introduction of
HPS components in science A-level courses. Scientists possess the necessary experience of their subject to teach
HPS. Moreover they are trained (unlike sociologists, philosophers, historians and the ‘new ideologues’) to accept two
fundamental criteria as the sine gua non of any academic
qualifications. Firstly, their discourses are logically coherent; and secondly, they have a ‘commitment to an attempt
to take account of all available relevant evidence’ .

If scientists do possess the right experience and right
outlook for the job, they do however lack the” historical
and philosophical skills to teach HPS. This is a gap the textbook is designed to fill. The textbooks of Butterfield,
Dampier and Gillispie are showing their age; clearly they
have not been able to ‘take account of all the available
relevant evidence’. This is where Science and the Making
of the Modern World comes in to provide what its publishers modestly term ‘indispensable reading’. Some fifteen
to twenty neatly-packaged lecture notes each with its own
succinct conclusions; all the prospective lecturer needs is
here. HPS is no longer a deeply problematic enterprise. It
is actually quite simple. And just in case anyone doubted
the authority of the text, it comes complete with a glowing
tribute from Mary Hesse, Professor of the Philosophy of
Science at Cambridge and the only representative of HPS
on the University Grants Committee. The book, she writes
in a foreword, has ‘broken new ground’. Its author ‘has succeeded admirably in setting out what the educated scientist
or scientific layperson needs to know to bring an informed
and critical mind to the contemporary place and influence
of science and society’.

Simple tales of genes and bombs

I have suggested that Marks’s book may be more than at
first appears. But it is also less than it claims to be. It is
only fair to see how it measures up to the standards the
author would impose on others – those of logical coherence,
intellectual honesty, and the need to keep abreast of
current developments in the field.

One of Marks’s complaints about historians and philosophers of science is that they ‘concentrate, as a matter of
policy, on case studies on specific controversial issues such as nuclear power or genetic engineering’ • For
once Marks is quite right. Those who teach HPS find it
more helpful to discuss such issues than to worry overmuch
about the history of the modern flush toilet or the place of
the automatic typewriter in today’s office complex. Unlike
the situation that appears to hold at PNL, in most establishments courses on HPS are elective, so one has a pretty
good idea of what are students’ interests, likings and dislikings. Not unnaturally, the majority of students seem to
find it more diverting, not to say pressing, to tackle topics
like the Manhattan Project, sociobiology and the analysis
of risk than to rehearse other less controversial matters.

But unlike Marks, most teachers of the subject think it
important to have the views of their students represented
when planning courses.

If the concentration on such topical and relevant issues
1S a problem, what is Marks’S solution? His account of genetic engineering may stand as an example. There is no
account. Nor is there any controversy. Just a nice short
story with a moral. In the early 1970s, some biologists
began to be concerned about the possible harmful implications of their work. Fortunately other scientists thought up
‘adequate’ safety standards and these were – and still are implemented to the satisfaction of all. Those who created

the problem later solved it. The moral: there is no need for
outside concern, still less for interference and meddling on
the part of those ‘not directly involved’. To dig up past
history and create problems is unnecessary and divisive.

There we have it – a familiar picture of scientific selfmanagement. And a reassuring picture in part because it is
wholly unburdened with disruptive figures, with evidence of
any sort, or with references to secondary literature. So
much for keeping in touch with all available evidence.

Much the same applies in the case of nuclear power,
except that here Marks speaks with rather more authority.

I have already mentioned his lapses of memory regarding
the events of 1945 in Japan. When he turns to the development of atomic physics Marks seems to be in the grip of a
model of scientific historiography which I haven’t seen anyone champion for the past thirty years. This is the ‘clearly
cumulative’ school of thought (see p.363). Here everything
in history gradually gets better, science uncovers more and
more of the world, knowledge grows slowly step by step,
and even so apparently disruptive an event as the development of Einstein’s theory of relativity is ‘part of the continuous development of physical science from the time of
Galileo onwards’ (p.251). There are, to be sure, a few hiccups on the way, but these Marks conveniently passes over
lightly or in silence. So one looks in vain for a treatment
of the uncertainty principle in the relevant chapter. Marks
thinks it best to bury it somewhere else in the book, in a
section on computing (p.336).

Einstein plays a pivotal role in the story. He is a key
example of the manner in which a critical consciousness
develops in the mind of a scientist. Thus Marks is led to
quote in full what he describes as a ‘momentous letter’,
signed by Einstein and dispatched to Roosevelt in 1939. As
with almost everything else Einstein put his name to, the
message of the letter is open to a number of interpretations, but along with the other physicists who drafted the
note, Einstein appears to have been drawing the president’s
attention to Germany’s potential bomb-making capacity and
to the need for the US government to speed up its nuclear
research programme. By citing the letter in full, Marks
seems to indicate that it is both historically important and
that it represents the politically insightful opinions of the
scientist.

The problem is quite simply that this ‘momentous’

letter had little impact and wholly failed to galvanise the
American government into concerted action. This is wellknown and has been fully documented. Equally misleading is
Marks’s claim that the letter is evidence that ‘Einstein had
thus completely abandoned his former pacifism in the face
)f the threat from Hitler and National Socialism’ (p.270).

2.instein’s pacifist beliefs remained complex throughout his
life, but however ambiguous and equivocal, they did remain
part of his political philosophy after 1939. This again is
well-known and accepted, even in popular accounts such as
Ronald Clark’s Einstein. To make Einstein into the influential militarist fits Marks’s picture nicely, but unfortunately the picture itself is quite wrong. To add to the
story that Einstein’s work was ‘strongly attacked in the
Soviet Union’ (p.268) is not only misleading and factually
incorrect; it is designed to serve as part of a thinly-veiled
political argument of the kind established in the 1950s and
1960s by Gillispie and others.

Before I finish, let me turn briefly to another section
of the book, one of the most technical and, one would
therefore imagine, a portion least liable to distortion by
political and ideological suppositions. Marks, it should be
remembered, places great weight on the need for scientists
to teach HPS and in some measure he does so in the belief
that their training allows them to speak authoritatively
about the subject. The fact that scientific training is no
cualification to be able to reflect critically on the nature,
development and social relations of science is a lesson
which it is gratifying to be able to draw from this text.

And having done so, Marks’s intention to subvert and replace a body of work and an intellectual activity must be

3

seen as almost embarrassingly naive. Normally speaking, it
would be unnecessary and rather a painful duty to have to
point out that an author had failed to grasp even the
fundamental axioms of a scientific field. In this case however, I do so with a measure of relief.

The portion I choose contains I would judge a typical
harvest of errors. I count three in some fifteen pages, and
these on a subject on which I am far from being an expert
– genetics and molecular biology. First of all, Marks asserts
that ‘of all the possible amino-acids, only 20 occur in proteins’ (p.291, my emphasis). A few pages earlier, we read
that insulin from the cow consists of 51 different aminoacids. Now, insulin does indeed consist of 51 amino-acids,
but these are not all different. There are only twenty different amino-acids in the primary products of gene action,
but owing to secondary modifications there are many more
than this in mature proteins. Not perhaps the kind of information readers of Radical Philosophy would be expected
to carry around in their heads, but, it hardly needs saying,
essential basic information for anyone even contemplating
the task of writing cogently about the subject.

Turning to Marks’s account of Mendel’s hybridization
of peas, we are told that it was influenced by reading
Darwin’s Origin of Species (1859, German translation”
1860). Yet Mendel’s research was planned in the mid-1850s
and reported without even a mention of Darwin’s name. It
is well-known that Mendel’s concern was not with Darwinian evolution, but with a contemporary central European
debate about the stability of species. And lastly, according
to the diagram on page 277, Mendel used the modern notation of double letters for homozygotes. The fact is that he
didn’t. And this truth raises a whole host of fundamental
issues about Mendel’s conception of the hereditary determinants, just as the origins of Mendelism pose problems for
anyone who would seek a uni tary development threading
through biology for the past 150 years. I have already suggested that Marks has misunderstood the complex character
of scientific history with his ‘clearly cumulative’ model of
the growth of knowledge. Much the same reassuring onedimensional model of knowledge itself dominates his
panorama.

The truth is that for some while now historians and philosophers of science have questioned the status of individual
theories and logical products as the bases of appraisal and
evaluation in their work. The result has been a proliferation of broader and deeper units which now figure within
scientific historiography – notions such as Kuhn’s ‘paradigm’ and ‘disciplinary matrices’, Lakatos’s ‘scientific
research programmes’, Toulmin’s ‘intellectual disciplines’,
and Popper’s ‘metaphysical research programmes’. As the
discipline of HPS has turned its attention to the nature of
competing scientific ideologies, simultaneous discoveries,
dissonant theories, and the character of periods of synthesis, integration, calm and hibernation within the development of a body of scientific knowledge, so it has been
forced to eschew the notion that such knowledge simply
coalesces around a single theorem or theory. The shift
might be simply represented as one from the history of
scientific ideas to the social history of the sciences.

That Marks seems unaware of this changed perspective
is clear from the banality of so much of this book, its
politics as much as its history. For theories are not contested, complex and overlain with values, metaphors and
interests. To Marks, they simply exist, out there, in the
minds of scientists who go about their business free from
outside interference and for the good of the community. I
would end by suggesting that the need to respond to this
archaic, reactionary and dangerous model of the nature
and development of science is both pressing and necessary.

To do so would, of course, make HPS a critical and in many
ways radical performance. But this is not to suggest that
merely pointing out the faults with the model is in itself
enough.

With his background and affiliations, and bearing in
mind the current political climate, no one should under4

———–~—-~-~—–~

–~

——-_._-

-~~.~~—~

—~–

estimate the damage even so incompetent a propagandist
could cause. We need to show that Marks’s text is corrupt,
both theoretically and factually. But a political assault on
HPS, if and when it comes, needs to be met with an equivalent response. The fact that the history and philosophy
of science has thus far escaped such direct political
attacks carries no lessons for the future. So it will be particularly instructive to see what reception and notice is
given to Science and the Making of the Modern World.

Mike Shortland
Footnotes
1
2
3
4

5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12

See Congress for Cultural Freedom, Science and Freedom, 1955, pp. 36-46.

C.C. Gillispie, The Edge of Objectivity, Princeton, 1960, p. 9.

Ibid.

See G. Alperovitz, Atomic Diplomacy. 1966, pp. 237-38. According to the postsurrender study by the US Strategic Bombing Survey, ‘certainly prior to December 31,
1945, Japan would have surrendered, even if the atomic bomb had not been dropped’

(quoted in P.M.S. Blackett, Military and PoJitic:al Consequences of Atomic Energy,
1948, p. 122). Hiroshima was destroyed on 4 August, 1945; Nagasaki 3 days later.

See Brian Easlea, Liberation and the Aims of Science. 1973, pp. 239-41.

The Rape of Reason, 1975, p. 145.

Ibid., p. 146.

Caroline Cox and John Marks (eds.), The Right to Learn, 1982, pp. 83, 71.

Ibid., p. 84.

Ibid., pp. 84, 77.

Ibid., p. 82.

Ibid., p. 78 ••

Articles and Essay Reviews of interest to readers of this
special issue in previous numbers of RP include:

Alison Assiter, ‘Marxism and Science’ (RP 12)
Martin Barker, ‘Racism – The New Inheritors’ (RP24);
‘Sociobiology’ (RP24)
Ted Benton, ‘Lysenko’ (RP24); ‘Realism and
SQcial
Science’ (RP27)
Roy Bhaskar, ‘Scientific Explanation and Human
Emancipation’ (RP26)
Georges Canguilhem, ‘What is Scientific Ideology?’ (RP29)
John Fauvel, ‘Is the Philosophy of Biology Diseased?’

(RP3!)
Paul Feyerabend, ‘How to Defend Society against Science’

(RPll)
Roger Harris, ‘Popper for the People’ (RP6)
Nicki Jackowska, ‘Seeds of Freedom. Reply to Feyerabend’

(RP12)
John Krige, ‘Against Empiricism’ (RP12), ‘Revolution and
Discontinuity’ (RP22), ‘Progress in Science’ (RP24),
‘Witches, Magic and Philosophy’ (RP29)
Les Levidow, ‘Towards a Materialist theory of Ideology:

the IQ Debate as Case Study’ (RP22)
Mike Shortland, ‘Vestiges of Positivism’ (RP28), ‘Introduction to Georges Canguilhem’ (RP29), ‘The Fabric of
Explanation’ (RP29)
Aaron Sloman, ‘What are the Aims of Science?’ (RP13)
Alfred Sohn-Rethel, ‘Intellectual and Manual Labour’ (RP6)
Other periodicals of interest are:

Antipode – A Radical Journal of Geography (PO Box 225,
West Side Station, Worcester, MA 01602, USA)
Cahiers Galilee (BP Galilee 160, B-1348, Louvain-Ia-Neuve,
Belgium)
Critique of Anthropology (PO Box 178, London WC 1 6BU)
Dialectics Notebook (Hy Cohen, 130 St Edward Street,
Brooklyn, NY 11201, USA)
Fundamenta Scientiae (4 Rue Blaise Pascal, 67070
Strasbourg, France)
I&C (Graham Burchell, Westminster College, North Hinksey,
–Oxford OX2 9AT)
Medicine in Society (74 Brookdale Road, London E17)
Radical Statistics (9 Poland Street, London W1)
Radical Science Journal (9 Poland Street, London W1)
Science and Society (Room 4331, John Jay College, CUNY,
445 West .59th Street, New York, NY 10019; USA)
Science Bulletin (27 Bedford Street, London WC2)
Science for the People (9 Poland Street, London W1)
The British Society for the History of Science is active in
organising meetings, dayschools and conferences. Applications to The Administrator, BHSH, Halfpenny Furze, Mill
Lane, Chalfont St Giles, Bucks HP8 4NR. The Society also
produces a Newsletter, a journal (BJHS) and occasional
Monographs.

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