I have always been passionate about knowledge and learning and started my higher education by studying and teaching in the sciences. But I soon fell in love with the humanities, an ocean that brought me a new way of looking at the world and reinforced my intuition that the sciences and humanities are not ‘two cultures’ as sometimes portrayed but complementary endeavors as clear by historical studies themselves. My latest training in the history of science and the multi-cultural aspects of early science, in particular, has added a new passion, one for human understanding, tapping into our common heritage, as highlighted in my list, for serving an increasingly divided world.
I wrote...
Baghdad and Isfahan: A Dialogue of Two Cities in an Age of Science CA. 750-1750
This book is about the human quest for knowledge and stories of knowledge transmission and transformation through the evolving histories of major scientific traditions: their intellectual and cultural aspects, common legacies, and distinct developments. Its chapters are filled with multiple actors and settings, historical and modern: an old manuscript with many lives, from a transcribed copy to a multimedia entity; a young character embodying generations beyond his age and gender to represent advancing concepts and technologies; and historic cities brought to life through the voice of that young symbol of the future.
What emerges are cities with stories of scientific knowledge and practice in both ‘East’ and ‘West,’ cities whose eventful pasts and vital lives throughout the ages can no longer be assumed isolated or irrelevant.
I find this book outstanding for its various rare and extraordinary features: its expert coverage of the cleverly termed subject of ‘information overload’ in historical and modern contexts, the information explosion of Renaissance Europe, and the information revolution of our own time.
It contains engaging accounts of knowledge collection and management in the comparative context of experiences from premodern Chinese, Byzantine, Islamic, and European cultures; fascinating illustrations capturing the book’s rich content; and a wealth of primary and secondary sources, manuscripts and printed works, further enhanced by a comprehensive Index.
But above all, it is the book’s historically sensitive perspective that makes it literally ‘outstanding’: one not identifying a single factor, whether a technology, an institution, or cultural tradition, in explaining the nature and fate of our common heritage of knowledge transmission.
The flood of information brought to us by advancing technology is often accompanied by a distressing sense of "information overload," yet this experience is not unique to modern times. In fact, says Ann M. Blair in this intriguing book, the invention of the printing press and the ensuing abundance of books provoked sixteenth- and seventeenth-century European scholars to register complaints very similar to our own. Blair examines methods of information management in ancient and medieval Europe as well as the Islamic world and China, then focuses particular attention on the organization, composition, and reception of Latin reference books in print…
I find this book the most engaging and innovative among several others by the same bestselling author for its novel approach to historical writing.
In her signature style of explaining key scientific concepts in accessible and enjoyable terms, the author integrates into one of the most fascinating histories of the so-called Scientific Revolution of early modern Europe and the Sun-centered universe proposed by Nicolas Copernicus and published by his pupil Rheticus, a two-act play.
Set as an imaginary dialogue between them next to a few others, mostly in their own terms, is an effective way of retelling that fascinating story.
By 1514, the reclusive cleric Nicolaus Copernicus had developed an initial outline of his heliocentric theory-in which he defied common sense and received wisdom to place the sun, and not the earth, at the center of our universe, and set the earth spinning among the other planets. Over the next two decades, Copernicus expanded his theory and compiled in secret a book-length manuscript that tantalized mathematicians and scientists throughout Europe. For fear of ridicule, he refused to publish.
In 1539, a young German mathematician, Georg Joachim Rheticus, drawn by rumors of a revolution to rival the religious upheaval of Martin…
I find this book fascinating and pioneering in more than one way. Not only does it uncover the historical development of the important science of optics in terms of theories of vision, the predominant form of the subject in premodern times.
But the book also covers key concepts and models in visual theory starting from ancient and medieval periods, including the extramission models of ancient Greek mathematicians and physicians, the intromission models of medieval Islamic and European natural philosophers, and the critical combination of those models and disciplines in generating dependent breakthroughs.
This is among a few monographs devoted to the subject that successfully draw on our common heritage in documenting and explaining the course of the field’s transmission and transformation.
Kepler's successful solution to the problem of vision early in the 17th century was a theoretical triumph as significant as many of the more celebrated developments of the scientific revolution. Yet the full import of Kepler's arguments can be grasped only when they are viewed against the background of ancient, medieval, and Renaissance visual theory. David C. Lindberg provides this background, and in doing so he fills the gap in historical scholarship and constructs a model for tracing the development of scientific ideas.
I find this book on the history of zero intriguing, and the contradiction embodied in its opening title captures a concept that is at once attractive and problematic.
This book, atypically opening with a chapter titled "Zero," and delightfully creative in other ways, presents historical concepts of zero not only as refreshingly non-linear, being termed anywhere from afterthoughts to casual alterations, rather than natural or logical progressions, but also as cross-cultural, involving Eastern Sumerians and Indian traditions and Western Greeks and European traditions, significantly in parallel, not as temporal or geographical extensions of each other.
A symbol for what is not there, an emptiness that increases any number it's added to, an inexhaustible and indispensable paradox. As we enter the year 2000, zero is once again making its presence felt. Nothing itself, it makes possible a myriad of calculations. Indeed, without zero mathematics as we know it would not exist. And without mathematics our understanding of the universe would be vastly impoverished. But where did this nothing, this hollow circle, come from? Who created it? And what, exactly, does it mean? Robert Kaplan's The Nothing That Is: A Natural History of Zero begins as a…
I find this book valuable for its humanized approach to the history of science and its emphasis on the human response to major conceptual developments.
The book is rich with instructive and inviting treatments of major developments within the astronomical traditions in particular, from critical episodes within Greek, Babylonian, medieval, and early modern traditions, to decisive moments leading to what it termed the "Copernican Revolution."
Despite a limited coverage of pre-Copernican developments, the book’s stories around humans adopting and abandoning scientific concepts and models have wider impacts than any specific case, on our understanding of how knowledge develops and transforms.
This newly revised edition of Professor Crowe's accessible and enlightening book recreates one of the most dramatic developments in the history of thought: the change from an earth-centered to a sun-centered conception of the solar system. Written in a clear and straightforward manner, the work is organized around a hypothetical debate: Given the evidence available in 1615, which planetary system (Ptolemaic, Copernican, Tychonic, etc.) was most deserving of support? Beginning with an introductory chapter on celestial motions, Dr. Crowe proceeds to a discussion of Greek astronomy before Ptolemy, mathematical techniques used by ancient astronomers, the Ptolemaic system, the Copernican and…
Gabrielle found her grandfather’s diaries after her mother’s death, only to discover that he had been a Nazi. Born in Berlin in 1942, she and her mother fled the city in 1945, but Api, the one surviving male member of her family, stayed behind to work as a doctor in a city 90% destroyed.
Gabrielle retraces Api’s steps in the Berlin of the 21st century, torn between her love for the man who gave her the happiest years of her childhood and trying to come to terms with his Nazi membership, German guilt, and political responsibility.
Api's Berlin Diaries: My Quest to Understand My Grandfather's Nazi Past
"This is not a book I will forget any time soon."
Story Circle Book Reviews
Moving and provocative, Api's Berlin Diaries offers a personal perspective on the fall of Berlin 1945 and the far-reaching aftershocks of the Third Reich.
After her mother's death, Robinson was thrilled to find her beloved grandfather's war diaries-only to discover that he had been a Nazi.
The award-winning memoir shows Api, a doctor in Berlin, desperately trying to help the wounded in cellars without water or light. He himself was reduced to anxiety and despair, the daily diary his main refuge. As Robinson retraces Api's…
