100 books like Genesis and Development of a Scientific Fact

Haldane was not only one of the three founders of the field of biostatistics but was notorious for his support of Lysenko as well. In fact, the story of Haldane’s supposed advocacy of Lysenkoism is much richer and more complicated than it would seem—in the end, it was more a feature of his instinct for contrarianism, inclination to doubt what others assumed to be common sense, and faith that “the universe is not only queererer than we suppose but queerer than we can suppose.”

Haldane is one of the most fascinating figures in the history of science, and his role in the Lysenko controversy is just one of the many interesting stories the author describes in seamlessly poetic prose.

The phrase “politics of science” has rarely been so well-described and analyzed than in the history Wolfe recounts. Her narrative of how the belief in “scientific freedom” was utilized as a weapon of ideology in the fight against communism shows how entangled the careers of politicians and scientists became during a period of intense struggle between two competing civilizations—the USA and the USSR—during the Cold War.

Less than a decade after Lysenko’s downfall, Zhores Medvedev published The Rise and Fall of T.D. Lysenko, one of the first and most fascinating accounts of the controversy published during the Cold War.

For this and other acts of anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda, Medvedev was declared insane and forced into a mental hospital where the challenge of keeping one’s sanity around people telling you you are crazy became his daily existence. Chilling.

This book made me think even fruitflies might have minds. Before reading this, I didn’t have a good grip on how we could even start to connect whole-body behaviors with specific genes. I was drawn in by the elegance of the early experiments with fruit flies. I remained mesmerized by the fact that when these investigations began in the early twentieth century, scientists were not sure what a gene was or even whether they were really real.

To understand how genes relate to traits of whole fruit flies, such as eye color and wing shape, scientists had to figure out what genes were simultaneously. This is the kind of book I want to memorize in a way that makes the book somehow part of me, stitched into the fibers of my body, shaping how I think and perceive.

On the surface, this seems a dry treatise on the process of scientific change, but as you get into it, you encounter again and again the stories of hardheaded researchers convinced that the world explained by current theory just doesn’t make sense and shows how they were driven, often reluctantly, to make sense of things. Priestley’s and Lavoisier’s experiments are included with many others but always set within the framework of a discipline in a “crisis” that needs to be resolved.

The personal costs are not neglected–ridicule, isolation from the accepted “establishment,” sometimes far worse. Scientific progress is often portrayed as a triumph of individual imagination confirmed by wider testing and collaboration. Kuhn’s work took that self-serving myth and tossed it out the window.

This is a collection of essays by Kuhn, written later in his life, as he tried to clarify and develop the view he initially presented in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.

Kuhn reflects on developments in the sociology of science that were influenced by his work, as the Strong Programme sociologists of science identified as Kuhnians and relativists.  Kuhn tries to clarify what he meant by “paradigm change”, motivated by a concern to address his critics and to distance his own view from certain types of relativist views.

The autobiographical interview is very engaging, as Kuhn takes this opportunity to reflect on the impact of his book, as well as on the effects the book has had on his life and career. I think much of what Kuhn had to say in these later papers provides important insight into understanding science, especially his remarks on scientific specialization.

I love how this book tells a dramatic story about dark corruption at the heart of modern science set after the Second World War, especially in the USA.  Physicists allowed politicians to think that the vast sums of money they gave to physics would result in weapons even more terrible than the atomic bomb. But actually, the money was spent on particle colliders, experimental devices that had nothing to do with weapons of war. 

Scientific funding was based on a quagmire of duplicity and deception, and Greenberg tells this story vividly and grippingly. I first read the book with the excitement that one might read a thrilling political thriller. A political/intellectual scandal is revealed.

Shapin makes the audacious claim that there never really was a scientific revolution in Early Modern Europe, despite the fact that “the scientific revolution” has been a central organizing idea in the history of science and the history of Western culture more generally.

His provocative book provides a useful and engaging assessment of the utility of the concept of “the scientific revolution” for making sense of developments in the history of science.  He challenges us to think about the place of radical changes in the history of science, and whether the claims scientists make about such changes are merely rhetorical constructions.

Despite Shapin’s arguments, I am inclined to think something very significant happened in the sciences in the 16th and 17th Centuries, something that deserves to be called “revolutionary”. But Shapin’s book will certainly make readers reflect on what they mean by scientific revolution.

Forrester’s excellent, yet sadly unfinished, Thinking in Cases, advanced a radical new way to consider the history of the human sciences and their modelling of the self or the individual. Whereas Hacking and Foucault focused on population-based statistical styles of reasoning as the means by which the modern state operated, Forrester argues that these ‘styles of reasoning’ were always supported by what he has termed ‘case-based reasoning.’ In doing so, Forrester considers how biopolitical power has been advanced via both legal and medical cases. He describes his approach as being informed by ‘three rhizomic structures,’ namely ‘the psychoanalytic case history; the historical sociology of the sciences; and the individual in the human sciences.’ This rhizomic model is unique to Forrester’s approach, and allows him to move freely between law, anthropology, medicine, politics, psychoanalysis, and the social sciences, in his reflections on the case. He asks us to reflect on… show more.

A remarkably charming book by a physicist who was a student of Hans Bethe. It shows the power and elegance of a scientific approach to matters that one might think would not be susceptible to scientific research.