On this date in 1870, Horace Donisthorpe was born in England.
Donisthorpe is hardly a household name these days, and it is perhaps kinder to his memory that this remains the case, because outside of the very small world of ant researchers (myrmecologists), he is remembered mostly for what he did wrong, and just as this sort of narrow view has led to sad legacies such as "Lamarckism" (more on Lamarck at a later date), one cannot imagine that Donisthorpism would be a positive thing at all.
Horace did his share of good for the study of ants and beetles, and that should not be forgotten. He discovered six new species, including a European rove beetle (Leptacinus intermedius). Unfortunately, he also "discovered" no fewer than twenty-four other species which were not species at all, but redescriptions of already described species. To name and describe a species is a legacy, but to have that description revoked is worse than nothing. It makes the legacy no more than a taxonomic dead end, a complication, a mistake, marked with an asterisk for all the history of science afterward. Twenty four of these is no mean feat, and no small error.
Still, there are worse ways to spend a personal fortune, and he did advance his fields with the discoveries he did make. But at no point can I imagine the term "Donisthorpian" to be accepted gratefully by any scientist I know.
Showing posts with label Birthdays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birthdays. Show all posts
17 March 2008
22 February 2008
Artedi gets no holiday
On this date in 1705, Peter Artedi was born.
February 22nd is known by Americans, and anyone who bought their calendar in the United States, as the birthday of the first U.S. President, George Washington. But 27 years earlier, a pioneer in taxonomy and the study of fishes was born.
Like many of the earliest taxonomists, Artedi originally intended to join the clergy. The patience that had to have been necessary for a taxonomist of this period, classifying the world essentially from scratch, seems to have attracted a particular sort. Another of this same ilk was Artedi's friend, the much better known Carolus Linnaeus. Linnaeus and Artedi worked together at Uppsala University, and became so close that they each signed wills leaving their work, notes and books to each other in the event of their death.
Artedi's part of this contract came due far too soon. At only the age of 30, with a long life and career ahead of him, he drowned in Amsterdam. The father of ichthyology, the man who had begun the real process of grouping and organizing the fishes, was still as much a stranger to the water as any of us. Even at this young age, he left the world two classics in the field, the Bibliotheca Ichthyologica and Philosophia Ichthyologica, which were only manuscripts at the time of his death. Linnaeus, still his devoted friend, made sure they were published and got their proper attention.
February 22nd is known by Americans, and anyone who bought their calendar in the United States, as the birthday of the first U.S. President, George Washington. But 27 years earlier, a pioneer in taxonomy and the study of fishes was born.
Like many of the earliest taxonomists, Artedi originally intended to join the clergy. The patience that had to have been necessary for a taxonomist of this period, classifying the world essentially from scratch, seems to have attracted a particular sort. Another of this same ilk was Artedi's friend, the much better known Carolus Linnaeus. Linnaeus and Artedi worked together at Uppsala University, and became so close that they each signed wills leaving their work, notes and books to each other in the event of their death.
Artedi's part of this contract came due far too soon. At only the age of 30, with a long life and career ahead of him, he drowned in Amsterdam. The father of ichthyology, the man who had begun the real process of grouping and organizing the fishes, was still as much a stranger to the water as any of us. Even at this young age, he left the world two classics in the field, the Bibliotheca Ichthyologica and Philosophia Ichthyologica, which were only manuscripts at the time of his death. Linnaeus, still his devoted friend, made sure they were published and got their proper attention.
29 January 2008
Freezers and Rockets
On this date in 1846, Karol Olszewski was born.
If you've never heard of Olszewski, that's no real surprise. Outside of certain physics and chemistry circles, the Polish scientist is not well remembered, but he made a few very significant additions to our knowledge of the most common elements in our atmosphere, as well as exciting new ways to use those elements.
Olszewski was an alumnus of the Jagiellonian University in his hometown of Krakau, long a distinguished center of learning in Poland. Jagiellonian boasts among its other famous alumni Pope John Paul II, science fiction writer Stanislaw Lem, and none other than Nicolaus Copernicus.
Olszewski was an accomplished scientist, but is best known for his work on the creation of liquid oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide. He and colleague Zygmunt Wróblewski were the first to achieve stable liquid states for these gases, and their discoveries are still in wide use today. Liquid nitrogen is, by far, the most common product of their work, used in all kinds of freezing applications, from the freezing and transporting of food to the removal of skin lesions and warts. Liquid oxygen was a vital propellant in early rockets, and is still used in some rocket systems, most notably the U.S. space shuttle.
In 1888, just five years after achieving the liquid states, Olszewski's most valued partner, Wróblewski, was killed during their work studying the basic properties of hydrogen. Olszewski bravely continued this work, eventually achieving a stable liquid hydrogen state and setting the new world record for lowest achieved temperature, at -225 C.
He is remembered today with a street named after him in Krakau.
If you've never heard of Olszewski, that's no real surprise. Outside of certain physics and chemistry circles, the Polish scientist is not well remembered, but he made a few very significant additions to our knowledge of the most common elements in our atmosphere, as well as exciting new ways to use those elements.
Olszewski was an alumnus of the Jagiellonian University in his hometown of Krakau, long a distinguished center of learning in Poland. Jagiellonian boasts among its other famous alumni Pope John Paul II, science fiction writer Stanislaw Lem, and none other than Nicolaus Copernicus.
Olszewski was an accomplished scientist, but is best known for his work on the creation of liquid oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide. He and colleague Zygmunt Wróblewski were the first to achieve stable liquid states for these gases, and their discoveries are still in wide use today. Liquid nitrogen is, by far, the most common product of their work, used in all kinds of freezing applications, from the freezing and transporting of food to the removal of skin lesions and warts. Liquid oxygen was a vital propellant in early rockets, and is still used in some rocket systems, most notably the U.S. space shuttle.
In 1888, just five years after achieving the liquid states, Olszewski's most valued partner, Wróblewski, was killed during their work studying the basic properties of hydrogen. Olszewski bravely continued this work, eventually achieving a stable liquid hydrogen state and setting the new world record for lowest achieved temperature, at -225 C.
He is remembered today with a street named after him in Krakau.
18 January 2008
Bronowski
On this date in 1908, Jacob Bronowski was born.
When I choose which events and births and deaths to profile in this blog, it's often difficult to pick the most significant. Often I have to hope that I continue to do this for more than a year, just to get back to some of the interesting stories I had to pass up the first time around. For January 18, there was no question that Bronowski would be my subject.
Jacob Bronowski is best known to most people, myself included, for his excellent work on the BBC's Ascent of Man. Ascent, for those of this generation that have not yet seen it, is a masterwork explaining the various ways that science and technology have shaped human civilization. While Darwin traced humanity's "Descent" back to our evolutionary ancestors, Bronowski chose the opposite, starting at the point we became truly modern humans and noting the way that science fostered our growth and development. It was a brilliant show.
One of the most memorable moments from Ascent was also one of the formative moments in my understanding, limited as it may be, of science. In the eleventh of thirteen episodes, Bronowski visited Auschwitz, the infamous Nazi death camp. He proceeded to make one of the most important points I have ever heard, that certainty is the enemy not only of science, but of humanity. No explanation I could possibly offer would do better than Bronowski's own, and so here, thanks to the glory that is YouTube, is that segment. I encourage you to buy the entire series, and see why it was Carl Sagan' inspiration for making Cosmos.
When I choose which events and births and deaths to profile in this blog, it's often difficult to pick the most significant. Often I have to hope that I continue to do this for more than a year, just to get back to some of the interesting stories I had to pass up the first time around. For January 18, there was no question that Bronowski would be my subject.
Jacob Bronowski is best known to most people, myself included, for his excellent work on the BBC's Ascent of Man. Ascent, for those of this generation that have not yet seen it, is a masterwork explaining the various ways that science and technology have shaped human civilization. While Darwin traced humanity's "Descent" back to our evolutionary ancestors, Bronowski chose the opposite, starting at the point we became truly modern humans and noting the way that science fostered our growth and development. It was a brilliant show.
One of the most memorable moments from Ascent was also one of the formative moments in my understanding, limited as it may be, of science. In the eleventh of thirteen episodes, Bronowski visited Auschwitz, the infamous Nazi death camp. He proceeded to make one of the most important points I have ever heard, that certainty is the enemy not only of science, but of humanity. No explanation I could possibly offer would do better than Bronowski's own, and so here, thanks to the glory that is YouTube, is that segment. I encourage you to buy the entire series, and see why it was Carl Sagan' inspiration for making Cosmos.
15 January 2008
The Real Dr. Strangelove
"Of course, the whole point of a Doomsday Machine is lost, if you keep it a secret."
-Doctor Strangelove
On this date in 1908, Edward Teller was born.
The brilliant but eccentric Teller was born in Hungary, and was born with the name Teller Ede. His family was Jewish, and growing up in the politically tempestuous Hungary of the early 20th century made him deeply distrust totalitarian government. He studied under both Enrico Fermi and Niels Bohr, and emigrated to the United States, along with his wife Mici. There he made several interesting breakthroughs, such as his prediction of Jahn-Teller distortions, and there he also began his interest in nuclear energy.
Teller joined the Manhattan Project in 1942. In an episode that speaks volumes about his level of confidence in his abilities, and hi scientific curiosity, he had a famous conversation with Fermi about the potential of the atomic bomb. They argued over whether an even more powerful blast would be possible by using atomic fission to set off a second fusion reaction. While the first atomic bomb was 3 years away, Teller had already begun imagining the Hydrogen bomb. He contributed in several ways to the development of the first atomic bomb, and always kept the H-bomb, or "Super" as he called it, in the back of his head.
He would go on to be known as the father of the H-bomb. The whole idea was largely ignored or marginalized until the Soviets tested an atomic bomb of their own. Teller's hydrogen bomb idea seemed like the obvious next step, and he was central in its design and execution.
Teller is remembered mainly for his H-bomb work, but is really a symbol of the optimism, sometimes blind, that we had towards atomic power in the 1950s and '60s. He was a leading advocate of peacetime uses for the atomic bomb, most famously recommending the use of a hydrogen bomb to create a deep-water port at Point Hope, Alaska. At some point in the early 1960s, cooler heads prevailed, but the plan, called Project Chariot, went farther than anyone likes to admit. He also pressed for the use of nuclear weapons in excavation for oil, a seemingly questionable bit of logic that also failed to see the light of day.
Teller remained a public figure well into the 1980s. In 1979, he took on what he perceived as an unfair attack on nuclear energy in the form of the film "The China Syndrome". He wrote an ad in the New York Times blasting Fonda and Ralph Nader for their rants against nuclear power, claiming that his tireless efforts against them had actually caused his heart attack. He wrote "You might say that I was the only one whose health was affected by that reactor near Harrisburg (referring to Three Mile Island). No, that would be wrong. It was not the reactor. It was Jane Fonda. Reactors are not dangerous."
Teller was a unique man, even among the eccentric brain trust that was the Manhattan Project. While many of his colleagues eventually saw the dangers of nuclear proliferation and became strong opponents of the use of nuclear weapons, he remained a stalwart supporter of them. He made enemies of Oppenheimer, Stanislaw Ulam, and Nobel laureate Isidor Rabi, among others, and his isolation made him that much easier to label a "mad scientist". But though I disagree with many of his views, to remember Edward Teller as "mad" would be grossly unfair. He was a fine physicist, a brilliant man, who believed that he was serving the cause of peace. I personally have always questioned the logic of peace through the most extreme destruction man has ever devised, but I also find it hard to imagine the terror of believing that a Nazi atomic bomb was possible, especially for an ethnic Jew from Hungary cursed with the knowledge of what such a device could do.
-Doctor Strangelove
On this date in 1908, Edward Teller was born.
The brilliant but eccentric Teller was born in Hungary, and was born with the name Teller Ede. His family was Jewish, and growing up in the politically tempestuous Hungary of the early 20th century made him deeply distrust totalitarian government. He studied under both Enrico Fermi and Niels Bohr, and emigrated to the United States, along with his wife Mici. There he made several interesting breakthroughs, such as his prediction of Jahn-Teller distortions, and there he also began his interest in nuclear energy.
Teller joined the Manhattan Project in 1942. In an episode that speaks volumes about his level of confidence in his abilities, and hi scientific curiosity, he had a famous conversation with Fermi about the potential of the atomic bomb. They argued over whether an even more powerful blast would be possible by using atomic fission to set off a second fusion reaction. While the first atomic bomb was 3 years away, Teller had already begun imagining the Hydrogen bomb. He contributed in several ways to the development of the first atomic bomb, and always kept the H-bomb, or "Super" as he called it, in the back of his head.
He would go on to be known as the father of the H-bomb. The whole idea was largely ignored or marginalized until the Soviets tested an atomic bomb of their own. Teller's hydrogen bomb idea seemed like the obvious next step, and he was central in its design and execution.
Teller is remembered mainly for his H-bomb work, but is really a symbol of the optimism, sometimes blind, that we had towards atomic power in the 1950s and '60s. He was a leading advocate of peacetime uses for the atomic bomb, most famously recommending the use of a hydrogen bomb to create a deep-water port at Point Hope, Alaska. At some point in the early 1960s, cooler heads prevailed, but the plan, called Project Chariot, went farther than anyone likes to admit. He also pressed for the use of nuclear weapons in excavation for oil, a seemingly questionable bit of logic that also failed to see the light of day.
Teller remained a public figure well into the 1980s. In 1979, he took on what he perceived as an unfair attack on nuclear energy in the form of the film "The China Syndrome". He wrote an ad in the New York Times blasting Fonda and Ralph Nader for their rants against nuclear power, claiming that his tireless efforts against them had actually caused his heart attack. He wrote "You might say that I was the only one whose health was affected by that reactor near Harrisburg (referring to Three Mile Island). No, that would be wrong. It was not the reactor. It was Jane Fonda. Reactors are not dangerous."
Teller was a unique man, even among the eccentric brain trust that was the Manhattan Project. While many of his colleagues eventually saw the dangers of nuclear proliferation and became strong opponents of the use of nuclear weapons, he remained a stalwart supporter of them. He made enemies of Oppenheimer, Stanislaw Ulam, and Nobel laureate Isidor Rabi, among others, and his isolation made him that much easier to label a "mad scientist". But though I disagree with many of his views, to remember Edward Teller as "mad" would be grossly unfair. He was a fine physicist, a brilliant man, who believed that he was serving the cause of peace. I personally have always questioned the logic of peace through the most extreme destruction man has ever devised, but I also find it hard to imagine the terror of believing that a Nazi atomic bomb was possible, especially for an ethnic Jew from Hungary cursed with the knowledge of what such a device could do.
14 January 2008
Maury's Faith
On this date in 1806, Matthew Fontaine Maury was born.
Maury was a true cross-disciplinary scientist. A published astronomer, oceanographer and geologist, he is best known for his work on oceanic geology, or perhaps as one of the great mediators between science and religion, a need as dire today as it was 200 years ago.
As one would expect of a 19th century man of learning, Matthew grew up in an educated family. His grandfather was Reverend James Maury, teacher of both James Madison and Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson even lived with the Maurys for two years. James emphasized geography, making it a central part of his lessons, and is widely credited with encouraging young Jefferson's later push to settle the West.
After the death of his beloved brother John, an officer in the Navy, Matthew's parents forbade him to enter naval service. Then, as now, there was no way to better encourage a curious mind than to forbid it something, and Matthew entered the Navy in 1825. He would, from that point forward, always remain in love with the sea, even after a shipboard injury forced him to abandon sailing at the age of 33.
One of his best-known studies had rather mixed effects, depending on your perspective. He was the first to systematically chart whale sightings, realizing that the great whales were migratory and followed certain paths. While this was, of course, a revelation in marine biology, and a hugely important biological finding, it also led to far more efficient harvesting of whales, to the point that populations could not withstand.
Maury was also a founding member of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. During the Civil War, he developed a new form of torpedo for the South that had serious implications for enemy shipping. Had he been on the Northern side, he may have been remembered as a hero, but his scientific achievements are largely lost in his allegiance to the South.
Above all else, though, Maury was a man of faith. He quoted scripture, read the Bible daily, and was by all accounts a strictly Christian man. His science was a profession, and a great love of his, but never interfered with his beliefs, nor vice versa. Some so-called creation scientists would put him forward as an example of someone that would clearly take their side today, but I have to disagree. I think he would be, as many scientists today are, more of a spectator in the conflict between religion and science, and I like to believe that a man so dedicated to both ways of knowing saw no reason why they should be so at odds.
Tomorrow, The Real Dr. Strangelove
Maury was a true cross-disciplinary scientist. A published astronomer, oceanographer and geologist, he is best known for his work on oceanic geology, or perhaps as one of the great mediators between science and religion, a need as dire today as it was 200 years ago.
As one would expect of a 19th century man of learning, Matthew grew up in an educated family. His grandfather was Reverend James Maury, teacher of both James Madison and Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson even lived with the Maurys for two years. James emphasized geography, making it a central part of his lessons, and is widely credited with encouraging young Jefferson's later push to settle the West.
After the death of his beloved brother John, an officer in the Navy, Matthew's parents forbade him to enter naval service. Then, as now, there was no way to better encourage a curious mind than to forbid it something, and Matthew entered the Navy in 1825. He would, from that point forward, always remain in love with the sea, even after a shipboard injury forced him to abandon sailing at the age of 33.
One of his best-known studies had rather mixed effects, depending on your perspective. He was the first to systematically chart whale sightings, realizing that the great whales were migratory and followed certain paths. While this was, of course, a revelation in marine biology, and a hugely important biological finding, it also led to far more efficient harvesting of whales, to the point that populations could not withstand.
Maury was also a founding member of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. During the Civil War, he developed a new form of torpedo for the South that had serious implications for enemy shipping. Had he been on the Northern side, he may have been remembered as a hero, but his scientific achievements are largely lost in his allegiance to the South.
Above all else, though, Maury was a man of faith. He quoted scripture, read the Bible daily, and was by all accounts a strictly Christian man. His science was a profession, and a great love of his, but never interfered with his beliefs, nor vice versa. Some so-called creation scientists would put him forward as an example of someone that would clearly take their side today, but I have to disagree. I think he would be, as many scientists today are, more of a spectator in the conflict between religion and science, and I like to believe that a man so dedicated to both ways of knowing saw no reason why they should be so at odds.
Tomorrow, The Real Dr. Strangelove
11 January 2008
Jedlik and the Dynamo
On this date in 1800, Anyos Jedlik was born in Hungary.
If the name doesn't immediately ring bells, that's understandable. Jedlik is best known in engineering circles, but even there, he gets nowhere near the respect or remembrance he deserves. Jedlik is one of the Alfred Russell Wallaces, the men who made discoveries along with, or in Jedlik's case before, the people credited with them, but who for one reason or another have faded into the background of history. Wallace has enjoyed a bit of a comeback, with modern biologists granting him the credit he deserves for basically having the same idea as Darwin at about the same time. Jedlik has gotten no such surge, and it's a shame.
Anyos Jedlik was a true Renaissance man, and excelled in many areas of study. He was a priest, a physicist, an inventor, and an engineer. He should be above all else remembered as a teacher. He wrote the first textbook, and taught the first university classes, in physics in the Hungarian language. Up until that point, physics was taught in Latin, and Jedlik really did nothing less than translate an entire science into his native tongue for his countrymen. He lectured at Budapest University of Sciences for 40 years, and helped to foster a whole generation of Hungarian scientists.
Jedlik's most important invention, and the one for whom he is truly an unsung genius, is the dynamo. Though Werner von Siemens is given credit for the invention of the device, Jedlik's dynamo predates Seimens' by six years. However, by the time he got around to publishing it, Siemens had published his own and begun marketing it commercially. Soon, Seimens was a well-known name, and he would continue on to have such honors as a unit named for him. A seimen is the SI unit of conductance. There are no scales that measure in jedliks.
Jedlik's accomplishment shouldn't necessarily take anything away from Siemens. After all, having an idea isn't always the hardest part, and credit often belongs to the person with the ability to make an invention commonly applicable to people's lives, not just invent it. Just as Wallace's attention takes nothing away from Darwin, we should accept that many of history's geniuses were not alone in their discoveries, but instead were simply the ones that were most able to bring that discovery to market. And then there are Einsteins, who really do come out of nowhere with discoveries and theories that might not have been made for 50 years had he not made them, but that's a story for another day.
Tomorrow, The League of Extraordinary Scots.
If the name doesn't immediately ring bells, that's understandable. Jedlik is best known in engineering circles, but even there, he gets nowhere near the respect or remembrance he deserves. Jedlik is one of the Alfred Russell Wallaces, the men who made discoveries along with, or in Jedlik's case before, the people credited with them, but who for one reason or another have faded into the background of history. Wallace has enjoyed a bit of a comeback, with modern biologists granting him the credit he deserves for basically having the same idea as Darwin at about the same time. Jedlik has gotten no such surge, and it's a shame.
Anyos Jedlik was a true Renaissance man, and excelled in many areas of study. He was a priest, a physicist, an inventor, and an engineer. He should be above all else remembered as a teacher. He wrote the first textbook, and taught the first university classes, in physics in the Hungarian language. Up until that point, physics was taught in Latin, and Jedlik really did nothing less than translate an entire science into his native tongue for his countrymen. He lectured at Budapest University of Sciences for 40 years, and helped to foster a whole generation of Hungarian scientists.
Jedlik's most important invention, and the one for whom he is truly an unsung genius, is the dynamo. Though Werner von Siemens is given credit for the invention of the device, Jedlik's dynamo predates Seimens' by six years. However, by the time he got around to publishing it, Siemens had published his own and begun marketing it commercially. Soon, Seimens was a well-known name, and he would continue on to have such honors as a unit named for him. A seimen is the SI unit of conductance. There are no scales that measure in jedliks.
Jedlik's accomplishment shouldn't necessarily take anything away from Siemens. After all, having an idea isn't always the hardest part, and credit often belongs to the person with the ability to make an invention commonly applicable to people's lives, not just invent it. Just as Wallace's attention takes nothing away from Darwin, we should accept that many of history's geniuses were not alone in their discoveries, but instead were simply the ones that were most able to bring that discovery to market. And then there are Einsteins, who really do come out of nowhere with discoveries and theories that might not have been made for 50 years had he not made them, but that's a story for another day.
Tomorrow, The League of Extraordinary Scots.
05 January 2008
Kathleen Kenyon and the Birth of Quantitative Archaeology
On this date in 1906, Dame Kathleen Kenyon was born.
Daughter of the Biblical scholar Sir Frederick Kenyon, Kathleen was born into the study of history. Her father would later become Director of the British Museum. She studied history at Oxford, before beginning her career as a photographer on the Great Zimbabwe expeditions of Gertrude Caton-Thompson. As rare as a female archaeologist was in Kenyon's day, it was even rarer in Caton-Thompson, and the elder scientist must have been a heavy inspiration on young Kathleen. Her next work was with Sir Mortimer Wheeler, and it was this work that I want to center on in today's blog.
Wheeler was a star in the world of archaeology. Keeper of the London Museum, he was a precious rarity in science, an extremely talented researcher with an uncanny ability to translate his findings to a larger audience. He was the first to lay out excavations in a grid system to keep track of where items were found to a more specific degree than was previously common. Kenyon learned this system from him at Verulamium, a Roman excavation north of London. She then took Wheeler's ideas and expanded on them, and improved them.
Where Wheeler had concentrated primarily on the horizontal arrangement of artifacts, Kenyon was just as interested in the vertical, the depth at which things were found. Her tweaks to Wheeler's strategy became the Wheeler-Kenyon Method.
In the Wheeler-Kenyon Method, excavation sites are divided into 5x5 meter squares, in a grid. Anytime you see old video of excavation sites, with large squares cut into the earth, they were using Wheeler-Kenyon. Kathleen Kenyon's addition was to leave walls, 1 meter thick, remaining between all of Wheeler's squares. This allowed the layers of soil and other materials to be analyzed alongside the artifacts they held. So much information had previously been swept away, the artifacts seeming to be the important thing. The value of what Kenyon did cannot be overestimated. She realized that the context of the artifacts would be as important as the pieces themselves, and that the layer of sediment surrounding them could tell volumes about when the piece was buried and what was going on there at the time.
Kenyon went on to become principal at St. Hugh's College at Oxford, and was honored as a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire upon her retirement. She died five years later, but left behind a science firmer and more robust than she had found, something to which every scientist would do well to strive.
Tomorrow: Daylight Savings Time and the Energy Crisis
Daughter of the Biblical scholar Sir Frederick Kenyon, Kathleen was born into the study of history. Her father would later become Director of the British Museum. She studied history at Oxford, before beginning her career as a photographer on the Great Zimbabwe expeditions of Gertrude Caton-Thompson. As rare as a female archaeologist was in Kenyon's day, it was even rarer in Caton-Thompson, and the elder scientist must have been a heavy inspiration on young Kathleen. Her next work was with Sir Mortimer Wheeler, and it was this work that I want to center on in today's blog.
Wheeler was a star in the world of archaeology. Keeper of the London Museum, he was a precious rarity in science, an extremely talented researcher with an uncanny ability to translate his findings to a larger audience. He was the first to lay out excavations in a grid system to keep track of where items were found to a more specific degree than was previously common. Kenyon learned this system from him at Verulamium, a Roman excavation north of London. She then took Wheeler's ideas and expanded on them, and improved them.
Where Wheeler had concentrated primarily on the horizontal arrangement of artifacts, Kenyon was just as interested in the vertical, the depth at which things were found. Her tweaks to Wheeler's strategy became the Wheeler-Kenyon Method.
In the Wheeler-Kenyon Method, excavation sites are divided into 5x5 meter squares, in a grid. Anytime you see old video of excavation sites, with large squares cut into the earth, they were using Wheeler-Kenyon. Kathleen Kenyon's addition was to leave walls, 1 meter thick, remaining between all of Wheeler's squares. This allowed the layers of soil and other materials to be analyzed alongside the artifacts they held. So much information had previously been swept away, the artifacts seeming to be the important thing. The value of what Kenyon did cannot be overestimated. She realized that the context of the artifacts would be as important as the pieces themselves, and that the layer of sediment surrounding them could tell volumes about when the piece was buried and what was going on there at the time.
Kenyon went on to become principal at St. Hugh's College at Oxford, and was honored as a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire upon her retirement. She died five years later, but left behind a science firmer and more robust than she had found, something to which every scientist would do well to strive.
Tomorrow: Daylight Savings Time and the Energy Crisis
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