‘An unbelievably romantic prize with beautiful colours’ [‘ett otroligt romantiskt pris med vackra färger’] — that’s how an inorganic chemist at the University of Gothenburg characterizes today’s news about the Nobel prize in chemistry.

I’m not sure I understand what he means by ‘romantic’. I would rather call it a ‘medical’ prize in disguise, like most chemical Nobel prizes these days. Because the green fluoresent protein (GFP) and other GFP-like proteins in a variety of fluorescent colours are widely used in basic and clinical medical research.

(glial cells expressing GFP among red neurons: credit: RICCARDO CASSIANI-INGONI / SCIENCE PHOTO LIBRARY)

And the colours are beautiful indeed. They’ve been a standard illustration theme on bioscience journal covers for years now.

The press release and the excellent scientific background information material contains all that needs to be said about the importance of GFP and GFP-ish proteins at the moment (historians of contemporary biomedical sciences will undoubtedly add more later).

Just a couple of more images. First the playful signature of the Tsien lab webpage painted with different GFP and GFP-like proteins.

And then the so far best publicly known GFP art work — Eduardo Kac’s ‘GFP Bunny’ (2000). Not great art perhaps, but a creative use of one of the most displayable chemical Nobel prizes in many years.

A recent announcement for a lecture by Tim Hunt, joint winner of the 2001 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, at the Royal Institution of Great Britain tomorrow, Thursday 9 October, reminded me of the problems with using scientists as sources for biographical stories.

Tim Hunt will be talking about the inspirations behind his life in science. Says the announcement:

It was in his weekly science lesson at the Dragon School near Oxford that Tim grew to find biology an easy subject, and from then on he felt he never really had to make any more career decisions. When he was 14, Tim moved to another school where science played a much larger role in the curriculum. He loved Chemistry in particular, and the class were allowed considerable freedom, on more than one occasion started fires from distilling volatile flammable solvents.

Well, this may be true. Or it may not. It’s difficult to say, because autobiographical stories are notoriously problematic as sources of what ‘really’ happened, for example what was ‘really’ the inspirations behind someone’s life in science. Having written the biography of another (then still living) medical Nobel laureate (Niels K. Jerne) I know all to well how shaky autobiographical reports turn out to be when you are able to compare them with the written record. By and large, autobiography is better understood as a fictional genre.

That said, autobiographical stories can be great fun and good entertainment. And like great novels, they can be used as ‘mirrors’ for us to compare ourselves in. For that purpose it doesn’t really matter if they are true or not.

So from that point of view the lecture at the Royal Institution could be interesting. In London tomorrow at 7pm — find it here.

In July we reported how ten editors of some of the leading international journals for history and philosophy of science and social studies of science had issued a joint declaration against the current attempts, initiated by the European Science Foundation, to establish a European rating system for humanities journals (ERIH).

Now, two and a half months later, almost all editors of international journals in this area of the humanities have joined the declaration:

• Hanne Andersen (Centaurus)
• Roger Ariew & Moti Feingold (Perspectives on Science)
• A. K. Bag (Indian Journal of History of Science)
• June Barrow-Green & Benno van Dalen (Historia mathematica)
• Keith Benson (History and Philosophy of the Life Sciences)
• Marco Beretta (Nuncius)
• Michel Blay (Revue d’Histoire des Sciences)
• Cornelius Borck (Berichte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte)
• Geof Bowker and Susan Leigh Star (Science, Technology and Human Values)
• Massimo Bucciantini & Michele Camerota (Galilaeana: Journal of Galilean Studies)
• Jed Buchwald and Jeremy Gray (Archive for History of Exacft Sciences)
• Vincenzo Cappelletti & Guido Cimino (Physis)
• Roger Cline (International Journal for the History of Engineering & Technology)
• Stephen Clucas & Stephen Gaukroger (Intellectual History Review)
• Hal Cook & Anne Hardy (Medical History)
• Leo Corry, Alexandre Matraux & Jörgen Renn (Science in Context)
• D.Diecks & J.Uffink (Studies in History and Philosophy of Modern Physics)
• Brian Dolan & Bill Luckin (Social History of Medicine)
• Hilmar Duerbeck & Wayne Orchiston (Journal of Astronomical History & Heritage)
• Moritz Epple, Mikael Hård, Hans-Jörg Rheinberger & Volker Roelcke (NTM: Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Wissenschaften, Technik und Medizin)
• Steven French (Metascience)
• Willem Hackmann (Bulletin of the Scientific Instrument Society)
• Bosse Holmqvist (Lychnos)
• Paul Farber (Journal of the History of Biology)
• Mary Fissell & Randall Packard (Bulletin of the History of Medicine)
• Robert Fox (Notes & Records of the Royal Society)
• Jim Good (History of the Human Sciences)
• Michael Hoskin (Journal for the History of Astronomy)
• Ian Inkster (History of Technology)
• Marina Frasca Spada (Studies in History and Philosophy of Science)
• Nick Jardine (Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences)
• Trevor Levere (Annals of Science)
• Bernard Lightman (Isis)
• Christoph Lathy (Early Science and Medicine)
• Michael Lynch (Social Studies of Science)
• Stephen McCluskey & Clive Ruggles (Archaeostronomy: the Journal of Astronomy in Culture)
• Peter Morris (Ambix)
• E. Charles Nelson (Archives of Natural History)
• Ian Nicholson (Journal of the History of the Behavioural Sciences)
• Iwan Rhys Morus (History of Science)
• John Rigden & Roger H Stuewer (Physics in Perspective)
• Simon Schaffer (British Journal for the History of Science)
• Paul Unschuld (Sudhoffs Archiv)
• Peter Weingart (Minerva)
• Stefan Zamecki (Kwartalnik Historii Nauki i Techniki)

In other words, almost all journal editors in one of the central and established fields of the humanities clearly distance themselves from the ongoing European bureaucratic scientometric project.

Next year is 50 years since C. P. Snow delivered his famous lecture ‘The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution’, suggesting that as cultured citizens we need to know as much about the second law of thermodynamics as the plays of Shakespeare.

To celebrate this event, and to raise the question whether Snow’s notion has any relevance today, Science Museum and Tate Modern are organizing a two-day event on the theme ‘Art and Science Now: The Two Cultures in Question’:

In a world of increasing disciplinary specialisation in which there has been exponential growth of sub-disciplines in both science and the humanities, it will also ask whether the distinctions between and indeed within the two cultures might have become further entrenched. The most fundamental question this celebration of 50 years since Snow’s lecture will ask, though, is how the terms of the debate may have changed.

There will be an academic conference at Science Museum on 23 January and a more public meeting at Tate Modern the day after. The Science Museum conference will consider questions such as:

• How have new technologies such as the internet and new resources like Wikipedia reconfigured our sense of disciplinary boundaries, hierarchies of knowledge and the places where cultural capital is held?
• Has the new dominance within general culture of ideas drawn from the ‘life sciences’ — molecular biology, genetics and biochemistry, ecology, epidemiology — and their unpredictable pressings upon fundamental questions of how and why humans and other organisms should find themselves and their relationships defined in particular ways, led to an ever more complex and porous boundary between science and the humanities?
• How are Snow’s notions of disciplinary and national cultures to be rethought through the paradigms and politics of globalisation?

Good questions, especially the second one. I guess you could say that parts of medicine has always been a meeting ground between science and the humanities.

If someone would like to present, then send a 200-word abstract by 1 November to Laura Salisbury, School of English and Humanities, Birkbeck College, l.salisbury@bbk.ac.uk

Dagens mest interessante medicinhistoriske nyhed er ikke at Françoise Barré-Sinoussi og Luc Montagnier er blevet tildelt halvdelen af årets Nobelpris i fysiologi eller medicin for “their discovery of human immunodeficiency virus”. Den interessante nyhed er, at Robert Gallo ikke fik den samtidigt, og at han ikke en gang er nævnt i pressemeddelelsen (kun i et teknisk appendiks).

Sådan her bagefter er både forskere og historikere nok enige i at den franske gruppe gjorde den egentlige opdagelse af det virus som senere blev kaldt HIV. Og eftersom Nobel’s testamente lægger vægten på “opdagelse”, så skulle det ikke lede til flere spørgsmål. På den anden side spillede Gallo og hans gruppe ved NIH en meget væsentlig rolle både før og efter opdagelsen, især når det gjaldt om at fastslå HIV’s kausale betydning for udviklingen af AIDS. Så det er forståeligt at Gallo siger at det var “a disappointment” at ikke få tage del af prisen.

Det handler meget om hvad man mener med “opdagelse”, og hvilken opdagelse man taler om. Nobelforsamlingen ved Karolinska Institutet kunne have valgt at belønne arbejdet med at nå frem til, at HIV er årsagen til AIDS, snarere end opdagelsen af selve viruset — og da ville man ikke have kunnet forbigå Gallo (men så havde Harald zur Hausen ikke kunnet få prisen for “his discovery of human papilloma viruses causing cervical cancer”, i hvert fald ikke i år, fordi prisen ikke kan gives til mere end tre personer).

(Oversat fra mit blogindlæg på Biomedicine on Display tidligere i dag. Se også den danske professor Lars Fugger’s kritik i Politiken: http://politiken.dk/videnskab/article578527.ece )

Today’s most interesting medical history news is not that Françoise Barré-Sinoussi and Luc Montagnier have been awarded half of this year’s Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for “their discovery of human immunodeficiency virus”. The interesting news is that Robert Gallo doesn’t share the prize, and that he is not even mentioned in the press release (only in the technical appendix).

In hindsight, both scientists and historians probably agree that the French group made the actual discovery of the virus which was later named HIV. Yet, Gallo and his group at NIH played a significant role both before and after the actual discovery, especially in determing the causative role of HIV for the development of AIDS. Asked about his reaction to the news, Gallo reportedly says it was “a disappointment” not to be included.

I guess it’s very much a question of what is meant by ‘discovery’ and also which discovery we are talking about. Nobel’s will emphasized ‘discoveries’ (Swedish: ‘upptäckter’), which speaks in favour of awarding Barré-Sinoussi and Montaigner alone. On the other hand, the Nobel Assembly at Karolinska Institutet could have chosen to award the establishment of HIV as a causative agent of AIDS rather than the discovery of the virus itself — in that case Gallo would probably not have been excluded (but then again Harald zur Hausen would not have been awarded for “his discovery of human papilloma viruses causing cervical cancer”, since only three people can be awarded each year).

Camilla’s post about Robert Wilson’s recent lecture at Stanford reminded me of David Pantalony’s essay in the July issue of the History of Science Society Newsletter:

Why does a control panel for a computer from 1950 attract several viewers in the architecture and design galleries of the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in New York, while similar objects rest unnoticed in storage rooms and science museums around the world?

Referring to Joshua Taylor’s Learning to Look (1981), David reminds us that we too often stop considering objects as soon as we have recognized them. Putting them in other surroundings (like the control panel in MOMA), however, makes it easier to reconsider them. Thus, the main challenge with recent technological artifacts, David points out, “is to prod researchers, the public, and students to move beyond recognition, and to stimulate alternative perspectives and inquiry”.

One way of doing this is to teach history classes about material history. David shares his experiences from teaching an artifact-based historical seminar for University of Otttawa students at the Canada Science and Technology Museum (where he works as a curator in physical sciences and medicine). He begins the artifact sessions´— which take place in the aisles of the storage facilities — by asking the students to examine the basic properties of the artifacts: “materials, colors, finish, markings, modifications and manufacturing labels”, followed by questions about their history, design, and function. Then follows more analytical questions about the identity of objects and their aesthetic qualities, etc:

The key to this exercise is a careful and wide-ranging interrogation of artifacts. The more the students examine, the more questions appear. With persistent questions, they begin to transcend the traditional narratives determined by the artifact’s name and classification. They start thinking critically about specific features and how these features represent choices and context of makers and users. Where there is choice there is culture, context, and history. Why these kinds of markings? Why this construction? Why this style of container? Why this kind of component over another? Why this kind of material?

The cultural analysis of artifacts requires students to ask about “hidden beliefs, values, associations, and meaning”. They also learn to examine artifacts from a different culture, for example, contrasting Western post-war medical technology with healing artifacts from aboriginal cultures.

Not only are David’s experiences useful for curators in sci-tech-med museums — they are also an inspiration for those of us who try to integrate university teaching with museum work. Read the whole essay here.

PS: David sends a nod to the discussions on this blog about the use of MRI scanners in exhibitions; see Søren’s post here and Hans’ post here.

On 21 February 2009, the Fitzwilliam Museum and the Yale Center for British Art in New Haven, CT, are organising a one-day graduate symposium that will explore ways in which art overlaps with science, and with a focus on material objects. Possible topics are:

• networks of artists and scientists
• artist/scientist collaborations
• art and the natural world
• the philosophical concept of the sublime
• theology, art, and science
• the influence of scientific discoveries on the arts
• artistic and scientific approaches to epistemology
• dialogues between art and science in the Enlightenment
• art, science, and education
• science museum displays
• scientific illustration
• travel accounts
• art and exploration
• amateur practice
• photography as science or art
• artistic and scientific concepts of truth

The organisers invite proposals for 25-minute papers across the arts and sciences. Abstracts of max. 300 words by October 14, 2008 to imogen.hart@yale.edu. Travel funds for speakers are available upon application. Read more here.

Kostas Arvanitis at the Centre for Museology, University of Manchester, draws attention to the proliferation of museum blogs at the Manchester Museum. More and more members of staff are creating blogs “to reflect upon their own work, offer a glimpse of what happens ‘behind the scenes’ and invite people to voice their views about all these”.

Currently Manchester Museum staffers run seven: Egypt at the Manchester Museum, Lindon Man blog, Myths about Race, Our City blog, En-quire blog, Palaeomanchester and Frog blog. More might come.

As Kostas points out these are not part of the museum’s official website, but individual blogs, hosted on different platforms. Vice versa, visitors to the official website are invited to visit the staff blogs. In Kostas’ words, they open

‘new spaces’ where the Museum takes place; online spaces that escape the ‘digital walls’ of the official website of the Museum.

Kostas’ comment relates to the question about the relation between individual blogs and institutional communication that I raised in an earlier criticism of Batts, Anthis, and Smith’s paper on bridging the gap between blogs and academia. In other words, the issue here is not ‘blogs vs. website’. It’s not a question of platform. What’s at stake is individual vs. institutional online presence.

Would be interesting to see how other museums have solved the balance. For example, the staff at the National Museum of Health and Medicine run a joint private blog (A Repository for Bottled Monsters) which, as far as I can see, isn’t acknowledged on the museum’s official website. And here at Medical Museion we are currently runnng two joint staff blogs: this one in English and Museionblog in Danish, but maybe some staff members wish to start on their own — in that case I guess we would link to these from the official website.

Our high season for visitors is week 42, when Danish school children have a week off. If the weather is bad, this is particularly good for our visitor statistics, so we are looking forward to some heavy autumn rain storms that will drive hundreds, nay thousands, of young visitors to our museum.

In week 42 we are open every day between 11am and 5pm. The 7-12 year old can attend special roundtrips in the museum at 11am to see how broken legs were treated in the “good old days”, what a dentist’s clinic looked like around the turn of the last century, etc. Our student docents will show skulls and bones and other body parts and tell somewhat uncanny stories about our bodies.

Grown-ups can attend special guided tours at 12.30, 1.30, 2.30 and 3.30pm. Take this opportunity to see Oldetopia before it closes.

(adopted from Bente’s post on our Danish blog, Museionblog)