The Geological Society of London was the first learned society to be devoted solely to geology, and its members were responsible for much of the spectacular progress of the science in the nineteenth century. Its distinctive character as a centre of geological discussion and research was established within the first five years from its foundation in 1807. During this period its activities were directed, and its policies largely shaped, by its President, George Bellas Greenough, on whose unpublished papers this account (...) is chiefly based.The Society began as a small scientific dining club in London, but it developed rapidly into a learned society with a nation-wide membership. It became so independent in outlook and so active in research that it was felt to threaten the esteem of the Royal Society; and little more than a year after its foundation it clashed with the Royal Society so violently that its continued existence was for a time uncertain.Its development into a large independent society was the outcome of its ‘Baconian’ view of the importance of collecting geological facts as a surer basis for geological theories. For this purpose it initiated an ambitious scheme for co-operative research, which would unite the efforts of ‘philosophers’ with those of ‘practical men’. Only personal reasons seem to have kept the most prominent of the practical men—William Smith—from co-operating with the Society. (shrink)

This argument has emphasized the professional character of Darwin's early activities, largely in order to balance the usual portrayal of the amateurishness of his early training and field of study. Arguing this way has revealed the interplay between Darwin's personal interests and his professional obligations, the latter being particularly important for the period from October 1836 to July 1837. In several instances, notably the treatment of his collections, the progress of his thought followed the professional lead directly. In the absence (...) of such a lead Darwin did not pursue certain issues, if only for lack of time. Thus the subject of man did not figure in his initial formulation of a transmutationist position. Only after the commitment to the new point of view had been made did the issues emerge which will be treated in Part II of this article. However, we may close by noting Darwin's inherited disposition on the subject: in the summer of 1837 Darwin responded to Lyell's claim that the change from irrational animal to rational man represented “a phenomenon of a distinct kind from the passage from the more simple to the more perfect forms of animal organization and instinct” with a fanciful doodle in the margin.121 The thoughts behind the bemused scribbling were to occupy a good portion of Darwin's time for the next two years. (shrink)

In the half century following Cook's entry into the Pacific in 1769, few tropical phenomena excited more attention than coral islands and the corals which evidently built them. In the eighteenth century corals occupied a critical position in the Great Chain of Being. Sometimes interpreted as animals, sometimes as plants, they built large topographic structures of limestone, and thus spanned the gap between the organic and inorganic worlds. ‘The strata which they form are at once living and fossil; we can (...) see them in the act of production, and the mountains grow up to the day before us, new parts of our own earth.’ Towards the end of the century, after Peyssonnel had conclusively shown that corals were animals—variously designated as worms, insects, or molluscous worms—this bridging significance was transferred to the coral islands, new areas of land emerging from the ocean and newly colonized by plants and animals, as an analogue of the primeval earth. This creative process served for some to counterbalance the Huttonian vision of universal degradation: ‘Whatever destroying tendencies … exist on the earth, these renovating powers compensate for them’. (shrink)

In the late eighteenth century, which was for Scotland in many ways an ‘Age of Improvement’, the University of Edinburgh enjoyed a golden age. Under the enlightened principalship of the Reverend William Robertson, the University offered wide, flexible, and mainly secular courses of study which were taught by conspicuously able professors. If we restrict ourselves to scientific chairs, a roll-call of their occupants is distinctly impressive: John Robison ; John Playfair ; John Walker ; Daniel Rutherford ; James Gregory ; (...) William Cullen ; Alexander Monro secundus ; and their doyen Joseph Black , ‘so pale, so gentle, so elegant, and so illustrious’. The scientific eminence of the University at that time is, of course, widely acknowledged. (shrink)

It has become almost traditional for historians of geology to claim that Roderick Murchison ‘opened to view for the first time’ the fossiliferous rocks below the Old Red Sandstone which Murchison described in his monumental work The Silurian System published in 1839. Murchison himself claimed in the introduction to this work ‘no-one was previously aware of the existence below the Old Red Sandstone of a regular series of deposits, containing peculiar organic remains’. Professor John Phillips expressed the traditional view well (...) when he wrote of the larger area of which Shropshire forms a part: ‘practically before the Summer of 1831 the whole field of the ancient rocks and fossils… was unexplored but then arose two men… Adam Sedgwick and Roderick Murchison and simultaneously set to work to cultivate what had been left a desert’. Against this we must set the statement of George B. Greenough , first president of the Geological Society of London, as reported in 1841. He had ‘frequently expressed a conviction, as a result of his own observations…, that adequate enquiry alone was wanting to prove the existence of a succession of strata in the west of England, and in Wales—not less regular than that which had been demonstrated in the centre and east of the Island.’. (shrink)