social epistemology, 1999, vol. 13, nos.

3} 4, 323± 330

Book review

A revisionist history of the Scienti® c

Revolution

MARKKU PELTONEN

1.

T he Scienti® c Revolution by Shapin (1996) is a revisionist history of the Scienti® c

Revolution. Its express aim is to replace the older general accounts of Alexandre Koyre! ,
Herbert Butter® eld, A. Rupert Hall and others who celebrated the Scienti® c Revolution
not only as a cataclysmic and climatic event, but also as a coherent one which
fundamentally changed what people knew about the natural world and how they
secured that knowledge. It should be stated at the outset that Shapin’ s book is an
important and intelligent, graceful and accessible general account of the Scienti® c
Revolution, which should receive as wide readership as possible.
In these times of rampant scholarship, every sub® eld or historical inquiry is being
revised at an ever-growing speed. Yet, when English historians speak about revisionism
they normally refer to the 17th century. It is hardly any news that the English
historiography of the 17th century has been dominated by debates about revisionism.
This epithet has been given to the work of those scholars who, from the 1960s and 1970s
onwards, have questioned the traditional accounts of 17th-century English history,
whether Whiggish or Marxist in origin. What has made these debates so ferocious is the
fact that the revisionists have not only wanted to replace the traditional interpretations
by their own novel ones ; they have also questioned the entire interpretational schema
underlying the traditional accounts.
The old interpretations were by and large based on the idea of modernization.
17th-century England was, if not the actual birthplace of all aspects of modernity,
at the very least a place where all these developments suddenly converged: capitalism,
individualism, the modern state, parliamentary politics, modern science. This modern-
ization theory, as Lake (1994, 1996, pp. 253± 257) has recently pointed out, provided
the master narrative or the interpretational key for most of the leading historians of
early modern England in the immediate post-war period (see also Cust and Hughes,
1989 and the J ournal of British Studies 1996, no. 2). A central place of crucial
importance around which all the themes of modernization ultimately revolved was
given to the English Civil War and Revolution of the mid-17th century.
In one form or another, the revisionism of much post-war scholarship has denied the

Author : Markku Peltonen, P.O. Box 59 (Unioninkatu 38A), University of Helsinki, FIN-00014, Finland;
e-mail: markku.peltonen! helsinki.®

Social Epistemology ISSN 0269-1728 print} ISSN 1464-5297 online ’ 1999 Taylor & Francis Ltd
http:} } www.tandf.co.uk} journals} tf} 02691728.html
324 markku peltonen

former accounts of the origins of the English Civil War. They have rejected any attempt
to ® nd economic and social causes underlying the war as a futile attempt in determinism
and have stressed instead the contingent nature of history. Above all, they have denied
the place of ideology and principle in early modern politics; pre-Civil War England was
instead a place of both ideological consensus and religious unity. So, instead of seismic
changes and the birth of modernity, the revisionists have emphasized continuity and
contingency, although some of them, above all Conrad Russell have replaced these
older master narratives with their own new paradigms (Lake, 1994, 1996, Russell,
1990a, 1990b, 1991).
The Scienti® c Revolution and the birth of modern science have always had an
important role in the older accounts. Perhaps as testimony to both their dedication
to political history and to the specialization of historical writing, these revisionists have
been particularly reticent about the role of science in 17th-century English history.
It might look odd to juxtapose Shapin’ s T he Scienti® c Revolution with, say, Russell’ s
works. Yet, T he Scienti® c Revolution can in some respects be read as an attempt
comparable to Russell’ s and those of like-minded historians. It not merely attempts to
supersede the old accounts of its subject; it further casts doubt on their entire
interpretative frameworkÐ the modernization theory and the birth of modern science.
The target of its criticism is the same generation of scholars as those of revisionism.
Shapin explicitly argues against the notion of a cohesive and programmatic Scienti® c
Revolution, against simple progress and determinism of traditional assessments. In
other words, his book challenges the older notion of the linear progression towards
modernity in general and towards modern science in particular. Just as revisionism in
English historiography has questioned whether such things that we used to call the
Reformation or the English Revolution ever existed as such, so Shapin questions
whether there was any such thing as the Scienti® c Revolution. Thus, Shapin’ s
provocative opening sentenceÐ ` there was no such thing as the Scienti® c Revolution,
and this is a book about it ’ Ð can be compared with Haigh’ s (1990, p. 459, quoted in
Lake, 1996, p. 267, n. 22) assertion that ` there might have been no Reformation: indeed
there barely was one ’ . Shapin’ s insistence that there were no ` essence ’ of the Scienti® c
Revolution because there was no important principle to which all early modern natural
philosophers subscribed is in some ways equivalent to Russell’ s insistence that there was
no ideological causes of the English Civil War because there was no single principle
which unambiguously separated future parliamentarians from future royalists. More-
over, Shapin’ s keen interest in the links between knowledge and state power on the one
hand and his arguments for the role of politics in natural philosophical disputes on the
other (e.g. Shapin 1981) is not so far removed from Russell’ s interest in the world of high
politics and its factional power struggle.
Yet there are, of course, marked diŒerences as well. Shapin’ s subtle methodological
insights connect him with post-revisionism rather than revisionism. The term
post-revisionism has been applied to a willingness to pursue the causes and
rami® cations of historical phenomena at a number of social, cultural and institutional
levels, as well as to accept the multi-vocality of historiography (Lake, 1996, pp. 270± 278,
283). This de® nition is very close to Shapin’ s methodological re[ glements. He emphasizes
that the ideas of past thinkers should be situated ` in their wider cultural and social
context’ , and argues for the importance of understanding ` the concrete human practices
by which ideas or concepts are made ’ (p. 4). He also takes the multi-vocality of historical
studiesÐ that there is ` a multiplicity of stories ’ which can be told about the Scienti® c
Revolution (p. 10)Ð for granted. But, having accepted this, he does not conclude that
revisionisthistory of the scientificrevolution 325

the records he is studying are merely pieces of an alien culture. On the contrary, he still
believes that it is worth our while ` to know how we got from there to here, who the
ancestors were, and what the lineage is that connects us to the past’ (p. 7), however
partial the stories based on such a theoretical framework might be (see also Shapin,
1982, Cunningham and Williams, 1993, pp. 419± 420).

2.

Even a fairly super® cial acquaintance with recent scholarship on the Scienti® c
Revolution makes it plain that Shapin is not alone in this enterprise. The notion of the
Scienti® c Revolution as a coherent revolution has become increasingly di cult to
sustain and is, in fact, seldom defended any more (Cunningham and Williams 1993). In
its stead, historians emphasize the intellectual variety amongst the early modern natural
philosophers and the complexity of their scienti® c enterprises. The Scienti® c Rev-
olution, in other words, is no longer seen as a stark replacement of the old science by the
new one. Some historians even want to cease using the term altogether (Cunningham
and Williams 1993). In many respects, Shapin’ s volume is a summary of much recent
scholarship which, despite its multi-vocality, is guided by a similar set of methodological
precepts and which, by and large, challenges the traditional notion of a coherent
Scienti® cRevolution. There is little doubt that the more broadly contextualist approach
has helped to avoid gross anachronistic interpretations and to give more historically
accurate accounts. The dominance, if not hegemony, of this historiographic programme
becomes obvious when we compare Shapin’ s volume to another recent, short account
of the Scienti® c RevolutionÐ Henry’ s T he Scienti® c Revolution and the Origins of Modern
Science (1997).
True, these two volumes look almost entirely diŒerent at ® rst glance. Whereas Shapin
is particularly reticent about the origins of modern science, Henry writes emphatically
about them. Whereas Shapin proclaims at the very outset of his volume that there
was no such thing as the Scienti® c Revolution, Henry opens his by a terse de® nition
of the Scienti® c Revolution as ` the period in European history when, arguably, the
conceptual, methodological and institutional foundations of modern science were ® rst
established’ . (Henry, 1997, p. 1) And, whereas Shapin argues that there was no
` essence ’ of the Scienti® c Revolution, Henry is at least attempting ` to pin-point the
fundamental issues for past thinkers, their most signi® cant switches in ways of thinking,
the clearest shifts in their social organization, the most far-reaching changes in their
scienti® c practice, and the implications of the most signi® cant discoveries and
inventions’ (Henry, 1997, pp. 1± 2).
On closer inspection, however, the two volumes are very similar. First, despite its
provocative claims at the beginning, Shapin’ s volume is a much more conventional
account of the Scienti® c Revolution than the beginning leads one to expect. The
traditional heroes, from Copernicus and Galileo through Bacon and Descartes to Boyle
and Newton, are all there. The four central topics mentioned in the IntroductionÐ the
mechanization of nature, the depersonalization of natural knowledge, the attempted
mechanization of knowledge and the aspiration to use the resulting reformed natural
knowledge to achieve moral, social and political endsÐ are topics which one would
expect to ® nd in a book on the Scienti® c Revolution, whether traditional or not. These
topics are, while not exactly the same, very similar to Henry’ s. Moreover, towards the
end of his book, Shapin argues that ` the depersonalization of nature and the attendant
326 markku peltonen

practices of producing knowledge’ are not merely strands that have run throughout his
narrative ; they are also strands which connect ` our understanding of the Scienti® c
Revolution to some fundamental categories and evaluations of our present-day culture ’
(p. 162). This, as Shapin is clearly aware, comes close to a ` self-denying ordinance ’ .
Indeed the last sentence refers to ` the cultural legacy of the Scienti® c Revolution’
(p. 165). So, even if there were no Scienti® c Revolution, let alone its ` essence ’ , at the
very least there is something which can be called its legacy.
The actual contents of Shapin’ s and Henry’ s books are also strikingly similar,
although Henry’ s book is much more balanced in its geographical coverage (Shapin’ s
book being somewhat Anglo-centred). The volumes share their point of departure : a
critique of the traditional view of the Scienti® c Revolution as a coherent progressive
revolution. Both warn against the anachronistic nature of such traditional accounts,
although both admit that present-centred history cannot be avoided altogether. Again,
both place a strong emphasis on the methodological bene® ts of contextualism: science
should be contextualized in its social, political and cultural milieus. The main chapters
in the volumes, while organised diŒerently, treat, by and large, the same range of issues.
Obviously, there are occasional diŒerences in emphasis. Thus, Henry has a separate
chapter for ` magic and the origins of modern science’ , whereas Shapin barely touches
on this topic at all, with the consequence that such names as Marsilio Ficino and Hermes
Trismegistus make no appearance in his pages. On the other hand, Shapin discusses at
much greater length the problems of experience and experiment. Nonetheless, their
overall accounts resemble each other to a striking degree.

3.

The ® rst chapter in Shapin’ s neat division concerns with ` what was known? ’ . This
presents a fairly conventional but concise and lucid analysis of the challenges to the
essentially Aristotelian notions of science. The orthodoxies of terrestrial and celestial
physics, of the essentially static state of knowledge, of anthropocentrism, of the division
between nature and ars, as well as of the notion of substantial forms, are all questioned
in their turn in Shapin’ s story. His accompanying account of the rise of the mechanical
philosophy and of its limits is especially intelligent and fascinating. The advances of
early modern natural philosophy are not questioned; it is rather the traditional master
narratives and especially their simple progressive and teleological character which are
challenged.
The critique of the Aristotelian position, which is a central theme in the ® rst chapter,
tends to attenuate in the second oneÐ entitled ` How was it known? ’ Ð which concerns
itself with the methods of acquiring and securing knowledge. At the same time, the
account becomes less traditional. Shapin pays attention to the public pronounce-
ments advocating a total break with the Aristotelian tradition, however, these pro-
nouncements, he argues, should be treated with caution. A central argument in the
second chapter is that there was much more going on in these explorations for the new
scienti® c method than the mere search for the best possible means of gaining access to
nature’ s causal structure. ` The relation’ , Shapin writes, ` between any body of formal
methodological directions and concrete natural philosophical practice in the 17th
century is deeply problematic’ (p. 95). Methodology had its role as a norm, but it was
also widely used as a ` rhetorical tool ’ to justify one’ s practise.
The third chapterÐ ` What was the knowledge for? ’ Ð explores the uses to which
revisionisthistory of the scientificrevolution 327

natural philosophy was put in the 17th century. Considerable emphasis is placed on
religious motivation, and the long discussion of science and religion in the third chapter
is amongst the most persuasive and arresting parts of the book.
Nevertheless, some of the other parts of the chapter are somewhat problematic.
Despite the title of the chapter, the only way in which Shapin chooses to dwell on the
alleged bene® ts of science is in the context of the rising state power. It was, ® rst and
foremost, Bacon who, in Shapin’ s scheme of things, made ` a joint case for the reform of
learning and the expansion of state power’ . This theme was developed, we are told, in
Bacon’ s New Atlantis (1627), where the work of its scienti® c community (Solomon’ s
House) is said to have ` powered the expansionist drive of the kingdom of Bensalem ’ (the
society described in the New Atlantis) (pp. 127, 130). It is highly interesting to note that
Henry advances exactly the same kind of claim (Henry, 1997)." Shapin and Henry are
neither the ® rst nor the last to advance such claims. They form a central thesis in
Martin’ s Francis Bacon, the State, and the Reform of Natural Philosophy (1992) (see Shapin,
1993) and more recently in Solomon’ s Objectivity in the Making : Francis Bacon and the
Politics of Inquiry (1998).
It can ® rst of all be noted that, having written oŒone paradigm of the modernization
theory (the Scienti® c Revolution), Shapin seems ready to accept uncritically
another explanatory category of the same theoryÐ the rise of strong nation-states.#
More importantly, there is strikingly little evidence to support Shapin’ s somewhat
uncompromising externalist interpretation that Baconian science was constructed ® rst
and foremost to serve political purposes.
One of Shapin’ s arguments is that in his famous phrase that he had ` taken all
knowledge to be my province’ , Bacon was employing a term from ` an administrative
district of the central government ’ (p. 129). But, in his Introduction, Shapin argues that
` the use of metaphors from the economy in the development of scienti® c knowledge or
the ideological uses of science in justifying certain sorts of political arrangements ’ was
prevalent in ` a traditional construal of ` ` social factors’ ’ ’ , which appears to him ` a
curious and limited way of going on’ (pp. 9± 10).
Furthermore, such political motivations as Shapin construes Bacon to have had
would have been perfectly respectable, and yet Bacon failed to make such a confession.
Of course, Bacon emphasized the political support for the advancement of learning and
was seeking for patronage, which in Jacobean England could only come from the king
or the court. More universities and research institutions should be founded and they
must be better equipped. Proper laboratories and libraries were necessary and salaries
should be commensurable to the importance of the scientist’ s work, for this would be the
only way to attract the best quali® ed people to science (Bacon, 1605). All this should be
funded by the public, since it was the public at large who would bene® t from the fruits
of science (Pe! rez-Ramos, 1996, p. 328, Rossi, 1996).
But, in all his search for patronage, Bacon never promised any short-sighted economic
or military gains in return. When he failed in his numerous attempts to receive
patronage, it would have been tempting indeed, had he had such a vision of science
serving the purely political ends of state power, to make a frank declaration to this eŒect.
But, we do not ® nd such a declaration (Pe! rez-Ramos, 1994). And the reason is not far
to seek, for Shapin is riding roughshod over Bacon’ s actual words. Bacon always
emphasized that a reformed science would serve and bring bene® ts for the whole of
humankind. He distinguished three kinds of ambition: ® rst, the extension of one’ s own
power, which he deemed ` vulgar and degenerate ’ ; secondly, the extension of the power
of one’ s own country, which had ` more dignity, though no less covetousness’ ; and
328 markku peltonen

thirdly, the extension of ` the power and dominion of the human race itself over the
universe’ , which was the noblest pursuit (Bacon, 1857± 1874, p. 114). Needless to say,
it was the third rather than the second ambition which Bacon linked with science. In the
preface of the Great Instauration Bacon proclaimed that ` the cause of which haste was not
ambition for himself, but solicitude for the work ; that in case of his death there might
remain some outline and project of that which he had conceived, and some evidence
likewise of his honest mind and inclination towards the bene® t of the human race ’
(Bacon, 1857± 1874, p. 8).
Another argument for Shapin’ s interpretation is the fact that ` in Bacon’ s plan, the
implementation of proper method called not for disciplined individual reasoning¼ but
for organized collective labour’ , as Shapin puts it (p. 130, italics in the original). It is of
course true that Bacon strongly argued for scienti® c cooperationÐ indeed it was a sine
qua non for his reform programme. But it is of crucial importance to remember, although
Shapin fails to do so, that Baconian cooperation always disregarded political
boundariesÐ it was international in its very character. ` Nor is mine a trumpet ’ , said
Bacon, ` which summons and excites men to cut each other to pieces with mutual
contradictions, or to quarrel and ® ght with one another; but rather to make peace
between themselves, and turning with united forces against the Nature of Things, to
storm and occupy her castles and strongholds, and extend the bounds of human empire
(Bacon, 1857± 1874,pp. 372± 373).The aim was, thus, the enlargement of power, but not
the power of a state but that of all humankind. It is not surprising, therefore, to ® nd
Bacon proposing systematic cooperation between European universities. According to
him, learning would make tremendous strides ` if there were more intelligence mutual
between the universities of Europe than now there is ’ . This was so simply because
scienti® c knowledge knows no political boundaries. ` We see, ’ Bacon went on, ` there
may be many orders and foundations which, though they be divided under several
sovereignties and territories, yet they take themselves to have a kind of contract,
fraternity, and correspondence one with the other ’ (Vickers, 1996, p. 174).
Shapin ® nally claims that in Bacon’ s New Atlantis, science is ` serving the interests of
an imperializing state’ (p. 130). Nevertheless, there is no shred of evidence in the New
Atlantis to support this claim. In fact, the kingdom of Bensalem is the direct opposite of
a great state as Bacon conceived it (Peltonen, 1992). Moreover, far from obediently
serving political power, the scientists of the Solomon’ s House kept for themselves the
ultimate decision ` which of the inventions and experiences which we have discovered
shall be published, and which not : and take all an oath of secrecy, for the concealing of
those which we think ® t to keep secret : though some of those we do reveal sometimes to
the state, and some not ’ (Vickers, 1996, p. 487). This was emphatically not a scienti® c
community merely serving the interests of a state, ` imperializing’ or otherwise.

4.

Placing particular emphasis on the alleged connection between the rising state power
and science, Shapin pays curiously little attention to the perspective that science might
produce new knowledge or that it might bene® t humankind (cf. pp. 127, 133, 140),
or, when he brie¯ y mentions the latter (p. 140), he gives it an unduly utilitarian twist.
Nor does he ever mention Bacon’ s idea of an operative science, let alone that he would
have contrasted this idea to the Aristotelian tradition. This would have been, however,
highly important for the theme of the third chapter. In the Aristotelian tradition,
revisionisthistory of the scientificrevolution 329

theoretical sciences were strictly distinguished from practical or productive disciplines.

This distinction had ethical consequences as well, as is clear, for instance, from Jacopo
Zabarella’ s defence of it. The scientist is merely organizing an already existing world;
he is, thus, a mere spectator who takes no part in forming or changing it. Science is a
closed system built on necessary knowledge and the scientists only arrange this formally
perfect system. An art (ars) as operation rather than knowledge has nothing to do within
this system (Mikkeli, 1992). By contrast, in Baconian operative science, science was
not so much a contemplative episteme as a discovery of the unknown and part of the
practical, active life (Pe! rez-Ramos, 1988, Rossi, 1996, Zagorin, 1998, pp. 37± 38).
The importance of all this for Shapin’ s argument is readily obvious when we peruse
his ® ne conclusion. Shapin points out that one of the legacies of the Scienti® c Revolution
is a great paradox that lies at the heart of modern science.

The more a body of knowledge is understood to be objective and disinterested, the more valuable it
is as a tool in moral and political action. Conversely, the capacity of a body of knowledge to make
valuable contributions to moral and political problems ¯ ows from an understanding that it was not
produced and evaluated to further particular human interests (p. 164).

Bacon’ s notion of an operative science would have given Shapin an opportunity to

historicize this statement, for the paradox is already implicit in Bacon’ s insistence (Rossi
1996, pp. 35± 37) that only by getting to things as they really are, to the truth, can be
achieve usefulness, produce faithful works.

Acknowledgement

I should like to thank Sachiko Kusukawa for commenting on an earlier version of this
essay.

Notes

1. All in all, Shapin’ s and Henry’ s accounts of Bacon are conspicuously alike. Both discuss the most obvious
topic ± Bacon’ s inductive method; both also pay attention to the religious and magical dimensions of
Bacon’ s natural philosophyand mention the cooperative character of Bacon’ s scienti® c enterprise, though
Shapin alone points out the importance of Bacon’ s rhetoric of optimism.
2. Composite monarchy rather nation state was the European norm, see Koenigsberger 1986, 1989, Elliott
1992. It is interesting to compare Shapin’ s interpretation with revisionist historiography where traditional
accounts of change and discontinuity are not so much challenged as postponed to the next period, i.e. to
the period which the revisionist historian is not actually studying. See Lake 1996, p. 268.

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