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Many scientific structures and systems are named after Johannes Müller, one of the most respected anatomists and physiologists of the 19th century. Müller was a mentor to many scientists of his age, many of whom would go on to make trail-blazing discoveries of their own. Among them were Theodor Schwann, who demonstrated that all animals are made of cells; Hermann Helmholtz, who measured the velocity of nerve impulses; and Rudolf Virchow, who convinced doctors to think of disease at the cellular level. This book tells Müller's story by interweaving it with that of seven of his most famous students. Müller suffered from depression and insomnia at the same time as he was doing his most important scientific work, and may have committed suicide at age 53. Like Müller, his most prominent students faced personal and social challenges as they practiced cutting-edge science. Virchow was fired for his political activism, Jakob Henle was jailed for membership in a dueling society, and Robert Remak was barred from Prussian universities for refusing to renounce his Orthodox Judaism. By recounting these stories, Müller's Lab explores the ways in which personal life can affect scientists' professional choices, and consequently affect the great discoveries they make.

The history of twentieth-century life sciences is not exactly a new topic. However, in view of the increasingly rapid development of the life sciences themselves over the past decades, some of the well-established narratives are worth revisiting. Taking stock of where we stand on these issues was the aim of a conference in 2015, entitled \"Perspectives for the History of Life Sciences\" (Munich, Oct 30-Nov 1, 2015). The papers in this topical collection are based on work presented and discussed at and around this meeting. Just as the conference, the collection aims at exploring fields in the history of life sciences that appear understudied, sources that have been overlooked, and novel ways of engaging with this material. The papers convened in this collection may not be representative of the field as a whole; but we feel that they do indicate some elements that have received emphasis in recent years, and may become more central in the years to come, such as the history of previously neglected contexts and domains of the life sciences, the question of continuity and change on the level of practices, the history of complexity and diversity in twentieth-century life sciences and the reconsideration of the relationship between history and philosophy of life sciences.

This article examines to what extent a particular case of cross-disciplinary research in the 1930s was structured by mechanistic reasoning. For this purpose, it identifies the interfield theories that allowed biologists and chemists to use each other's techniques and findings, and that provided the basis for the experiments performed to identify plant growth hormones and to learn more about their role in the mechanism of plant growth. In 1930, chemists and biologists in Utrecht and Pasadena began to cooperatively study plant growth. I will argue that these researchers decided to join forces because they believed to rely on each other's findings and methods to solve their research problems adequately. In the course of the cooperation, organic chemists arrived at isolating plant growth hormones by using a test method developed in plant physiology. This achievement, in turn, facilitated biologists' investigation of the mechanism of plant growth. Researchers eventually believed to have the means to study the relation between a substance's molecular structure and its physiological activity. The way they conceptualized the problem of identifying hormones and unraveling the mechanism of plant growth, as well as their actual research actions are compatible with the new mechanists' account of mechanism research. The study illustrates that focusing on researchers' mechanistic reasoning can contribute considerably to explaining the structure of cross-disciplinary research projects.

This volume is the fourth of its kind devoted to the analysis of English language use in different scientific disciplines from 1700 to 1900. Forty texts on biology and related fields constitute the basis for describing scientific discourse on both methodological issues, the period, and the status of the discipline itself.

This book is a highly readable and entertaining account of the co-evolution of the patent system and the life science industries since the mid-19th century. The pharmaceutical industries have their origins in advances in synthetic chemistry and in natural products research. Both approaches to drug discovery and business have shaped patent law, as have the lobbying activities of the firms involved and their supporters in the legal profession. In turn, patent law has impacted on the life science industries. Compared to the first edition, which told this story for the first time, the present edition focuses more on specific businesses, products and technologies, including Bayer, Pfizer, GlaxoSmithKline, aspirin, penicillin, monoclonal antibodies and polymerase chain reaction. Another difference is that this second edition also looks into the future, addressing new areas such as systems biology, stem cell research, and synthetic biology, which promises to enable scientists to “invent” life forms from scratch.

This book reconstructs the emergence of the phenomenon of \"lost time\" by engaging with two of the most significant time experts of the nineteenth century: the German physiologist Hermann von Helmholtz and the French writer Marcel Proust. Its starting point is the archival discovery of curve images that Helmholtz produced in the context of pathbreaking experiments on the temporality of the nervous system in 1851. With a \"frog drawing machine,\" Helmholtz established the temporal gap between stimulus and response that has remained a core issue in debates between neuroscientists and philosophers. When naming the recorded phenomena, Helmholtz introduced the term temps perdu, or lost time. Proust had excellent contacts with the biomedical world of late-nineteenth-century Paris, and he was familiar with this term and physiological tracing technologies behind it. Drawing on the machine philosophy of Deleuze, Schmidgen highlights the resemblance between the machinic assemblages and rhizomatic networks within which Helmholtz and Proust pursued their respective projects.

Microbial diversity has become a leitmotiv of contemporary microbiology, as epitomized in the concept of the microbiome, with significant consequences for the classification of microbes. In this paper, I contrast microbiology's current diversity ideal with its influential predecessor in the twentieth century, that of purity, as epitomized in Robert Koch's bacteriological culture methods. Purity and diversity, the two polar opposites with regard to making sense of the microbial world, have been operationalized in microbiological practice by tools such as the \"clean\" Petri dish versus the \"dirty\" Winogradsky column, the latter a container that mimics, in the laboratory, the natural environment that teems with diverse microbial life. By tracing the impact of the practices and concepts of purity and diversity on microbial classification through a history of techniques, tools, and manuals, I show the shifts in these concepts over the last century. Juxtaposing the dominant purity ideal with the more restricted, but continuously articulated, diversity ideal in microbial ecology not only provides a fresh perspective on microbial classification that goes beyond its intellectual history, but also contextualizes the present focus on diversity. By covering the period of a century, this paper outlines a revised longue durée historiography that takes its inspiration from artifacts, such as Petri dish and the Winogradsky column, and thereby simple, but influential technologies that often remain invisible. This enables the problem of historical continuity in modern science to be addressed and the accelerationist narratives of its development to be countered.

Jesuits and the Book of Nature: Science and Education in Modern Portugal offers an account of the Jesuits' contributions to science and education after the restoration of the Society of Jesus in Portugal in 1858.

This paper examines medical scientists’ accounts of their rediscoveries and reassessments of old materials. It looks at how historical patient files and brain samples of the first cases of Alzheimer’s disease became reused as scientific objects of inquiry in the 1990s, when a genetic neuropathologist from Munich and a psychiatrist from Frankfurt lead searches for left-overs of Alzheimer’s ‘founder cases’ from the 1900s. How and why did these researchers use historical methods, materials and narratives, and why did the biomedical community cherish their findings as valuable scientific facts about Alzheimer’s disease? The paper approaches these questions by analysing how researchers conceptualised ‘history’ while backtracking and reassessing clinical and histological materials from the past. It elucidates six ways of conceptualising history as a biomedical matter: (1) scientific assessments of the past , i.e. natural scientific understandings of ‘historical facts’; (2) history in biomedicine , e.g. uses of old histological collections in present day brain banks; (3) provenance research , e.g. applying historical methods to ensure the authenticity of brain samples; (4) technical biomedical history , e.g. reproducing original staining techniques to identify how old histological slides were made; (5) founding traditions , i.e. references to historical objects and persons within founding stories of scientific communities; and (6) priority debates , e.g. evaluating the role particular persons played in the discovery of a disease such as Alzheimer’s. Against this background, the paper concludes with how the various ways of using and understanding ‘history’ were put forward to re-present historic cases as ‘proto-types’ for studying Alzheimer’s disease in the present.