Specialists with spirit: Re-enchanting the vocation of science.

This article is both a comment on the collection of papers, "Specialists with Spirit: Re-Enchanting the Vocation of Science," offered as a tribute to Klaas van Berkel, and an attempt to add historical depth to present-day sensibilities about the academic discipline called the history of science: Is it a special sort of inquiry? Is science as its subject matter a special sort of culture? Max Weber's 1917 Science as a Vocation lecture, and its continuing appropriations, is a focal point for addressing these questions.

Hard science, soft science: A political history of a disciplinary array.

A distinction between the "hard" and "soft" scientific disciplines is a modern commonplace, widely invoked to contrast the natural and the social sciences and to distribute value accordingly, where it was generally agreed that it was good to be "hard," bad to be "soft." I trace the emergence of the distinction to institutional and political circumstances in the United States in the second part of the twentieth century; I describe varying academic efforts to give the contrast coherent meaning; I note the distinction's uses in disciplines' reflections on their own present and possible future status; and I document the consequential circulation of the antonym in settings where resources for science were distributed. To follow the history of the "hard-soft" distinction is to open a window on changing sensibilities about what science is, what values are attached to it, and what it is for. I conclude with speculations about more recent changes in the value-schemes implicated in the "hard" and the "soft" and about pertinent changes in the place of the "soft" human sciences in governance and production. I envisage a possible future in which the commonplace distinction might wither away.

Why Was "Custom a Second Nature" in Early Modern Medicine?

"Custom is a second nature" is a saying that circulated long before the early modern period and in many different cultural settings. But the maxim had special salience, reference, and force in dietetic medicine from the late medieval period through the eighteenth century. What did that saying mean in the early modern medical setting? What presumptions about the body, about habitual ways of life, and about the authority of medical knowledge were inscribed within it? And what was the historical career of the saying as views of the body, its transactions with the environment, and the hereditary process changed through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries?

Was Luigi Cornaro a Dietary Expert?

Luigi Cornaro (d. 1566) was a Venetian nobleman whose book De Vita Sobria (On the Temperate Life) was an instant success and has proved to be one of the most long-lasting and influential works of practical medical advice, counseling readers how to live long and healthily. Yet Cornaro was not a physician and his account raises a series of questions about the nature and location of medical expertise. Who can have that expertise? Can you, and should you, be your own physician, and, if so, on what grounds? I situate Cornaro's claims to expertise within a historically specific culture of medical dietetics in which personal experience counted for much. How did certain dietary practices "agree with" individuals? How did personal experience figure in constituting expertise? Was a healthy regime compatible with ordinary civic life and, if not, did it matter? What was the role of precise quantitative measure in prescribing the regime making for health and longevity? I address these questions with respect to Cornaro's historical setting and also in relation to pervasive commentary on his text over the centuries that followed.

A taste of science: Making the subjective objective in the California wine world.

This article is about the relationship between the categories of the subjective and the objective in the late 20th-century California wine world, about attempts to transform 'soft' subjective judgments into 'hard' objective descriptions and evaluations, and about the role of both sensory science and chemistry in such attempts. It focuses on research done at the University of California, Davis, from about the 1950s to the 1980s by the enologist Maynard Amerine, his co-workers, and successors. It suggests ways in which these materials might prompt attention to the role of subjective judgment and the marketplace in other forms of late modern science.

The sciences of subjectivity.

In historical and ethnographic studies of the making of scientific knowledge, there has been a long-standing fascination with deflating certain stories about objectivity. Among the resources used to achieve that deflation have been the notions of subjectivity, which has been treated more as a trouble for objectivity than as a knowledge-making mode open to systematic study. I describe notions of subjectivity implicated in that inattention; I trace potentially constructive links between contemporary science studies and resources in 18th-century philosophical aesthetics; I draw notice to available engagements with the mode of subjectivity known as taste, and, especially, gustation and olfaction; and I suggest ways in which we might study the achievement of intersubjectivity in these domains.

Hyperprofessionalism and the crisis of readership in the history of science.

There is a crisis of readership for work in our field, as in many other academic disciplines. One of its causes is a pathological form of the professionalism that we so greatly value. "Hyperprofessionalism" is a disease whose symptoms include self-referentiality, self-absorption, and a narrowing of intellectual focus. This essay describes some features and consequences of hyperprofessionalism in the history of science and offers a modest suggestion for a possible cure.

Trusting George Cheyne: scientific expertise, common sense, and moral authority in early eighteenth-century dietetic medicine.

Whenever physicians give directions to patients there is always a question of their authority to do so: what is it that they know, and who is it that they are, that gives them this authority? The problem is fully general, but it takes especially interesting forms in early modern dietetics, where patients were reckoned to possess much pertinent and reliable knowledge, and where medical dietetics occupied terrain already densely occupied by moral prudence. This article addresses these issues in relation to the writings and practice of George Cheyne (1671-1743), iatromechanist, dietary writer, and fashionable physician. Special attention is given to the relation between Cheyne's scientific expertise and the texture of the advice he gave to two patients, the printer and novelist Samuel Richardson and Selina, countess of Huntingdon.