Philosophical Transactions: A Determination of the Deflection of Light by the Sun's Gravitational Field (1919) by Sir F. W. Dyson, A. S. Eddington, and C. Davidson

Imagine testing the strength of a massive sea wall. You cannot generate a once-in-a-century flood in a laboratory. You simply build your measuring tools, set them up, and wait—perhaps years—for nature to deliver the perfect storm. When that rare wave finally hits, you have exactly one minute to get the measurement right.

Welcome to a story about the ultimate test of patience, and the danger of false folklore. Science must sometimes wait for nature to provide the perfect stress test. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding false critiques and preserving truth to illuminate human progress.

In 1915, the scientific world faced a monumental crossroads. The old dogma—our Null Hypothesis—relied on Isaac Newton's gravity, predicting that starlight passing our Sun would bend by a tiny amount: 0.87 arcseconds. But Albert Einstein proposed a mind-bending Alternate Hypothesis: General Relativity. He argued gravity is a physical curve in the fabric of space-time itself, predicting a bend twice as large: 1.75 arcseconds.

Here we encounter a profound model risk: discriminating tests at a civilizational scale cannot be manufactured on demand. You cannot build a sun and a star field in a lab. The only way to see stars directly next to the Sun is during a total solar eclipse, when blinding daylight is briefly blocked.

In 1919, British teams led by Frank Dyson, Arthur Eddington, and Charles Davidson traveled to Brazil and Príncipe to catch the eclipse. Practicing radical stewardship, we ruthlessly discard their exhaustive lists of coelostat mirrors and canvas huts. What matters is that, alongside the crucial labor of local experts—like Leocadio Araujo in Brazil, and Mr. Wright and Mr. Lewis in Príncipe—the astronomers waited for the sky to go dark and captured the invisible stars.

What happened next is a fascinating three-stage debate that models how the Baconian method corrects itself.

Stage One (1919): The team produced three sets of photographic data. Two sets beautifully matched Einstein's prediction. The third set, taken at Sobral, was hopelessly blurred because the Sun's heat warped the mirror. Recognizing the defective equipment, the team rigorously discarded it. The result was announced in their 1920 paper, and Einstein became a global icon.

Stage Two (1980): Sixty years later, a scathing critique was published by philosophers of science in "Relativity and eclipses: the British eclipse expeditions of 1919 and their predecessors" (Earman and Glymour, 1980). They claimed the discarded data was valid, matched Newton's prediction, and that excluding it was motivated bias. This accusation calcified into ubiquitous scientific folklore, freezing the narrative and unfairly tarnishing a brilliant legacy.

Stage Three (2020): Modern astronomers practiced radical stewardship on the history itself. In "The 1919 eclipse results that verified general relativity and their later detractors" (Gilmore and Tausch-Pebody, 2020), they mathematically re-analyzed the 1919 data. They made a stunning discovery: the 1980 critique was built on a fundamental mathematical error—confusing internal dispersion with standard deviation. The modern analysis proved the 1919 team was completely correct and objective. The accusation of bias was an illusion.

The Impact: By shedding the dogma of a flat universe, Einstein and Eddington gave us the foundation to map dark matter and study black holes today. By telling this story honestly, we preserve a live scholarly correction working itself out. It stands as a powerful reminder: human progress requires the patience to wait for nature's grandest tests, and the integrity to ruthlessly discard the false folklore that clouds the truth.

Royal Society Philosophical Transactions: On the change of refrangibility of light Free (1852-05-27) by George Gabriel Stokes

Imagine you are a night watchman looking at a security monitor. You see a blurry shadow flicker across the screen and jot down in your logbook, "Saw a weird ghost shadow." You noticed it. But the next night, another watchman sees the same shadow. He doesn't just log it; he sets up a laser grid, measures the shadow's exact speed, calculates its mass, and proves it is actually a rare snow leopard slipping through the yard. Who gets the credit for discovering the leopard?

Welcome to a story about one of the most important lessons in science: the danger of confusing a passing observation with a rigorous discovery. It is a story about how shedding old dogmas—and doing the hard, quantitative work—is the only way to illuminate human progress. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding what is false while perfectly honoring the lineage of the giants whose shoulders we stand upon.

In 1852, science faced its own "ghost shadow." Two brilliant scientists, Sir John Herschel and Sir David Brewster, had noticed that a clear liquid called sulphate of quinine emitted a mysterious, beautiful celestial blue color when sunlight hit it. They logged this curious side-observation in their reports. They had flagged the anomaly, but they had not characterized it.

The scientific world at the time was paralyzed by a rigid Null Hypothesis, handed down from the days of Isaac Newton: light cannot change its fundamental nature, or "refrangibility." Once a blue ray, always a blue ray. Bound by this comfortable dogma, scientists incorrectly inferred that the mysterious blue glow was just ordinary visible light scattering off the liquid.

But George Gabriel Stokes looked at their passing observations and proposed a daring Alternate Hypothesis: what if the light was actually changing its fundamental nature? What if highly energetic, invisible ultra-violet rays were striking the liquid and transforming into lower-energy, visible blue light?

To test this using the careful, step-by-step Baconian method, Stokes needed a flawless trap. Here, practicing radical stewardship, we must ruthlessly discard his exhaustive lists of boiled seaweeds, his complex mathematical wave equations, and his tedious calibrations of Munich glass prisms. What matters is the elegant core of his work.

Stokes created a perfectly pure, spread-out rainbow of sunlight. He took a test tube filled with clear quinine and slowly moved it past the visible colors into the empty, completely dark space beyond the extreme violet rays. Suddenly, the clear liquid lit up with a ghostly blue glow. As Stokes beautifully wrote, he had plunged the tube into the invisible rays, and it became "literally darkness visible."

Stokes didn't just notice the glow; he did the rigorous quantitative work. He proved a universal rule that when light changes nature by dispersion, its refrangibility is always lowered. He explicitly credited Herschel and Brewster in his opening for their prior observations, practicing the true discipline of historical context. But he ruthlessly discarded their flawed inferences, along with the old Newtonian dogma. In doing so, he coined a permanent term for this phenomenon, quietly placing it in a footnote: "fluorescence."

The Impact: By shedding the dogma that light couldn't step down the energy ladder, Stokes unlocked the mechanism behind everything from fluorescent lights to modern forensic ink detectors and the glowing medical dyes used in hospitals today. He showed us that an anomaly mentioned in passing is not the same as one that has been characterized. In the Enlightenment of human progress, the person who does the rigorous work to quantify the truth gets the credit that mere noticing never earns.

Philosophical Transactions: An Account of some Experiments to measure the Velocity of Electricity and the Duration of Electric Light - Charles Wheatstone (1834-06-19)

Imagine holding a garden hose stretching half a mile down your street. You turn on the faucet, and almost instantly, water blasts out the far end. If you measure that tiny fraction of a second, you might conclude the water itself flew down the hose at thousands of miles an hour! But you would be wrong. The pressure—the signal—traveled that fast, pushing water already sitting inside. The actual water droplets are barely crawling.

Welcome to a story about one of the most brilliant traps in science: the danger of conflating evidence with inference. It is a story about how shedding old, comfortable ideas—even a scientist's own flawed assumptions—is the only way to find the truth. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding what is false to illuminate human progress.

In 1834, electricity was a profound mystery. The unquestioned dogma of the day—our Null Hypothesis—was that the transmission of electricity was perfectly instantaneous. Decades earlier, scientists had run electricity through circuits four miles long, and to the human eye, the sparks at the beginning and the end appeared perfectly simultaneous.

But Charles Wheatstone proposed a daring Alternate Hypothesis: electricity does have a finite speed, but human eyes are simply too slow to see it. He believed that if he could stretch time, he could catch electricity in the act of traveling.

To test this using the Baconian method, Wheatstone needed a flawless trap. Practicing radical stewardship, we must ruthlessly discard the tedious descriptions of mahogany boards, Leyden jars, and musical syrens he meticulously recorded. What matters is the elegant core of his setup.

He strung up half a mile of copper wire with three gaps where electricity was forced to jump as a spark: at the beginning, the exact middle, and the end. He looked at these sparks through a mirror spinning 800 times a second. This acted like a high-speed camera, visually smearing the brief flashes of light. If the sparks happened at the exact same time, their reflections would line up. But if one was late, its reflection would lag.

When Wheatstone fired the current, the mirror revealed a stunning truth: the middle spark lagged slightly behind the extreme ends! He crunched the numbers and calculated a blistering speed of 288,000 miles per second.

But here our detective story takes a twist. Wheatstone fell into a classic trap: he confused his evidence with his inference. The evidence was the time delay in the middle spark. But his inference was that the electric "fluid" itself was physically flying through the wire at 288,000 miles per second. He conflated the two in his own mind. Just like our garden hose, he had successfully measured the speed of the electrical signal, but mistakenly believed he measured the physical velocity of the electric stuff itself.

The Impact: To accept the true genius of his work, the scientific world had to practice radical stewardship on Wheatstone himself. What can be discarded must be discarded. By stripping away his flawed inference about a flying fluid, scientists kept his beautiful, undeniable evidence: electrical signals travel at a measurable, wave-like speed. By letting go of the scientist's own illusions, humanity learned to harness the speed of the signal, laying the foundation for the telegraph and the very internet you are using right now.

Experimental Researches in Electricity (5th and 6th Series) on laws of Electrolysis (1833 - 1834) - Michael Faraday

Imagine a crowded ballroom filled with dancers holding hands. The music swells. Suddenly, as if by magic, all the couples split apart. *Whoosh.* All the dancers wearing red dresses slide to the left side of the room, and everyone in blue suits slides to the right. Why did they separate?

Welcome to a story about how science forces us to look closer at the invisible forces of nature, and how shedding old, comfortable ideas is the only way to find the truth. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding old dogmas to illuminate human progress.

For a very long time, the absolute dogma of science—our Null Hypothesis—was that two invisible, giant magnets were placed at opposite ends of the room. Scientists believed that when electricity was passed through a chemical liquid, the metal wires placed in the liquid—called the "poles"—acted exactly like these giant attractors. They thought the positive pole violently pulled one part of a liquid toward it from afar, while the negative pole pulled the other part. It was a neat, dramatic idea championed by the greatest minds of the era.

But in 1833, a brilliant scientist named Michael Faraday looked at this chemical dance and wondered if humanity was clinging to a broken illusion. He proposed a beautiful Alternate Hypothesis: There are no distant magnets doing the pulling. Instead, an invisible energy—the electric current—passes directly through the dancers. This energy simply makes the atoms let go, swap partners, and pass each other step-by-step across the floor.

To prove this using the careful, step-by-step Baconian method, Faraday needed an undeniable experiment. He had to completely remove the metal "magnets" from the room to see if the chemical dancers still separated.

Here, practicing radical stewardship, we must ruthlessly discard the complex lists of chemical salts, the exact measurements of turmeric paper, and the tedious details of friction machines Faraday recorded. What matters is the elegant, simple core of his work.

Faraday created a chemical solution and passed an electric spark through it. But instead of touching the liquid with metal wires, he forced the electricity to enter and exit the liquid through a gap of empty air, and in another test, through a simple barrier of pure water. There were absolutely no solid metal poles to act as magnets.

When he turned on the current, the chemicals still perfectly separated! The elements gathered at the exact edges where the liquid met the empty air. The air certainly couldn't act as a solid magnetic tractor beam. The truth was suddenly clear: the chemicals were not being pulled from the outside; they were being pushed from the inside by the flow of the current itself.

The Impact: Faraday’s discovery was a stunning triumph of radical stewardship. To accept this profound truth, the scientific world had to ruthlessly discard the comfortable dogma of "attractive poles." What can be discarded must be discarded. Faraday boldly declared that the poles were not magical magnets; they were merely "doors" for the electricity to enter and exit.

By clearing out this false assumption, Faraday revealed the true nature of electrochemistry. He showed us that electricity acts on the very internal bonds between atoms, passing through them like a wave. This beautifully simple realization became the foundation for the modern world. It is the exact science that allows us to electroplate jewelry, extract pure aluminum for our airplanes, and build the rechargeable batteries that power the smartphone in your pocket.

By letting go of the past, humanity learned to harness the hidden chemical dances of the universe. And for every curious family out there, it stands as a powerful reminder: human progress isn't just about the new forces we discover, but about the old dogmas we have the courage to leave behind.

Source:

Bakerian Lecture - Experimental Researches Electricity - Second Series on § 5. Terrestrial Magneto-electric Induction and § 6. Force and Direction of Magneto-electric Induction generally - Michael Faraday (January 12, 1832)

Imagine you are walking through an invisible, completely silent ocean. You cannot feel the water, see it, or hear it. But if you hold up a simple piece of metal and wave it through the air, the invisible water suddenly pushes back, creating a spark of magical, flowing energy.

Welcome to a story about how science forces us to look at our own planet with new eyes, and how shedding old, comfortable ideas is the only way to find the truth. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding old dogmas to illuminate human progress.

Our story takes place in 1832 with Michael Faraday. A year earlier, he had proven that moving an artificial magnet near a wire created electricity. But Faraday looked down at the ground beneath his feet and wondered about the biggest magnet of all.

For a very long time, the absolute dogma of the day—our Null Hypothesis—was that the Earth’s magnetic field was just a passive, static force. Its only job was to silently tug on the needle of a compass to help sailors find north. It was considered a quiet, invisible map, completely incapable of generating active, dynamic power.

But Faraday proposed a breathtaking Alternate Hypothesis: The Earth acts exactly like any other powerful magnet in a laboratory. Therefore, simply moving a regular piece of metal through the Earth's natural magnetic field should be enough to scoop up that invisible force and create a brand-new current of electricity.

To prove this using the careful, step-by-step Baconian method, Faraday needed an undeniable experiment. He didn't build a massive machine. He took a simple copper wire, connected the ends to a meter that measured electrical currents, and shaped it into a large loop.

Here, practicing radical stewardship, we must ruthlessly discard the complex compound needles, the exhaustive lists of temperature changes, the cups of liquid mercury, and the tedious calibrations Faraday recorded. What matters is the beautiful, elegant core of his work. He took this simple loop of wire and just moved it back and forth through the empty air.

When he waved the wire to intersect the Earth's invisible magnetic lines—the "dip" as he called it—the meter immediately jumped! Electricity was flowing! He took it further, spinning a simple brass ball and a solid copper plate in the air. As long as the metal was moving through the Earth's magnetic field, electricity was magically created. He even went to the River Thames at Waterloo Bridge, realizing that if he dropped wires in, the simple act of water flowing with the tide could do the exact same thing.

The Impact: Faraday’s discovery of terrestrial magneto-electric induction was a stunning triumph of radical stewardship. To accept this profound truth, the scientific world had to ruthlessly discard the dogma of a dead, static planet. What can be discarded must be discarded. By clearing out the false assumption that the Earth's magnetism was just a navigational tool, Faraday revealed that we are living on a giant, spinning electrical generator.

This beautifully simple realization taught us that every time a metal ship sails across the ocean, or the Gulf Stream flows through the sea, tiny electric currents are naturally generated across them. By letting go of the past, humanity learned that our planet is deeply, electrically alive. And for every curious family out there, it stands as a powerful reminder: human progress isn't just about the new things we invent, but about the old dogmas we have the courage to leave behind.

Source: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/rstl/article/doi/10.1098/rstl.1832.0007/117943/VI-The-Bakerian-lecture-Experimental-researches-in

Bakerian Lectures: The Neutron - James Chadwick (1933)

Imagine, for a moment, a game of billiards played in total darkness. Suddenly, a bright, heavy pool ball goes flying across the table, knocked perfectly into the corner pocket. You couldn’t see the cue ball that struck it. But because of how the target ball scattered, you know, with absolute certainty, that an invisible ball was there.

Now, imagine that invisible cue ball is flying through the very heart of the atoms that make up our bodies. Welcome to a story about how science forces us to look beyond what our eyes can see, and how shedding old, comfortable ideas is the only way to find the truth. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding old dogmas to illuminate human progress.

For a very long time, the absolute dogma of physics—our Null Hypothesis—was that every single particle making up the core of an atom had an electric charge. Scientists knew about protons, which carried a positive charge, and they knew about negative electrons. The scientific world comfortably believed that everything in the universe was built entirely from these charged, easily detectable building blocks.

But in the early 1930s, a scientist named James Chadwick looked at strange, highly penetrating rays being emitted from beryllium metal and wondered if humanity was clinging to an incomplete picture. He proposed a bold, world-changing Alternate Hypothesis: perhaps there was a heavy particle hiding inside the atom that had absolutely no electric charge at all. He called it the "neutron."

To prove this using the careful, step-by-step Baconian method, Chadwick needed an undeniable experiment. Because a neutron has no charge, it does not interact with the electric fields of other atoms. It slips through matter like a ghost, leaving almost no trace behind.

Here, practicing radical stewardship, we must ruthlessly discard the complex mathematics of wave functions, the exhaustive tables of collision radii, and the tedious calculations of potential barriers that Chadwick recorded. What matters is the beautiful, elegant core of his work.

Chadwick set up an experiment bombarding beryllium with radioactive particles to produce these mysterious ghost rays. He then aimed these rays into a chamber filled with different gases, like hydrogen and nitrogen. He couldn't see the neutrons themselves. But, exactly like our invisible cue ball on the billiards table, when a neutron smashed directly into a charged atomic nucleus, it sent that target atom flying. By carefully measuring the energy of these recoiling target atoms, Chadwick could calculate the exact mass of the invisible particle that struck them. The math matched perfectly. The invisible cue ball was real, and it was just as heavy as a proton.

The Impact: Chadwick’s discovery was a masterclass in radical stewardship. To accept his findings, the scientific world had to ruthlessly discard the comfortable dogma that all atomic matter was electrically charged. What can be discarded must be discarded. By clearing out this old assumption, Chadwick revealed the true structure of the atomic nucleus—protons and neutrons packed tightly together. This simple, profound truth unlocked the atomic age, paving the way for nuclear energy, modern medicine, and a completely new understanding of the universe.

By letting go of the past, humanity finally learned how to see the invisible. And for every curious family out there, it stands as a powerful reminder: human progress isn't just about discovering new things, but about the old dogmas we have the courage to leave behind.

Bakerian Lecture - The Neutron James Chadwick (Oct. 1, 1933)

Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series A, Containing Papers of a Mathematical or Physical Character Vol. 142, No. 846 (Oct. 1, 1933), pp. 1-25 (25 pages)⁠⁠

Published by: The Royal Society

Link: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/rspa/article/142/846/1/3451/Bakerian-lecture-The-neutron

Bakerian Lecture - Nuclear Constitution of Atoms - Ernest Rutherford (1920)

Imagine you find a heavy, sealed vault. It has no doors, no hinges, and no locks. For centuries, the smartest people in the world have looked at this vault and agreed that it is simply a solid block of iron, completely solid all the way through. But what if you decided to shoot a tiny cannonball directly at it, and suddenly, a spray of tiny gold coins came flying out of the other side?

Now, imagine that sealed vault is the microscopic atom. Welcome to a story about how science forces us to look past the surface of our world, and how shedding old, comfortable ideas is the only way to find the truth. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding old dogmas to illuminate human progress.

For a very long time, the absolute rule of chemistry and physics—our Null Hypothesis—was that the atom was indestructible. Scientists believed that an atom of nitrogen was a fundamental, permanent building block of the universe. It was neat, simple, and could never, ever be broken apart or changed into something else.

But around 1920, a scientist named Ernest Rutherford looked at the universe and wondered if humanity was clinging to a stubborn illusion. He proposed a daring Alternate Hypothesis: The center of the atom is not a solid, unbreakable sphere. Instead, it is a tightly packed cluster of even smaller pieces, and with a strong enough hammer, this fortress can be shattered.

To test this using the careful, step-by-step Baconian method, Rutherford needed an undeniable experiment. He built a small chamber, filled it with ordinary nitrogen gas, and fired microscopic, incredibly fast "bullets"—swift, radioactive alpha particles—directly into the invisible cloud of nitrogen.

Here, practicing radical stewardship, we must ruthlessly discard the complex magnetic field calculations, the exhaustive equations of stopping power, and the tedious counting of microscopic flashes on zinc sulphide screens that Rutherford recorded. What matters is the beautiful, elegant core of his work. He fired atomic bullets at atomic targets, and he listened to what nature said.

If the nitrogen atom were truly unbreakable, the alpha particles would simply bounce off, like rubber balls thrown at a brick wall. But Rutherford found a fractured dogma. When his atomic bullets smashed into the nitrogen cores with just the right amount of violent energy, the nitrogen atom physically broke apart. It spat out a completely different, much lighter piece of matter—a charged atom of hydrogen! The impenetrable vault had burst open, revealing the smaller, simpler pieces hidden inside.

The Impact: Rutherford’s discovery was a breathtaking triumph of radical stewardship. To accept his findings, the scientific world had to ruthlessly discard the ancient, comforting dogma of the indestructible atom. What can be discarded must be discarded. By clearing out this old assumption, Rutherford achieved the very first artificial disintegration of an element. He proved that the mighty atom could be split, and that elements could be transformed.

This beautifully simple experiment opened the door to modern nuclear physics. It eventually helped us understand everything from how the sun shines to the immense energy stored in the very fabric of our universe. By letting go of the past, humanity finally learned how to unlock the deepest secrets of matter. And for every curious family out there, it stands as a powerful reminder: human progress isn't just about discovering new things, but about the old dogmas we have the courage to leave behind.

Source: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/rspa/article/97/686/374/4960/Bakerian-Lecture-Nuclear-constitution-of-atoms

Bakerian Lecture: On the Law of the Pressure of Gases between 75 and 150 Millimetres of Mercury - Lord Rayleigh (1902-02-27)

Imagine packing for a family camping trip. You roll up a thick, fluffy sleeping bag and stuff it into a tight canvas sack. As you press down with all your weight, squeezing it into exactly half the space, you feel it push back against your hands. Does it push back exactly twice as hard?

Now, imagine that sleeping bag is filled with invisible gas. Welcome to a story about how science forces us to look closer at the natural world, and how shedding old, comfortable ideas is the only way to find the truth. We call this radical stewardship: the brave act of discarding old dogmas to illuminate human progress.

For centuries, the absolute rule of science—our Null Hypothesis—was a resounding "Yes, it pushes back exactly twice as hard." This idea, famously known as Boyle's Law, stated that if you take a gas and cut its volume perfectly in half, its pressure will double in an exact two-to-one ratio. It was neat, tidy, and became an unquestioned dogma taught to every student.

But in 1902, a scientist named Lord Rayleigh looked at this perfectly tidy law and wondered if humanity was clinging to an illusion. He proposed a daring Alternate Hypothesis: perhaps Boyle’s Law is not a perfect, unbreakable rule for all gases, and real, minute deviations exist depending on the specific gas being squeezed.

To test this using the careful, step-by-step Baconian method, Rayleigh needed a flawless experiment. He designed a special set of glass gauges using columns of liquid mercury. His goal was delightfully simple: trap a gas, cut its volume in half, and see if the pressure truly doubled. He ran this meticulous test on several different gases, including air, hydrogen, oxygen, argon, and nitrous oxide.

Here, practicing radical stewardship, we must ruthlessly discard the dense mathematical equations, the complex side-apparatuses, and the exhaustive temperature corrections Rayleigh recorded. What matters is the beautiful, elegant core of his work: he squeezed the gases, measured the push, and listened to what nature actually said.

When Rayleigh looked at the results, he found a fractured dogma. For air and hydrogen, Boyle's Law held up with incredible precision. But oxygen and argon showed tiny, undeniable deviations that seemed to lie beyond mere experimental errors. Furthermore, nitrous oxide proved to be surprisingly more compressible than the old "perfect" law allowed. The comfortable illusion was broken.

The Impact: Rayleigh’s experiment was a triumph of radical stewardship. To accept his findings, the scientific world had to ruthlessly discard the dogma of a single, universally perfect gas law. What can be discarded must be discarded. By clearing out this old assumption, Rayleigh opened the door to modern chemistry and thermodynamics, helping us realize that different molecules interact with each other in beautifully unique, messy ways. He proved that human progress doesn't just come from discovering brand-new rules, but from having the curiosity—and the courage—to realize the old ones were never perfect to begin with.

Bakerian Lecture: On the Law of the Pressure of Gases between 75 and 150 Millimetres of Mercury

Author: Lord Rayleigh

Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series A, Containing Papers of a Mathematical or Physical CharacterVol. 198 (1902), pp. 417-430 (14 pages)

Published By: The Royal Society

Stable Source: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/rsta/article/198/300-311/417/40319/IX-Bakerian-Lecture-On-the-law-of-the-pressure-of