On 23 July 1980, Vietnamese pilot Phạm Tuân became the first Asian and the first citizen of a developing nation to fly in space when he participated in the Soyuz 37 mission to the Salyut space station. This elaborately staged, hugely expensive piece of cosmic theatre underlined Eastern bloc mastery of the technologies of space flight at the same time it emphasized international cooperation, social and racial inclusiveness, and engagement with the developing world. As much as Phạm Tuân’s flight formed part of the Eastern bloc’s global diplomatic strategies, it was also central to a vision of the new Socialist Republic of Vietnam as part of a revolutionary vanguard, defeating the forces of capitalism and imperialism and progressing towards a modern, industrialized, and prosperous future under the leadership of the Communist party. This chapter explores how representations of Phạm Tuân ’s historic space flight drew from conventional Soviet representations of cosmonauts and space flight, but also reflected particular Vietnamese cultures and contexts. The result sheds light on the important, but often overlooked cultural dimension of state power in late socialist Vietnam, and highlights not just the limits but also the potential to create a coherent, shared vision of the nation.

The invention of the stethoscope by the French physician René Laennec in 1816 was a pivotal moment in the burgeoning field of modern clinical diagnosis. It brought the inner soundscape of the human body – an invisible realm which largely existed beyond the range of the human ear – into not only medical but also more general cultural awareness. This chapter considers the stethoscope as the subject not of ongoing scientific debate and experimentation, but of poetry and fiction, as tales of its use and abuse, as well as its supposed powers, spread among those who first encountered it and sowed a more general sense of confusion, mistrust, and corporeal anxiety in relation to the medical consultation. Drawing on interactions with the stethoscope in works by Wilkie Collins, Bram Stoker, Mary Elizabeth Braddon, and Sheridan Le Fanu, as well as short stories and poetry from popular periodicals, I demonstrate that, as medical institutions accepted new technologies and became increasingly specialized throughout the century, the stethoscope became for many patients an object of anxious contemplation, serving as a palpable interface between doctor and patient, between hope and fear, and between the visible and the invisible.

I situate the notion of “natural technology” within the wider view of technology’s relation to human history and values. I offer a brief (original) theory of technology as such, focusing on two themes. First, I take issue with the claim that “technology” has independent causal force. The progress of technology is not inevitable, but each new tool reconfigures our understanding of possibility and necessity. Nor is technology something external to our nature or to who we “really” are. I show how our modern conceptions of equality and human rights rest on and are enabled by industrialization. Second, I show that we nonetheless have the sense that technology is an independent force because of the disparity between technological time (the time it takes for watershed discoveries to be made) and “normal” or moral time (the time it takes for such discoveries to be widely stabilized within settled norms and practices). Anxiety about the effects of “technology” as such is a longstanding feature of modernity, stemming from the continuing acceleration of technological time with respect to normal time. The development of modern technology entails permanent culture wars and a permanent sense of estrangement between us and our new tools.

This chapter explores narratives that informed two influential attempts to automate and consolidate mathematics in large computing systems during the second half of the twentieth century – the QED system and the MACSYMA system. These narratives were both political (aligning the automation of mathematics with certain cultural values) and epistemic (each laid out a vision of what mathematics entailed such that it could and should be automated). These narratives united political and epistemic considerations especially with regards to representation: how will mathematical objects and procedures be translated into computer languages and operations and encoded in memory? How much freedom or conformity will be required of those who use and build these systems? MACSYMA and QED represented opposite approaches to these questions: preserving pluralism with a heterogeneous modular design vs requiring that all mathematics be translated into one shared root logic. The narratives explored here shaped, explained and justified the representational choices made in each system and aligned them with specific political and epistemic projects.

Chapter 2 shows how the arrival of lethal chemical warfare at the Second Battle of Ypres in April 1915 led to the invention of anti-gas protection. It traces the crucial role played by women in this initial process and how the prospect of gas masks for civilians slowly emerged during the First World War and then continued in the war’s aftermath. The prospect of a future war of aero-chemical annihilation motivated feminist antimilitarists and others demanding the curtailment of chemical arms. Nonetheless Britain continued in both the metropole and empire to develop both such weapons and equipment to protect individuals from poison gas. Chemical weapons also had defenders, and the debate over their legitimacy played out in public even as government officials, who were inventing civil defense in secret in the 1920s, incorporated individual anti-gas protection into their calculations.

The introduction describes the aims and approach taken in this book. This is a study of money as social technology in the early modern world, written from the vantage point of the Dutch Republic. It aims to view early modern money 'from the inside' by studying everyday practices of makers and users of money, especially in a rural society in the east of the Dutch Republic. It analyses how public institutions (through minters, assayers, and government officials) and private individuals (farmers, merchants, and accountants) interacted in the creation and maintenance of Europe’s system of currencies. The specific focus of this book is on accounting practices and practices of material scrutiny because they offer a key to understanding the internal logic of early modern money.

Chapter 6 chronicles how money as social technology was reconfigured during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It examines economic and philanthropic discourse as well as government practice between 1750 and 1850 to explain the motives for a quick succession of currency reforms in the nineteenth century, that profoundly transformed the material properties of public money in circulation. Cheap but precise mass production was especially important in order to issue low-denomination coins, used primarily for wage payments and retail, that would be fully conversant with the official monetary standard. In order to explain why the Dutch came to take a more hostile stance towards multiple currencies circulating in their territory, the chapter delineates how a 'national economy', forged through monetary exchange, became first an ideological and then a bureaucratic reality. While national currency did not do away with plurality of money in use, especially in the Dutch–Prussian borderland that is the main locale of this book, the strong discourse of technological superiority of uniform, centrally managed currency made it more difficult to think about plurality as something other than chaos.

Chapter 1 develops the notion of money as social technology which carries the analysis throughout the subsequent, more narrative chapters. The vivid case of a clandestine Catholic congregation in the east of the Netherlands, which used money to restore its social and material fabric, is placed alongside insights drawn from scholarship about Chinese, African, and Pacific history. The core idea is that technology is a relationship between people, objects, and meaning. Technology refers to a technique exercised within a social context which gives meaning to both the maker and the made object. In the present case this means that an object is turned into money when makers and users make it fungible, that is, when they imbue it with qualities that allow it to be reliably exchanged for something else. This technological approach brings into focus how money objects bring forth and change social structure; and, conversely, where social structures are techniques that create and transform money objects.

Chapter 4 explores how artisanal knowledge helped sustain early modern monetary order by making and unmaking the intrinsic value of precious metal. Intrinsic value was a conceptual tool and a material practice that allowed people to collapse many coins into one another and to forge units from multiples. Effectively, this meant establishing a network of corresponding values between specific batches of coins. The papers of a family of assayers from The Hague offer a fine-grained picture of the processes involved. Small differences in the precious metal content of coins aroused creeping suspicion, anger, and even physical violence because it was believed that the metal of a coin reflected the mettle of a person. This was particularly true for the masters of the mint, whose reputation was tied to the reputation of their coins. Making coins, and making them work, involved financial and legal expertise, but the artisanal knowledge of assayers and other metal-workers was key. Their practices such as sampling, using high-precision balances and powerful acids, note-taking, the rule of three, and algebraic calculation allowed people to hold on to the convention that metals had an intrinsic, quantifiable value in spite of fluctuations in the price of silver and gold, both across time and across the globe.

Farmers and other rural folk are often pictured as distant from financial centres and invoked as the last groups to monetise their transactions during a long process of modernisation. By treating grain as money and by comparing barns to banks, Chapter 2 raises important questions about this accepted picture and about the boundaries of financial history as a discipline. This chapter explores how a community in the east of the Dutch Republic sowed, tended to, harvested, stored, and kept track of grain. People sustained the material integrity of grain, but more importantly, they also sustained grain’s ability to act as currency in social interaction. Volume measures, owned privately but calibrated by local authorities, were key for the monetisation of grain. Furthermore, the chapter introduces the notion of ink money, normally associated with urban merchants and bankers who made and unmade money by formal accounting, in order to make sense of farmers’ finance in the Dutch countryside. Unlike trade among merchants, where both parties could produce ledgers when challenged, farmers keeping accounts often dealt with illiterate people. These account books provide indirect evidence that day-labourers and smallholders could record and transact monetary value by way of mental accounting. This money was more precarious than its written counterparts, but could be validated by oral testimonial in local courts.

Chapter 5 examines taxonomic practices of merchants and other users of money to better understand how early modern coins worked in circulation. After-death inventories offer insights into people’s domestic taxonomies, that is, into practices of classifying, labelling, and compartmentalising the money that people encountered as they went about their lives. Mercantile and institutional account books show how people linked different currencies. Assayers’ conclusions, derived from testing tiny specks of matter, were disseminated widely in broadsheets, coin tariffs, and conversion tables, but also in privately collated notes and letters. This information allowed early modern people to relate coins to one another and to convert them into monies of account which were much more homogeneous. This work was more than merely coping with chaos. People’s ability to match coins with transaction types and geography marked out circuits for specific currencies. The spaces in which currencies like the Dutch guilder could circulate freely thus emerged from the ground up. Users’ taxonomic practices were just as crucial for upholding monetary order as the knowledge work performed by assayers, minters, and government officials.

This chapter considers the challenges of undertaking historical research into intellectual property law, from physical, intellectual and methodological challenges, through to challenges of reaching the right audience and conveying relevance. It provides a broad overview of the different kinds of intellectual property histories and legal histories being undertaken and seeks to encourage more students and scholars to engage in rigorous historical research that is based upon primary sources and attentive to the duties and responsibilities of the disciplines of both law and history.

Introduces the argument that technological change draws on existing social and economic structures in order to succeed, even while destroying or transforming them. Those institutions and expectations, however, are themselves changing in order to make new machines work. A literature review guides readers through the methods and approaches developed in the history of technology and deployed in the text. These include the divide between internalist and contextual analysis, between the causation claims inherent in technological determinism and social constructivism, and the effort to reconcile the two in actor-network theory and in maintenance studies. This historiographical overview also briefly addresses the approaches found in economic history, national and global history, and social and labor and environmental history, and shifts the Big Question in the history of Industrial Revolution historiography from “Why did England industrialize?” to “Why did these specific machines work then and there?”

Making computers ‘personal’ was as much a problem of user enrolment and education as it was of hardware development. Getting mass-participation computing to work required technology firms to engage with the social organization of user groups. Accounts of this process have tended, however, to ignore the very first “personal computers” to come to market, a series of handheld programmable calculators launched in the mid-1970s. The Whipple Museum’s Hookham Collection of pocket electronic calculators contains both devices and ephemera produced by firms such as Hewlett-Packard that became popular for their capacity to store and load programs that could be traded between users. This soon fed into the organization of collective hobbyist newsletters and groups that exchanged programs and advice, allowing for thousands of professionals to become programmers. In this chapter, I explore the development of infrastructure that characterized the first amateur programming collectives and the moral, monetary, and material economies involved, in an attempt to tackle one of the more intractable questions in the history of modern technology: how did computing become personal?