It could be the name of a scientist, an important achievement, or a remarkable incident. It (the past) is there, like a beautiful photograph to be admired, like a record of what scientists were and what they did for society.

However, a photograph is nothing more than a static source. To understand the people featured in it, the place, and the context, we need a deeper investigation. In the case of science, this investigation is carried out by what we usually call “historians of science.”

Yes, there are people who dedicate themselves exclusively to understanding the history of science and scientists and to scrutinizing these photographs. They are generally professionals in the sciences who have converted to the humanities or historians with a background in science.

They also include many serious people from various fields who are dedicated to presenting a better view of science, scientists, and the development of scientific knowledge. Good historians of science are not just armchair detectives.

The history of science is a well-established field of research, which took its first steps at the beginning of the twentieth century, especially in the United States, where the first journals, university departments, and specialized associations were created at the time.

Today, it unites many researchers with a wide range of perspectives and influences. In Brazil, for example, they meet in the Brazilian Society for the History of Science (SBHC) and in the Association for the Philosophy and History of Science in the South Cone (AFHIC), which also includes other Latin American colleagues.

I’ll cite two examples, which may even shake up readers’ common-sense view of science and scientific work.

The first of these is British Isaac Newton (1643–1727). Known for his laws of motion, Newton is generally associated with being a science “genius.” However, since the 1940s and 1950s, his achievements have been more thoroughly contextualized by historians of science.

Newton has ceased to be regarded as the immaculate physicist and mathematician, and began to take on deeper contours, especially due to the influence of his (many) studies in alchemy and religion.

This was largely due to the fact that in 1936 an auction was held in London, UK, where several of Newton’s papers were sold. Loose papers that would certainly have been discarded today, but which were still stored in the homes of his heirs (Newton had no children, all his heirs were descendants of his niece, Catherine Barton).

The papers were mainly bought by two people: economist John Maynard (1883–1946) and collector Abraham Yahuda (1877–1951). The fate of their purchases differed, but in general, the writings revealed a different Newton from the one that we all know.

In place of the physicist, the astronomer, and the rigorous mathematician, we found a thinker eager to understand alchemy and to delve into the intricacies of the divine.

With this information in hand, historians of science have indicated that this knowledge greatly influenced Newton’s thinking about his own mechanics, astronomy, and optics. In other words, there was no separation between “physicist Newton” and “alchemist Newton,” and nor could there be, since they were one person.

Brazilian science

The second example involves Brazilian science. There is still a stereotyped view that Brazilian science has always been outdated, that nothing has been done in the country until recently, that major public policies belong to current times.

In part, this may even be true. But what historians of science have pointed out more recently is that, as in the previous example, we have a more complex situation.

Articles, books, master’s theses, and doctoral dissertations have shown, for example, that many initiatives for scientific development in Brazil failed because of poor policy decisions, the rise of repressive movements such as the military dictatorship (1964–1985), and the lack of human resources prepared to lead national science.

Studies have also pointed to the extensive scientific exchanges between Brazilians and foreigners, many of whom were responsible for creating the most important national research centers (I won’t mention specific names so as not to do anyone an injustice by forgetting them).

The role of women in the process, so unjustly invisible, should also be mentioned, such as Elisa Frôta-Pessoa (1921–2018), Neusa Amato (1926–2015), Amélia Imperio Hamburger (1932–2011), and Sonja Ashauer (1923–1948). I have made a point of mentioning those whose careers I know best, even though I know I’ll forget someone important.

Although I am more familiar with the context of Brazilian physics, my original field of training, there is no shortage of examples of works in the history of science that highlight the contribution made by biologists, chemists, geographers, and mathematicians to the development of national science.

The fact is: the history of science has never been studied as much in Brazil as it is today. So, returning to the question at the beginning, how does the history of science contribute to our present and future?

We can’t think of a universal scientific method, because science is multifaceted. Nor can we imagine that science is neutral. It isn’t, it never has been, and it never will be, because it is a human product and is therefore tied to our desires, fears, and ideas.

In this way, looking back at the past helps us understand why we are where we are today and what mistakes we can no longer afford to make.

For example, delegating the responsibility of thinking about science education to a science denier is certainly not a good idea, since their decisions will never be purely “technical.”

Likewise, the history of science shows us that not investing in technical and scientific improvements for the population is a decisive mistake in consolidating our political, economic, and cultural hegemony. There is no lack of examples in the history of our country.

It also helps us to understand our current situation and improve our choices and our critical thinking.

It is therefore essential that everyone involved in science knows a little about its history. A photo from the past can take on nuances that were never foreseen. The more we open our horizons, the better human beings will become. Historians of science can help us with this task.

Breno Arsioli Moura is a professor at the Center for Natural and Human Sciences at the Federal University of ABC (UFABC) and a researcher at the National Council for Scientific and Technological Development (CNPq) in the field of History. He is currently coordinator of the Graduate Program in the Teaching and History of Science and Mathematics (PEHCM) at UFABC.

The opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of Science Arena and Hospital Israelita Albert Einstein.

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And then the term “science,” despite being more prevalent in certain discussions, loses its most valuable meaning, becoming synonymous with “truth.” Which, paradoxically, creates a field day for deniers and peddlers of magic solutions—as we have shown time and time again in episodes of the podcast Ciência Suja.

I always joke that when I pitch Ciência Suja to someone, I immediately throw in: “but we like science!” Okay, the podcast’s title is provocative, but the idea behind it has always been to show the negative impact of cases in which science has been misrepresented or misused, and how it has progressed (or can progress) from there.

Since its debut in 2021, we have investigated topics such as the anti-vaccine movement, the tobacco industry, eugenics, denialism in the COVID-19 pandemic, and the high cesarean section rate in Brazil.

It is precisely because “we like science” that myself and the entire Ciência Suja team—shout out to Carolina Marcelino, Chloé Pinheiro, Felipe Barbosa, Pedro Belo and the Serrapilheira Institute, which believes in us—understand that it should be portrayed as it actually is.

In other words, not as watertight truths that pop out of the minds of geniuses oblivious to the world, but as a social institution replete with practices that seek to build, usually step by step, evidence, theories, and so on.

Like any social institution, science is subject to the vices of its times. Believing in pure science, untethered to society, is to simply deny the abundant evidence to the contrary.

Scientific racism, for example—a subject recently tackled on our podcast—is not a denialist movement, or something unrelated to science. It was created (and still persists) using scientific instruments, in a racist environment.

Much the same as the appalling Tuskegee Experiment, which kept Black men from being treated for syphilis to “see how it progressed naturally.” Likewise, the thousands of blood samples illegally collected from Indigenous peoples in Brazil—some to be sold to laboratories.

Along the same lines is the development of contraceptive pills on the back of abuses committed against women in Puerto Rico. Much like the HeLa cell line, which is still used to this day for various research purposes due to its “immortality,” and which was obtained without authorization from a poor Black woman who had only arrived at a health center to receive cancer treatment.

While studies using her cells took off in the second half of the twentieth century—garnering profit and fame for researchers and companies—Henrietta Lacks’s relatives continued to live in poverty.

Opioid epidemic

Shining a light on these cases is not intended to invalidate science or give ammunition to the deniers. On the contrary: with context and a journalistic approach that seeks ways to improve the problem in question, Ciência Suja aims precisely to foster the coveted scientific criticality in thought-provoking and well-scripted episodes.

For example: the current opioid epidemic in North America, which has already exceeded 700,000 deaths since its emergence in the 1990s, is fraught with nuance, but features a triggering event.

There was a claim that a powerful opioid-based painkiller, Oxycontin, was only addictive in a small minority of people, even if used continuously.

Representatives for Purdue, the pharmaceutical company behind this drug, claimed that Oxycontin was the painkiller “to start with and to stay with.” Backache or a headache that won’t go away? Take Oxycontin.

This claim was even endorsed by the American regulatory agency, based on a “study” that said only 0.03% of people who took Oxycontin developed an addiction. Very low indeed.

But… that study was actually just a letter to the editor published in the 1980s in The New England Journal of Medicine, and misrepresented by Purdue in order to maximize profits, which exceeded $35 billion from Oxycontin alone.

And what’s the difference between a letter to the editor and clinical research that actually helps determine substance dependence? There are many. And using this case, we were able to explain the main ones to our listeners.

Ultimately, the critical coverage of science that we incorporate into Ciência Suja effectively values the scientific method.

With the episode on the opioid epidemic, we hope that people will understand, minimally and critically, the drug development process, so that perhaps they will be less likely to fall for rhetoric such as the claim that COVID-19 vaccines are unsafe because they are “experimental” or have been developed too quickly.

Or that ivermectin helps treat dengue fever (yes, that’s on social media).

Science is not, in itself, egalitarian—in Brazil, a survey by the Multidisciplinary Research Group on Affirmative Action at Rio de Janeiro State University (GEMAA-UERJ), indicates that only 2.5% of the researchers in graduate programs in fields such as the Exact Sciences, Earth Sciences, and Biological Sciences are Black, Brown, or Indigenous women.

Science professionals can also propagate sexism and misogyny—a study published in January in the journal Nature indicates that half of the female researchers have experienced sexual harassment in academia.

And I’m not even going to get into the subject of predatory journals and the growing concern about article tampering.

But science, despite all this, is a valuable resource for society (perhaps one of the most valuable, in my opinion). And it is a “living” resource, capable of improving—as long as we are vigilant with it too, and understand that communication and journalism are part of this process.

Theo Ruprecht is a journalist who specializes in science and healthcare, and he is one of the creators of the Ciência Suja podcast. The podcast is supported by the Serrapilheira Institute.

Opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of Science Arena or Hospital Israelita Albert Einstein.

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This previously little-known inventory has now been recovered and analyzed by historian Amanda Peruchi of the School of Philosophy, Languages and Literature, and Humanities at the University of São Paulo (FFLCH-USP). In an article published in Revista Brasileira de História da Ciência in July, she presented a complete transcription of its content, hoping it may contribute to future research on the history of medicine.

It took some time for catalogs and lists of medical literature produced or referenced by doctors, professors, and students at medical schools to come into use in Brazil. It was only in 1877, approximately a quarter of a century after Xavier da Veiga’s thesis, that the first list of texts on medicine, pharmacy, and surgery available at the medical school was made public. Another similar catalog was published in 1916, adding works written between 1900 and 1915.

Titled Ensaio da Bibliografia Médica do Rio de Janeiro posterior à criação da Escola de Medicina (Essay on the Medical Bibliography of Rio de Janeiro after the founding of the School of Medicine), Xavier da Veiga’s bibliography can be considered “a pioneering compilation of known medical texts in Rio Janeiro, particularly in the last three decades of the first half of the nineteenth century,” highlighted Peruchi.

“Its analysis provides an overview of the nature of the medical work produced in Brazil at the time and the primary concerns of the incipient field of medicine in the country’s academic system,” wrote the author of the paper.

Inventory and comments

Xavier da Veiga’s work was divided into two parts. In the first, the doctor presented a chronological list of 37 medical titles published between 1831 and 1851. The majority of authors were Brazilian, although some were foreigners who had settled in Brazil.

Interestingly, no theses or dissertations from the School of Medicine were included, “perhaps because they were produced by students, thus not possessing the theoretical and methodological precision found in more renowned works.”

The future doctor began the inventory with Semanário de Saúde Pública (Public health weekly), printed from 1831 to 1833, and ended with Observações acerca da epidemia da febre amarela do ano de 1850 no Rio de Janeiro (Observations of the yellow fever epidemic in Rio de Janeiro, 1850), collected in hospitals and outpatient clinics by Dr. Roberto Lallemant and published in 1851.

One of the resources used was scientific journals, many of which were produced by medical associations and aimed not only at professionals in the field but also at broader audiences.

“The objective of these publications was to present and discuss new developments in the medical field and to highlight the importance of so-called academic knowledge for effectively treating diseases,” highlights the historian. “Many studies associated diseases with the sanitary status of cities and suggested measures that could be implemented to sanitize public spaces and reduce contagion.”

In the second part of Xavier da Veiga’s inventory, he presented short comments on twelve of the listed texts, in addition to describing medical dictionaries and medication forms with their respective applications.

These documents were used to disseminate practices and knowledge approved by official medical institutions with regard to healthcare for people in rural regions of Brazil—there were still too few qualified Brazilian and foreign doctors to meet the medical demands of the time, especially in areas further away from urban centers.

“It is a very complete catalog of works that were known and available to students, teachers, and other interested parties involved in the medical field in Brazil in the first half of the nineteenth century,” summarizes Peruchi.

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The book The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, by Indian oncologist Siddhartha Mukherjee.

WHY IS IT WORTH READING?

Winner of the Pulitzer Prize, one of the world’s most respected literary awards, Siddhartha Mukherjee’s book tells the story of cancer, from Ancient Egypt’s first records of what the disease was to the discovery of its molecular foundations. The book alternates between historical facts and the author’s medical routine of treating his patients.

Mukherjee clearly explains the scientific aspects of cancer, shedding light on the process of discovery that culminated in our understanding that the disease affects our cells and our genes, and that devastating surgeries are therefore not necessary to treat it.

The doctor even describes the epic story of the tobacco industry’s attempts to hide what it knew about the effects of cigarettes on human health.

Because the book was released in 2010, it unfortunately does not cover the current revolution involving new cancer treatments that use the patient’s own immune system to fight tumors.

But that doesn’t matter: The Emperor of All Maladies tells a fascinating story of the evolution of science, medicine, and society as a whole.

REFERENCE

The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, by Siddhartha Mukherjee (Scribner, 2010).

Opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of Science Arena or Hospital Israelita Albert Einstein.

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