Your Memberships & Subscriptions
Download the free Kindle app and start reading Kindle books instantly on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required.
Read instantly on your browser with Kindle for Web.
Using your mobile phone camera - scan the code below and download the Kindle app.
OK
Audible sample Sample
The Most Powerful Idea in the World: A Story of Steam, Industry and Invention Kindle Edition
'The most important invention in the whole of the Industrial Revolution was invention itself.'
Those words are at the heart of this remarkable book - a history of the Industrial Revolution and the steam engine, as well as an account of how inventors first came to own and profit from their ideas and how invention itself springs forth from logic and imagination.
Rocket. It was the fortuitously named train that inaugurated steam locomotion in 1829, jump-starting two centuries of mass transportation. As William Rosen reveals, it was the product of centuries of scientific and industrial discovery. From inventor Heron of Alexandria in AD 60 to James Watt, the physicist whose 'separate condenser' was central to the development of steam power - all those who made possible the long ride towards the Industrial Revolution are brought to life.
But crucial to their contributions are other characters whose concepts allowed their invention to flourish - John Locke and intellectual property; Edward Coke and patents. Along the way, Rosen takes us deep into the human mind, explaining how 'eureka' moments occur - when the brain is most relaxed.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherVintage Digital
- Publication dateJune 9, 2010
- File size2292 KB
Editorial Reviews
From Booklist
Review
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
CHANGES IN THE ATMOSPHERE
Concerning how a toy built in Alexandria failed to inspire, and how a glass tube made in italy succeeded; the spectacle of two german hemispheres attached to sixteen german horses; and the critical importance of nothing at all to get to crofton from Birmingham, you take the M5 south about sixty miles to Brockworth and then change to the A417, which meanders first east, then southwest, then southeast, for another forty-six miles, changing, for no apparent reason, into the A419, and then the A436. In Burbage, you turn left at the Wolfhall Road and follow it another mile, across the railroad tracks and over the canal. The reason for making this three-hour journey (not counting time for wrong turns) is visible for the last quarter-mile or so: two red brick buildings next to a sixty-foot-tall chimney.
The Crofton Pump Station in Wiltshire contains the oldest steam engine in the world still doing the job for which it was designed. Every weekend, its piston-operated beam pumps twelve tons of water a minute into six eight-foot-high locks along the hundred-mile-long Kennet and Avon Canal. The engine itself, number 42B-the figure "B. 42" is still visible on the engine beam-is so called because it was the second engine with a forty-two-inch cylinder produced by the Birmingham manufacturer Boulton & Watt. It was entered in the company's order book on January 11, 1810, and installed almost precisely two years later. Except for a brief time in the 1960s, it has run continuously ever since.
First encounters with steam power are usually unexpected, inadvertent, and explosive; the cap flying off a defective teakettle, for example. No surprise there; the expansive property of water when heated past a certain point was known for thousands of years before that point was ever measured, and to this day it's what drives the turbine that generates most of our electricity, including that used to power the light by which you are reading this book. The relationship between the steam power of a modern turbine and the kind used to pump the water out of the Kennet and Avon Canal is, however, anything but direct. By comparison, the mechanism of engine 42B is a thing of Rube Goldberg-like complexity, with levers, cylinders, and pistons yoked together by a dozen different linkages, connecting rods, gears, cranks, and cams, all of them moving in a terrifyingly complicated dance that is at once fascinating, and eerily quiet- enough to occupy the mechanically inclined visitor, literally, for hours. When the engine is "in steam," it somehow causes the twenty- six-foot-long cast iron beams to move, in the words of Charles Dickens, "monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in melancholy madness."
There is, however, something odd about the beams, or rather about the pistons to which they are attached. The pistons aren't just being driven up by the steam below them. The power stroke is also down: toward the steam chamber. Something is sucking the pistons downward. Or, more accurately, nothing is: a vacuum.
Using steam to create vacuum was not the sort of insight that came an instant after watching a teakettle lid go flying. It depended, instead, on a journey of discovery and diffusion that took more than sixteen centuries. By all accounts the trip began sometime in the first century ce, on the west side of the Nile Delta, in the Egyptian city of Alexandria, at the Mouseion, the great university at which first Euclid and then Archimedes studied, and where, sometime around 60 CE, another great mathematician lived and worked, one whose name is virtually always the first associated with the steam engine: Heron of Alexandria.
The Encyclopaedia Britannica entry for Heron-occasionally, Hero-is somewhat scant on birth and death dates; as is often the case with figures from an age less concerned with such trivia, it uses the abbreviation "fl." for the latin floruit, or "flourished." And flourish he did. Heron's text on geometry, written sometime in the first century but not rediscovered until the end of the nineteenth, is known as the Metrika, and includes both the formula for calculating the area of a triangle and a method for extracting square roots. He was even better known as the inventor of a hydraulic fountain, a puppet theater using automata, a wind-powered organ, and, most relevantly for engine 42B, the aeolipile, a reaction engine that consisted of a hollow sphere with two elbow-shaped tubes attached on opposite ends, mounted on an axle connected to a tube suspended over a cauldron of water. As the water boiled, steam rose through the pipe into the sphere and escaped through the tubes, causing the sphere to rotate.
Throughout most of human history, successful inventors, unless wealthy enough to retain their amateur status, have depended on patronage, which they secured either by entertaining their betters or glorifying them (sometimes both). Heron was firmly in the first camp, and by all accounts, the aeolipile was regarded as a wonder by the wealthier classes of Alexandria, which was then one of the richest and most sophisticated cities in the world. Despite the importance it is given in some scientific histories, though, its real impact was nil. No other steam engines were inspired by it, and its significance is therefore a reminder of how quickly inventions can vanish when they are produced for a society's toy department.
In fact, because the aeolipile depended only upon the expansive force of steam, it should probably be remembered as the first in a line of engineering dead ends. But if the inspirational value of Heron's steam turbine was less than generally realized, that of his writings was incomparably greater. He wrote at least seven complete books, including Metrika, collecting his innovations in geometry, and Automata, which described a number of self-regulating machines, including an ingenious mechanical door opener. Most significant of all was Pneumatika, less for its descriptions of the inventions of this remarkable man (in addition to the aeolipile, the book included "Temple Doors Opened by Fire on an Altar," "A Fountain Which Trickles by the Action of the Sun's Rays," and "A Trumpet, in the Hands of an Automaton, Sounded by Compressed Air," a catalog that reinforces the picture of Heron as antiquity's best toymaker) than for a single insight: that the phenomenon observed when sucking the air out of a chamber is nothing more than the pressure of the air around that chamber. It was a revelation that turned out to be utterly critical in the creation of the world's first steam engines, and therefore of the Industrial Revolution that those engines powered.
The idea wasn't, of course, completely original to Heron; the idea that air is a source of energy is immeasurably older than science, or even technology. Ctesibos, an inventor and engineer born in Alexandria three centuries before Heron, supposedly used compressed air to operate his "water organ" that used water as a piston to force air through different tubes, making music.
Just as the ancients realized that moving air exerts pressure, they also recognized that its absence did something similar. The realization that sucking air out of a closed chamber creates a vacuum seems fairly obvious to any child who has ever placed a finger on top of a straw-as indeed it was to Heron. In the preface to Pneumatika, he wrote, if a light vessel with a narrow mouth be taken and applied to the lips, and the air be sucked out and discharged, the vessel will be suspended from the lips, the vacuum drawing the flesh towards it that the exhausted space may he filled. It is manifest from this that there was a continuous vacuum in the vessel...thus producing what a modern scholar has called a "very satisfactory theory of elastic fluids."
Satisfactory to a twenty-first-century child, and a first-century mathematician, but not, unfortunately, for a whole lot of people in between. To them, the idea that space could exist absent any occupants, which seems self-evident, was evidently not, and the reason was the dead hand of the philosopher-scientist who tutored Alexandria's founder. Aristotle argued against the existence of a vacuum with unerring, though curiously inelegant, logic. His primary argument ran something like this:
1. If empty space can be measured, then it must have dimension.
2. If it has dimension, then it must be a body (this is something of a tautology: by Aristotelian definition, bodies are things that have dimension).
3. Therefore, anything moving into such a previously empty space would be occupying the same space simultaneously, and two bodies cannot do so.
More persuasive was the argument that a void is "unnecessary," that since the fundamental character of an object consists of those measurable dimensions, then a void with the same dimensions as the cup, or horse, or ship occupying it is no different from the object. One, therefore, is redundant, and since the object cannot be superfluous, the void must be.
It takes millennia to recover from that sort of unassailable logic, temptingly similar to that used in Monty Python and the Holy Grail to demonstrate that if a woman weighs as much as a duck, she is a witch. Aristotle's blind spot regarding the existence of a void would be inherited by a hundred generations of his adherents. Those who read the work of Heron did so through an Aristotelian scrim on which was printed, in metaphorical letters twenty feet high: NATURE ABHORS A VACUUM.
Given that, it is something of a small miracle that Pneumatika, and its description of vacuum, survived at all. But survive it did, like so many of the great works of antiquity, in an Arabic translation, until around the thirteenth century, when it first appeared in Latin. And it was another three hundred years until a really influential translation arrived, an Italian edition translated by Giovanni Batista Aleotti d'Argenta and published in 1589. Aleotti's work, and subsequent translations of his translation into German, English, and French (plus five more in Italian alone), demonstrate both the demand for and availability of the book. Aleotti, an architect and engineer, was practical enough; in his annotations to his translation of the Pneumatika, he mentions the difficulty of removing a ramrod from a cannon with its touchhole covered because of the pressure of air against the vacuum therefore created-a phenomenon that could only exist if air were compressible and vacuum possible. It is testimony to the weight of formal logic that even with the evidence in front of his nose, Aleotti was still intellectually unable to deny his Aristotle.
If Aleotti was unaware of the implications of Heron's observations, he was indefatigable in promoting them, and by the seventeenth century, it can, with a wink, be said that Pneumatika was very much in the air, in large part because of the Renaissance enthusiasm for duplicating natural phenomena by mechanical means, the era's reflexive admiration for the achievements of Greek antiquity. The scientist and philosopher Blaise Pascal (who modeled his calculator, the Pascaline, on an invention of Heron's) mentioned it in D'esprit géometrique, as did the Oxford scholar Robert Burton in his masterpiece, Anatomy of Melancholy: "What is so intricate, and pleasing as to peruse...Hero Alexandrinus' work on the air engine." But nowhere was Aleotti's translation more popular than the city-state of Firenze, or Florence.
Florence, in the year 1641, had been essentially the private fief of the Medici family for two centuries. The city, ground zero for both the Renaissance and the Scientific Revolution, was also where Galileo Galilei had chosen to live out the sentence imposed by the Inquisition for his heretical writings that argued that the earth revolved around the sun. Galileo was seventy years old and living in a villa in Arcetri, in the hills above the city, when he read a book on the physics of movement titled De motu (sometimes Trattato del Moto) and summoned its author, Evangelista Torricelli, a mathematician then living in Rome. Torricelli, whose admiration for Galileo was practically without limit, decamped in time not only to spend the last three months of the great man's life at his side, but to succeed him as professor of mathematics at the Florentine Academy. There he would make a number of important contributions to both the calculus and fluid mechanics. In 1643, he discovered a core truth in the behavior of liquids in motion, known as Torricelli's theorem, that is still used to calculate the speed of a fluid when it exits the vessel that contains it. He made fundamental contributions to the development of the calculus, and to the geometry of the cycloid (the path described by a point on a rolling wheel). Less typically, he embarked on a series of investigations whose results were, literally, revolutionary.
In those investigations, Torricelli used a tool even more powerful than his well-cultivated talent for mathematical logic: He did experiments. At the behest of one of his patrons, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, whose engineers were unable to build a sufficiently powerful pump, Torricelli designed a series of apparatuses to test the limits of the action of contemporary water pumps. In spring of 1644, Torricelli filled a narrow, four-foot-long glass tube with mercury-a far heavier fluid than water-inverted it in a basin of mercury, sealing the tube's top, and documented that while the mercury did not pour out, it did leave a space at the closed top of the tube. He reasoned that since nothing could have slipped past the mercury in the tube, what occupied the top of the tube must, therefore, be nothing: a vacuum.
Even more brilliantly, Torricelli reasoned, and then demonstrated, that the amount of space at the top of the tube varied at different times of the day and month. The only explanation that accounted for his observations was that the variance was caused by the pressure of air; the more pressure on the open reservoir of mercury at the base of the tube, the higher the mercury rose within. Torricelli had not only invented, more or less accidentally, the first barometer; he had demonstrated the existence of air pressure, writing to his colleague Michelangelo Ricci, "I have already called attention to certain philosophical experiments that are in progress...relating to vacuum, designed not just to make a vacuum but to make an instrument which will exhibit changes in the atmosphere...we live submerged at the bottom of an ocean of air..."
Torricelli was not, even by the standards of his day, a terribly ambitious inventor. When faced with hostility from religious authorities and other traditionalists who believed, correctly, that his discovery was a direct shot at the Aristotelian world, he happily returned to his beloved cycloids, the latest traveler to find himself on the wrong side of the boundary line between science and technology.
From AudioFile
Product details
- ASIN : B003QCKNG0
- Publisher : Vintage Digital (June 9, 2010)
- Publication date : June 9, 2010
- Language : English
- File size : 2292 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 402 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,497,573 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #1,294 in Economic History (Kindle Store)
- #4,477 in Economic History (Books)
- #9,871 in Social & Cultural History
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Discover more of the author’s books, see similar authors, read author blogs and more
Customer reviews
Customer Reviews, including Product Star Ratings help customers to learn more about the product and decide whether it is the right product for them.
To calculate the overall star rating and percentage breakdown by star, we don’t use a simple average. Instead, our system considers things like how recent a review is and if the reviewer bought the item on Amazon. It also analyzed reviews to verify trustworthiness.
Learn more how customers reviews work on Amazon-
Top reviews
Top reviews from the United States
There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.
Some have argued that the Industrial Revolution was all about cotton. Rosen argues that it was steam power that made the phenomenal growth of the British cotton textile industry possible. “Cotton traveled to the British Isles on steamships,” he writes, “was spun into cloth by steam-powered mills, and was brought to market by steam locomotives.” But Rosen doesn’t stop there. If cotton made the Industrial Revolution possible, and steam made the cotton textile industry possible, what made steam power possible? According to the author, the answer is the patent system.
The Republic Venice instituted a patent system as early as 1474. However, according to the author, it was the British who developed intellectual property rights into their modern form. The foundation of British patent law – “the lawsuit that marks the ideological transformation that would [eventually] create the Industrial Revolution,” Rosen says – is the Case of Monopolies (officially Darcy vs Allein). Argued by the celebrated lawyer Sir Edward Coke in 1602, this landmark case established that the grant of exclusive rights to produce a certain product was improper and therefore illegal. The case arose out of Darcy’s monopoly over the import and trade of playing cards granted to him by Queen Elizabeth. The judgment found that state-established monopolies are inherently harmful and therefore contrary to law. This decision was followed two decades later by the Statute of Monopolies (1624), which determined that patents (i.e. time restricted, state-established monopolies) could only be awarded to “the first and true inventor” of a technology or process. The patent had to be both novel and useful, not related to the improvement of an existing technology or manufacturing process, and unlikely to be “mischievous to the state” (i.e. raise commodity prices or hurt trade). Those that met all of these criteria would be granted a patent for the term of fourteen years, which amounted to two standard seven-year artisan apprenticeship cycles. (Later, in 1700, the British would pass the Calico Acts, which prohibited the import and ownership of Indian printed cottons, a key part of London’s industrial policy that led to the Industrial Revolution.)
For most of the seventeenth century, less than ten patents were issued a year. But something else important was happening in Great Britain at this time, Rosen says, echoing the argument made famous by Northwestern University economic history professor Joel Mokyr: “a culture of observation, experimentation, and innovation was being cultivated in England at exactly the same moment that Coke was advocating for her artisans.” The final piece of the puzzle, according to Rosen, was the articulation of intellectual property rights by John Locke. “The recognition of a property right in ideas,” he writes, “was the critical ingredient in democratizing the act of invention.” The allocation of patents grew slowly in Great Britain during the eighteenth century, from just five a year from 1700 to 1740, to almost twenty a year from 1740 to 1780, before exploding to over fifty a year from 1780 to 1800. By comparison, between the years 1793 to 1800 Britain granted 533 patents to Revolutionary France’s 65.
If intellectual property rights and the patent system are “the most powerful idea in the world,” how did those ideas translate into the steam power-driven Industrial Revolution? Rosen says it was a relatively slow and often anonymous process. He claims that the Industrial Revolution was not a function of impersonal forces, but neither was it “the work of a dozen brilliant geniuses.” It was not driven by strikingly original creations (i.e. invention) but rather by an innumerable string of small improvements made over decades by anonymous tinkerers (i.e. innovation). “Sustained innovation is incremental innovation,” he writes, “and those increments are usually very small,” such as Henry Maudlslay’s leadscrew, Matthew Murray’s D-valve, Richard Trevithick’s fusible plug, and thousands of other now forgotten micro-improvements that collectively added up to significant change.
Rosen writes that there are general phases of steam power. The first phase used condensed steam to convert atmospheric pressure into reciprocating motion. The basic mechanics of a steam engine are simple: turning water into steam creates pressure (because water in its vapor form takes up 1,800 times more space than it does as a liquid), converting it back into a liquid creates a powerful vacuum. This simple equation, known since antiquity, held the secret of almost unimaginable power. The foundational principles at play were the vacuum and adiabatic pressure (the phenomenon that causes a gas to cool when it expands and heat when it is compressed). In 1698, Thomas Savery (1650-1715) patented a steam-powered water pump, the first commercially available steam-powered device. A decade later, in 1712, Thomas Newcomen (1664-1729) introduced a piston to Savery’s basic design, which greatly increased its efficiency and versatility. Rosen equates the Newcomen steam engine to the AK-47 for its legendary simplicity and ruggedness. Because of Savery’s patent, however, Newcomen could only take, after much negotiation, one-quarter of the sales from his revolutionary device. Within three years of developing his prototype, Newcomen had over one hundred of his steam engines pumping water out of mines all over Great Britain. However, because of its fuel inefficiency, that’s all the Newcomen steam engine could do. It was so big and so fuel inefficient that it was only cost effective if it could operate at the literal source of its fuel.
The second phase of steam power came in the late eighteenth century by converting the expansive power of steam into rotary motion able to drive dozens, and then hundreds, of spinning and weaving machines. The transition to this phase was driven by James Watt (1736-1819), a man who, according to the author, combined “the hands of a master craftsman and a brain schooled in mathematical reasoning.” He recognized early on that fuel efficiency was the Newcomen engine’s achilles heel. He began to meticulously test the performance of a variety of changes as to how the steam was converted to power. By 1765 he had developed the separate condenser, a relatively modest innovation that would essentially change the world. With one chamber that stayed hot and another that stayed cool, Watt introduced a dramatic improvement in fuel efficiency. In January 1769, Watt was issued patent number 913 for “a method of lessening the consumption of steam and fuel in fire-engines.” Watt’s separate condenser alone increased the fuel efficiency of a Newcomen steam engine by one hundred percent while also increasing the power of the engine. In the process, Watt introduced a new unit of measurement to compare his steam engine with a separate condenser against the traditional Newcomen model: horsepower. The Newcomen engine averaged at most ten horsepower; the Watt engine upwards of fifty. Because of Watt’s innovations the steam engine was both more capable of power generation and fuel efficient enough to liberate it from the close tether of direct access to coal mine fuel supplies. Suddenly steam engines could go into factories.
“The Fire-Engines Act of 1775” was, according to at least one historian, “the most important single event in the Industrial Revolution.” It extended Watt’s 1769 patent on his steam engine with a separate condenser for twenty-five additional years. In 1774, John “Iron Mad” Wilkinson received patent number 1063 for his high precision boring system that enabled the manufacture of large, airtight cylinders capable of generating powerful and efficient engines. “If the most important invention of the Industrial Revolution was invention itself,” Rosen writes, “then automation of precision has to be one of the top three,” with Wilkinson’s boring device being perhaps the most important example. In 1786, Albion Mills, the largest and most efficient flour mill in the world, opened in London. It featured three large (34 inch cylinder) steam engines and thirty grinding wheels (the previous largest flour mill in London had four) and produced six thousand bushels of flour every week. “Behind the Albion Mills engine were hundreds of large and small innovations that had solved a dozen ancient problems in physics, metallurgy, and kinetics,” Rosen writes. It was in operation for just four years before burning down under mysterious circumstances.
Steam engines were big business, but textiles would prove to be “the most valuable export industry in human history,” according to Rosen. The Industrial Revolution overturned “five centuries of traditional expertise controlled by militant and well-organized artisans.” Like steam engines, textile manufacturing developed over the course of the eighteenth century mainly because of patents. The leading inventors included John Lombe (silk throwing machine in 1718), John Kay (flying shuttle in 1733), James Hargreaves (spinning jenny in 1770), and Richard Arkwright (water frame in 1774). All of these inventions ultimately became public property, attracting competing and superior inventions. (Perhaps the most important innovation of all, Samuel Crompton’s spinning mule in 1779, which combined the work of Hargreaves and Arkwright, was never patented). In 1813, there were 2,400 steam driven power looms in England. Twenty years later there were 85,000. A century and a half after the Calico Acts, the productivity of the British cotton industry had grown by a factor of fourteen. “A great artisan can make a family prosperous,” Rosen writes, “a great inventor can enrich an entire nation.”
The final stage was converting steam power into motion. It is best exemplified by the Rocket, the world’s first locomotive, introduced in 1829. In order for a steam engine to produce enough power to move itself, along with weighty cargo and passengers, it needed to be both powerful and lightweight. The only way to achieve that was to dramatically increase the pressure in the cylinder. American inventor Oliver Evans (1755-1819), who Rosen calls “a visionary and a pioneer,” made a significant contribution to the steam revolution in 1804 by placing his furnace inside a water-filled chamber, which significantly increased the heat transfer to the water. Doubling the heat of the water increases the potential power by one hundred times. Next, Richard Trevithick (1771-1833), the one man (along with Robert Stephenson) with a credible claim to the title of “father of railways,” developed a high pressure steam engine known as a “Cornish engine.” The thermal efficiency of the Cornish engine was astounding for its time, converting thirty percent of heat energy into work (steam turbines would eventually convert up to eighty percent). Using the standard benchmark of “duty” (the pounds of water raised one foot by a bushel of coal), Trevithick’s high pressure Cornish engine dominated the competition. A Newcomen-style engine possessed a duty of 5,000 pounds. A separate condenser Watt engine boasted a duty of almost 19,000 pounds. Trevithick’s engine could achieve 30,000 pounds by 1814 and 100,000 pounds by 1835. In 1829, the Manchester & Liverpool Railway offered a 500 pound prize for a locomotive that met several demanding requirements: the locomotive had to weigh less than six tons (including water), it had to operate at 45 to 60 psi, had to consume its own smoke, and pull a gross load of twenty tons at ten miles per hour for sixty miles. Only three applicants were serious contenders. The Rocket won in convincing fashion.
Rosen notes that all of this was possible not only because the British patent system incentivized and protected would-be inventors, but also because the British slowly learned over time how to invent. No man was more important in teaching British artisans how to experiment productively and innovate successfully than John Smeaton (1724-1792), who was “by consensus the most brilliant engineer of his era – a bit like being the most talented painter in sixteenth century Florence.” Smeaton emphasized the importance of precise measurements and detailed records in experimentation. His work significantly advanced various fields, especially civil engineering and scientific methodology. “He bequeathed to his nation a process by which inventions could be experimentally tested,” Rosen says.
In addition to improvements in the process of invention, Britain also took the relatively unusual and highly important step of lionizing her native inventive geniuses, men like Watt, Arkwright, and Trevithick, one time artisans who made fortunes by acquiring useful knowledge. Rosen contrasts this attitude with that of the French, who abolished the Academy of Sciences during the early years of the French Revolution, claiming, “The Republic does not need savants!”
In closing, “There is no doubt that the thermodynamic gradient between liquid water and steam changed the world,” Rosen concludes, “and that its discovery marks one of the most important turning points in history.” Those are some pretty strong words, but I think Rosen successfully argued his case. From 1700 to 2000, the global population grew by a factor of twelve, but the production of goods and services expanded by one hundredfold. The patent-protected creative developments of the Industrial Revolution did much to spur and sustain this growth. No one benefited more than the Anglosphere (i.e. Great Britain and its majority caucasian former colonies). The Anglosphere created the Industrial Revolution and the Anglosphere profited most from it. The Anglosphere’s share of global GDP grew from perhaps three percent in 1700 to 28 percent in 2000 (down from an all-time high of 37 percent after World War II). At the foundation of this incredible success, according to the author, is the patent system and the notion of intellectual property rights. In the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln, the only US president to hold a patent, the patent system “added the fuel of interest to the fire of genius."
It must have been difficult for the author not to digress into any of the many fascinating sub-stories.
(How were boiler's soldered, how were technical papers distributed, how did the banking-credit system work.....)
There's enough detail to engage each type of reader (I now know why steam locomotives chuff) while not breaking the narrative thread.
I'm reading this book a second time after reading the bibliography & realizing what this E-book (& other E-media like it) needs (thru no fault of the author). It needs a LinkR so I can digress as I read into sub-stories (supporting content) that interest me but that if were included in the book would burden it's utility.
A LinkR app would work differently for different users:
1. It would post process the book & it's biblio, perhaps tweaked for my interests & insert links in the text.
2. For authors, perhaps a Word plug-in that would permit them to efficiently fine, sort & link relevant content, perhaps tagged for user classes..
3. Commercially a LinkR has value (cookies have crumbs...Google) to both sellers of content & to authors
(think of a LinkR as your personal app-bot that parses your E-content for your interests)
& Here I digress: Thank-you Mr. Rosen a thoroughly enjoyable book.
Top reviews from other countries
Written with the details of the historian mixed with the hindsight of contemporary wisdom. The key point is that innovative ideas are no not an individual affaire but a “ network effect”.
Main takeaway: the way to create wealth for nations!
I recommend this book to anyone who has interest in intellectual and cultural evolution.
Chapter 12- 'Strong steam' is the chapter that grabbed my attention the most; giving the best summary of the birth of the 'Cornish' engine I have found so far. The story told within that chapter is intertwined with the one told in 'The Last Great Cornish Engineer', a book that explains how William West took the high pressure beam engine to the peak of its development.
navsbooks.wordpress.com
The Last Great Cornish Engineer: William West of TredenhamThe Last Great Cornish Engineer: William West of Tredenham
Sketch of the life of William West C.E. of Tredenham-The last of the great Cornish Engineers