Swainson was one of the first naturalists to use lithography for his illustrations, which allowed for cheaper production compared to engraving. He published many illustrated works serially, with subscribers receiving sections as they were completed to provide constant cash flow. Swainson would hand-color the monochrome lithographs according to color reference images. His early adoption of this new technology and skill at illustration led to his fame. Later in his career, Swainson co-authored the influential Fauna Boreali-Americana series and produced works for several other publishers.
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Read The Sixth Extinction, pages 81-161CHAPTER III.docxsodhi3
Read The Sixth Extinction, pages 81-161
“CHAPTER III
THE ORIGINAL PENGUIN
Pinguinus impennis
The word “catastrophist” was coined in 1832 by William Whewell, one of the first presidents of the Geological Society of London, who also bequeathed to English “anode,” “cathode,” “ion,” and “scientist.” Although the term would later pick up pejorative associations, which stuck to it like burrs, this was not Whewell’s intention. When he proposed it, Whewell made it clear that he considered himself a “catastrophist,” and that most of the other scientists he knew were catastrophists too. Indeed, there was really only one person he was acquainted with ” “whom the label did not fit, and that was an up-and-coming young geologist named Charles Lyell. For Lyell, Whewell came up with yet another neologism. He called him a “uniformitarian.”
“Lyell had grown up in the south of England, in the sort of world familiar to fans of Jane Austen. He’d then attended Oxford and trained to become a barrister. Failing eyesight made it difficult for him to practice law, so he turned to the natural sciences instead. As a young man, Lyell made several trips to the Continent and became friendly with Cuvier, at whose house he dined often. He found the older man to be personally “very obliging”—Cuvier allowed him to make casts of several famous fossils to take back with him to England—but Cuvier’s vision of earth history Lyell regarded as thoroughly unpersuasive.”
“When Lyell looked (admittedly myopically) at the rock outcroppings of the British countryside or at the strata of the Paris basin or at the volcanic islands near Naples, he saw no evidence of cataclysm. In fact, quite the reverse: he thought it unscientific (or, as he put it, “unphilosophical”) to imagine that change in the world had ever occurred for different reasons or at different rates than it did in the present day. According to Lyell, every feature of the landscape was the result of very gradual processes operating over countless millennia—processes like sedimentation, erosion, and vulcanism, which were all still readily observable. For generations of geology students, Lyell’s thesis would be summed up as “The present is the key to the past.”
“As far as extinction was concerned, this, too, according to Lyell, occurred at a very slow pace—so slow that, at any given time, in any given place, it would not be surprising were it to go unnoticed. The fossil evidence, which seemed to suggest that species had at various points died out en masse, was a sign that the record was unreliable. Even the idea that the history of life had a direction to it—first reptiles, then mammals—was mistaken, another faulty inference drawn from inadequate data. All manner of organisms had existed in all eras, and those that had apparently vanished for good could, under the right circumstances, pop up again. Thus “the huge iguanodon might reappear in the woods, and the ichthyosaur in the sea, while the pterodactyle might flit agai ...
Read The Sixth Extinction, pages 81-161CHAPTER III.docxsodhi3
Read The Sixth Extinction, pages 81-161
“CHAPTER III
THE ORIGINAL PENGUIN
Pinguinus impennis
The word “catastrophist” was coined in 1832 by William Whewell, one of the first presidents of the Geological Society of London, who also bequeathed to English “anode,” “cathode,” “ion,” and “scientist.” Although the term would later pick up pejorative associations, which stuck to it like burrs, this was not Whewell’s intention. When he proposed it, Whewell made it clear that he considered himself a “catastrophist,” and that most of the other scientists he knew were catastrophists too. Indeed, there was really only one person he was acquainted with ” “whom the label did not fit, and that was an up-and-coming young geologist named Charles Lyell. For Lyell, Whewell came up with yet another neologism. He called him a “uniformitarian.”
“Lyell had grown up in the south of England, in the sort of world familiar to fans of Jane Austen. He’d then attended Oxford and trained to become a barrister. Failing eyesight made it difficult for him to practice law, so he turned to the natural sciences instead. As a young man, Lyell made several trips to the Continent and became friendly with Cuvier, at whose house he dined often. He found the older man to be personally “very obliging”—Cuvier allowed him to make casts of several famous fossils to take back with him to England—but Cuvier’s vision of earth history Lyell regarded as thoroughly unpersuasive.”
“When Lyell looked (admittedly myopically) at the rock outcroppings of the British countryside or at the strata of the Paris basin or at the volcanic islands near Naples, he saw no evidence of cataclysm. In fact, quite the reverse: he thought it unscientific (or, as he put it, “unphilosophical”) to imagine that change in the world had ever occurred for different reasons or at different rates than it did in the present day. According to Lyell, every feature of the landscape was the result of very gradual processes operating over countless millennia—processes like sedimentation, erosion, and vulcanism, which were all still readily observable. For generations of geology students, Lyell’s thesis would be summed up as “The present is the key to the past.”
“As far as extinction was concerned, this, too, according to Lyell, occurred at a very slow pace—so slow that, at any given time, in any given place, it would not be surprising were it to go unnoticed. The fossil evidence, which seemed to suggest that species had at various points died out en masse, was a sign that the record was unreliable. Even the idea that the history of life had a direction to it—first reptiles, then mammals—was mistaken, another faulty inference drawn from inadequate data. All manner of organisms had existed in all eras, and those that had apparently vanished for good could, under the right circumstances, pop up again. Thus “the huge iguanodon might reappear in the woods, and the ichthyosaur in the sea, while the pterodactyle might flit agai ...
1. Apart from the common and scientific names of many species, it is the quality of his
illustrations that he is best remembered for. His friend William Elford Leach, head of zoology
at the British Museum encouraged him to experiment with lithography for his book
Zoological Illustrations (1820–23). Swainson became the first illustrator and naturalist to use
lithography, which was a relatively cheap means of production and did not require an
engraver. He began publishing many illustrated works, mostly serially. Subscribers received
and paid for small sections of the books as they came out, so that the cash flow was constant
and could be reinvested in the preparation of subsequent parts. As book orders arrived, the
monochrome lithography prints were hand-coloured,
according to colour reference images, known as
‘pattern plates’, which were produced by Swainson
himself. It was his early adoption of this new
technology and his natural skill of illustration that in
large part led to his fame.[7]
When Leach was forced to resign from the British
Museum due to ill health, Swainson applied to replace
him, but the post was given to John George Children.
Swainson continued with his writing, the most
influential of which was the second volume of Fauna
Boreali-Americana (1831) which he co-authored with
John Richardson. This series (1829–1837) was the first
illustrated zoological study to be in-part funded by the
British government.[8] He also produced a second series
of Zoological Illustrations (1832–33), three volumes of
Jardine'sNaturalist's Library, and eleven volumes of
Lardner'sCabinet Cyclopedia; he had signed a contract
with Longman to produce fourteen illustrated
volumes of 300 pages in this series, one to be
produced quarterly