Printing the Hindu-Arabic numbers

Arte dell’Abbaco, a book that many consider the first-ever printed mathematics book, was dated four hundred and forty years ago on 10 December 1478. I say many consider because the book, also known as the Treviso Arithmetic, is a commercial arithmetic textbook and some historians regard commercial arithmetic as a separate discipline and not really mathematics.

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Calculation from the Arte dell’Abbaco

The unknown author explains his book thus:

I have often been asked by certain youths in whom I have much interest, and who look forward to mercantile pursuits, to put into writing the fundamental principles of arithmetic, commonly called abbacus.

The Treviso Arithmetic is actually an abbacus book, those books on calculating with the Hindu-Arabic numerals that derive their existence from Leonardo Pisano’s Liber Abbaci. Like most abbacus books it is written in the vernacular, which in this case is the local Venetian dialect. If you don’t read 15thcentury Venetian there is an English translation by Frank J. Swetz, Capitalism and Arithmetic: The New Math of the 15thCentury Including the Full Text of the Treviso Arithmetic of 1478, Open Court, 1987.

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Filed under Early Scientific Publishing, History of Mathematics, Renaissance Science, Uncategorized

The Seven Learned Sisters

I have suffered from a (un)healthy[1]portion of imposter syndrome all of my life. This is the personal feeling in an academic context that one is just bluffing and doesn’t actually know anything and then any minute now somebody is going to unmask me and denounce me as an ignorant fraud. I always thought that this was a personal thing, part of my general collection of mental and emotional insecurities but in more recent years I have learned that many academics, including successful and renowned ones, suffer from this particular form of insecurity. On related problem that I have is the belief that anything I do actually know is trivial, generally known to everyone and therefore not worth mentioning[2]. I experienced an example of this recently on Twitter when I came across the following medieval illustration and its accompanying tweet.

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Geometria Source: Wikimedia Commons

Woman teaching geometry to monks. In the Middle Ages, it is unusual to see women represented as teachers, in particular when the students appear to be monks. Euclid’s Elementa, in the translation attributed to Adelard of Bath, 1312.

I would simply have assumed that everybody knew what this picture represents and not commented. It is not a “women teaching geometry to monks” as the tweeter thinks but a typical medieval personification of Geometria, one of the so-called Seven Learned Sisters. The Seven Learned Sisters are the personifications of the seven liberal arts, the trivium (grammar, rhetoric and dialectic)

and the quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy),

which formed the curriculum in the lower or liberal arts faculty at the medieval university. The seven liberal arts, however, have a history that well predates the founding of the first universities. In what follows I shall only be dealing with the history of the quadrivium.

As a concept this four-fold division of the mathematical sciences can be traced back to the Pythagoreans. The mathematical commentator Proclus (412–485 CE) tells us, in the introduction to his commentary on the first book of Euclid’s Elements:

The Pythagoreans considered all mathematical science to be divided into four parts: one half they marked off as concerned with quantity, the other half with magnitude; and each of these they posited as twofold. A quantity can be considered in regard to its character by itself or in its relation to another quantity, magnitudes as either stationary or in motion. Arithmetic, then, studies quantities as such, music the relations between quantities, geometry magnitude at rest, spherics [astronomy] magnitude inherently moving.

The earliest know written account of this division can be found at the beginning of the late Pythagorean Archytas’ book on harmonics, where he identifies a set of four sciences: astronomy, geometry, logistic (arithmetic) and music. Archytas’ dates of birth and death are not known but he was, roughly speaking, a contemporary of Plato. He was the teacher of Eudoxus (c.390–c.337 BCE) Harmonics, by the way, is the discipline that later became known as music in the quadrivium.

Without mentioning Archytas, Plato (428/427 or 424/423 – 348/347 BCE), who was highly influenced by the Pythagoreans,takes up the theme in his Republic (c.380 BCE). In a dialogue with Glaucon, Plato explains the merits of learning the “five” mathematical sciences; he divides geometry into plane geometry (two dimensional) and solid geometry (three dimensional). He also refers to harmonics and not music.

In the CE period the first important figure is the Neo-Pythagorean, Nicomachus of Gerasa (c.60–c.120 CE), who wrote an Introduction to Arithmeticand a Manual of Harmonics, which are still extant and a lost Introduction to Geometry. The four-fold division of the mathematical sciences only acquired the name quadrivium in the works of Boethius (c.477–524 CE), from whose work the concept of the seven liberal arts was extracted as the basic curriculum for the medieval university. Boethius, who saw it as his duty to rescue the learning of the Greeks, heavily based his mathematical texts on the work of Nicomachus.

Probably the most influential work on the seven liberal arts is the strange De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii (“On the Marriage of Philology and Mercury“) of Martianus Capella (fl.c. 410-420). The American historian H. O. Taylor (1856–1941) claimed that On the Marriage of Philology and Mercurywas “perhaps the most widely used schoolbook in the Middle Ages,” quoted from Martianus Capella and the Seven Liberal Artsby William Harris Stahl.[3]Stahl goes on to say, “It would be hard to name a more popular textbook for Latin reads of later ages.”

Martianus introduces each of the members of the trivium and quadrivium as bridesmaids of the bride Philology.

“Geometry enters carrying a radius in her right hand and a globe in her left. The globe is a replica of the universe, wrought by Archimedes’ hand. The peplos she wears is emblazoned with figures depicting celestial orbits and spheres; the earth’s shadow reaches into the sky, giving a purplish hue to the golden globes of the sun and moon; there are gnomons of sundials and figures showing intervals weights, and measures. Her hair is beautifully groomed, but her feet are covered with grime and her shoes are worn to shreds with treading across the entire surface of the earth.”[4]

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A 16th century Geometria in a printed copy of the Margarita Philosophica

“As she enters the celestial hall, Arithmetic is even more striking in appearance than was Geometry with her dazzling peplos and celestial globe. Arithmetic too wears a robe, hers concealing an “intricate undergarment that holds clues to the operations of universal nature.” Arithmetic’s stately bearing reflects the pristine origin, antedating the birth of the Thunder God himself. Her head is an awesome sight. A scarcely perceptible whitish ray emanates from her brow; then another ray, the projection of a line, as it were, coming from the first. A third ray and a fourth spring out, and so on, up to a ninth and a tenth ray–all radiating from her brow in double and triple combinations. These proliferate in countless numbers and in a moment are miraculously retracted into the one.”[5]An allusion to the Pythagorean decade.

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Gregor Reisch Margarita Philosophica: Arthimetica presiding over a computing competition between Hindu-Arabic numerals and a reckoning board

“Astronomy like her sister Geometry, is a peregrinator of the universe. She has traversed all the heavens and can reveal the constellations lying beneath the celestial arctic circle. […] Astronomy tells us that she is also familiar with the occult lore of Egyptian priest, knowledge hoarded in their sanctums; she kept herself in seclusion in Egypt for nearly forty thousand years, not wishing to divulge those secrets. She is also familiar with antediluvian Athens.”[6]

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Astronomia or possibly the Muse Urania 15th century

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“Harmony herself is ineffably dazzling and Martianus is stricken in his efforts to describe her. A lofty figure, her head aglitter with gold ornaments, she walks along between Apollo and Athena. Her garment is tiff with incised and laminated gold; it tinkles softly and soothingly with every measured step She carries in her right hand what appears to be a shield, circular in form. It contains many concentric circles, and the whole is embroidered with striking figure. The circular chords encompass one another and from them pours forth a concord of all tones: Small models of theatrical instruments, wrought of gold, hang suspended from Harmony’s left hand. No know instrument produces sounds to compare with those coming from the strange rounded form.”[7]

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Quadrivium

I have included Stahl’s passages of Martianus’ descriptions of the quadrivium to make clear then when I talk of the disciplines being personified as women I don’t just mean that they get a female name but are fully formed female characters. This of course raises the question, at least for me, why the mathematical disciplines that were taught almost exclusively to men in ancient Greece, the Romano-Hellenistic culture and in the Middle Ages should be represented by women. Quite honestly I don’t know the answer to my own question. I assume that it relates to the nine ancient Greek Muses, who were also women and supposedly the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory personified). This however just pushes the same question back another level. Why are the Muses female?

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Having come this far it should be noted that although the quadrivium was officially part of the curriculum on medieval universities it was on the whole rather neglected. When taught the subjects were only taught at a very elementary level, arithmetic based on the primer of Boethius, itself an adaption of Nicomachus, geometry from Euclid but often only Book One and even that only partially, music again based on Boethius and astronomy on the very elementary Sphere of Sacrobosco. Often the mathematics courses were not taught during the normal classes but only on holidays, when there were no normal lectures. At most universities the quadrivium disciplines were not part of the final exams and often a student who had missed a course could get the qualification simple by paying the course fees. Mathematics only became a real part of the of the university curriculum in the sixteenth century through the efforts of Philip Melanchthon for the protestant universities and somewhat later Christoph Clavius for the Catholic ones. England had to wait until the seventeenth century before there were chairs for mathematics at Oxford and Cambridge.

[1]On the one hand imposter syndrome can act as a spur to learn more and increase ones knowledge of a given subject. On the other it can lead one to think that one needs to know much more before one closes a given research/learn/study project and thus never finish it.

[2]To paraphrase some old Greek geezer, the older I get and the more I learn, the more I become aware that what I know is merely a miniscule fraction of that which I could/should know and in reality I actually know fuck all.

[3]William Harris Stahl, Martianus Capella and the Seven Liberal Arts: Volume I The Quadrivium of Martianus Capella. Latin Traditions in the Mathematical Science, With a Study of the Allegory and the Verbal Disciplines by Richard Johnson with E. L. Burge, Columbia University Press, New York & London, 1971, p. 22

[4]Stahl pp. 125–126

[5]Stahl pp. 149–150

[6]Stahl p. 172

[7]Stahl p. 203

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Filed under History of Astrology, History of Astronomy, History of Mathematics, Mediaeval Science, Renaissance Science, Uncategorized

Cosmographer to a Grand Duke and a Pope

Egnatio Danti is not a name that is known outside the circle of Renaissance historians of science. If you mention his name people often think you are talking about Dante the Italian medieval poet. Even Wikipedia asks, “Did you mean Dante?” when you type in his family name. But Egnatio Danti (1536-1586) an Italian monk friar, who was an artist, mathematician, astronomer and cartographer, was involved in several important mathematical projects in the sixteenth century.

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Egnatio Danti portrait by Bartolomeo Passerotti (1529 – 1592) Source: Wikimedia Commons

Danti was born in Perugia in April 1536 into a family that basically predetermined his life and his career. His grandfather was Pier Vincenzo Rinaldi a goldsmith from profession and a poet, architect and astronomer by inclination. Nicknamed Dante by his friends he styled himself Dante de Rinaldi, which became shortened to Danti. Pier Vincenzo produced an Italian translation of Sacrobosco’s Sphere in the early 1490s the contents of which he passed on to his children, Teodora and Guilo along with his artistic talents. Teodora studied painting under Pietro Perugino, who also taught Raphael. She went on to become a successful artist in her own right. Guilo became an architect and the father of Vincenzo (born 1530) and Egnatio.

Egnatio learnt drawing from his father and mathematics from his aunt. His elder brother became a student of Michelangelo and went on to become a successful sculptor. In 1555, aged 19, having attended Perugia University Egnatio joined the Dominican order, where he continued his studies of mathematics, philosophy and theology. As a Dominican he was consistently conservative in his views: an Aristotelian in physics, a Ptolemaic astronomer and a Thomistic astrologer.

In the 1560s Giorgi Vasari the artist and historian of Renaissance art had been commissioned by Cosimo I de’ Medici Grand Duke of Tuscany

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Agnolo Bronzino – Cosimo I de’ Medici in armour Source: Wikimedia Commons

to refurbish Palazzo Vecchio the official ducal residence.

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Palazzo Vecchio Source: Wikimedia Commons

One of the Vasari’s projects was the Guardaroba Nuova a room conceived to house Cosimo’s chamber of curiosity or wunderkammer.

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Source: Fiorani The Marvel of Maps p. 57

The room was furnished with carved walnut cabinets constructed by the master carpenter, Dionigi di Matteo Nigetti. The doors of the cabinets were to be decorated with mural maps depicting the whole world. When Vasari came to look for an artist-cartographer to complete this commission, Vincenzo Danti, who was also working in the Palazzo recommended his younger brother and Egnatio was hired.

Fifty-seven maps were commissioned, one for each cabinet door; Egnatio produced the cartoon for all of the maps but only painted thirty-one of them between 1563 and 1575; Stefano Bonsignori painted twenty-seven between 1577 and 1586. Egnatio also designed and constructed a large terrestrial globe that stands in the centre of the room.

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Terrestrial Globe with cabinets in background Source: Wikimedia Commons

A matching celestial globe that was planned to be lowered from the ceiling was never realised. The maps are ordered according to the principle of Ptolemaeus’ Geographia and the original concept was that each cabinet would house the treasures from that part of the world depicted by the map on its door.

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Source: Fiorani The Marvel of Maps p. 81

As can be seen the maps are three dimensional pictorial maps but where possible the latitude and longitude for the picture location are accurate.

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Source: Fiorani The Marvel of Maps p. 110 Note that the map is up side down!

Much pleased with his cartographical-artist monk friar Cosimo appointed Danti ‘Cosmographer to the Grand Duke of Tuscany’ and assigned him a chair in mathematics at the university with minimal teaching obligations in 1571. Danti moved into the Palazzo, a move that did not please his superiors in the Dominican Order and began life as court cosmographer. He was required to teach cosmography–cartography, astronomy, and mathematics–to the Duke’s children, both male and female, and other assorted courtiers. A duty that he took very seriously writing and publishing a series of textbooks, many of them translations, in Italian for his pupils. A second requirement of his position was the creation and construction of mathematical and astronomical instruments for Cosimo. He also became the go-to instrument maker for the upper classes of Tuscany using the status of his position to bestow his favours in this area on carefully chosen customers for rather large sums; the money going to his order and not to him personally.

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Source: Fiorani The Marvel of Maps p. 48

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Egnation Danti, Astrolabe, ca. 1568, brass and wood. Florence, Museo di Storia della Scienza Source: Fiorani The Marvel of Maps p. 49

Many of Cosimo’s activities were intended to project his image as a great Renaissance Prince and to this end he offered his support and sponsorship to the Catholic Church in the question of the necessary calendar reform; in this role he saw himself as Caesar and Danti as his Sosigenes. Sosigenes of Alexander was the Greek astronomer, who, according to Pliny the Elder, was consulted by Julius Caesar on the design of the Julian calendar. To this end Cosimo sponsored the instillation of an armillary sphere and a quadrant on the façade of the Santa Maria Novella church in Florence by Danti in 1574 to better determine the length of the year, a necessary prerequisite for a calendar reform.

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Source: Heilbron p. 64

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Source: Heilbron p. 66

Along with the two instruments mounted on the façade of the church Danti drew up plans for and began the construction of a meridiana within the building. This is a straight line scale laid out on the floor of the building along which a beam of sunlight. projected through a hole high up in the wall, travels throughout the year, which can be used to exactly mark the times of the equinoxes. In Florence this project remained incomplete.

This exercise gained Danti the patronage of Cosimo’s son Cardinal Ferdinando de’ Medici for whom he procured an excellent Mercator astrolabe.

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Ferdinando I de’ Medici Source: Wikimedia Commons

To help the Cardinal understand to workings of his fine gift, Danti wrote a treatise on the astrolabe dedicated to the Cardinal. However, even Ferdinando’s patronage could not avert the disaster looming on the horizon in Danti’s live. Already too ill to attend the inauguration of the armillary sphere at the vernal equinox on 11 March 1574, Cosimo died on 21 April in the same year to be succeeded by his eldest son Francesco I de’ Medici.

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Agnolo Bronzino–Francesco I de’ Medici

Francesco did not share his father’s interest in cosmography and appears to have had a personal antipathy towards the Dominican astronomer. Following pressure from Francesco, Danti was ordered by the Dominican General on 23 September 1575 to repair to a convent outside of Tuscany within 24 hours. This was just two weeks after the autumn equinox, suggesting that there had been an agreement to allow Danti to measure the equinoxes of 1575 before his banishment. Danti was sent to San Domenico in Bologna.

The civic authorities of Bologna were delighted to have a mathematicus of Danti’s rank in their city and immediately planned a second chair of mathematics for him at the local university. However, the Superior of the Dominican Order initially blocked the move, on the one hand disturbed by Danti’s increasing celebrity status and on the other wishing to retain his services as a teacher for their own monks. However the recently elected Pope, Gregory XIII, who was Bolognese, a great admirer of cartography and having himself been a professor at the university, supported the appointment. His illegitimate son Giacomo Boncompagni intervened on Danti’s behalf and he became professor for mathematics at the University of Bologna on 28 November 1576.

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Scipione Pulzone – Giacomo Boncompagni

Here he taught courses in cosmography similar to those that he had taught in the de’ Medici palace in Florence. In Bologna Danti constructed a small meridiana in the Inquisition chamber of the San Domenico, which was too short to fulfil the desired function, so he constructed a full length one in the San Petronio Basilica. During his time in Bologna Danti continued to win influential patrons by the selective construction of high quality astronomical instruments as gifts.

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Source: Heilbron p. 73

In 1577 he returned to his hometown of Perugia to attend to his brother Vincenzo, who was ailing. Whilst in the town he was commissioned by the town authorities to carry out a survey and cadaster (public register showing the details of ownership and value of land; made for the purpose of taxation) of Perugia, a task that he completed in a month making all of his measurements from horseback using a radio latino.

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Source: Heilbron p. 76

Danti presented the results of his labours in the form of a fifteen feet square mural map on the governor’s palace.

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Source: Fiorani p. 160

He also presented a copy of the map to the Pope’s illegitimate son Giacomo Boncompagni, who then commissioned him to carry out a similar survey of the Papal States supplying him with the necessary finances and manpower to complete the task. Once more he distinguished himself with the speed and quality with which he carried out the work.

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Examples of Danti’s survey drawings Source: Fiorani p. 169

Danti was now brought to the Vatican to work directly for Pope Gregory.

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Lavinia Fontana–Pope Gregory XIII

In 1579 he was commissioned to produce his second great gallery of maps along the walls of the recently constructed upper gallery on the east wing of the Belverdere. This time the theme was not the world, as in Florence, but the whole of Italy. At the top end of the gallery were two complete maps of Italy, Italia antiqua and Italia nova.

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Italia antiqua Source: Wikimedia Commons

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Italia nova Source: Wikimedia Commons

As one proceeded down the gallery the states on the east coast were presented on the left-hand west wall and those on the west coast on the right-hand east wall. This created the illusion of a walk along the Apennine ridge from Northern Italy to Sicily in the south. Danti planned and designed all of the maps but they were painted by a team of artists. The whole project took just two years to complete.

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Campania Source: Wikimedia Commons

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Pedemontium et Monsferratus Source: Wikimedia Commons

Each of the murals not only contains the map of its given district but also contains illustrations of significant historical happenings that took place there.

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The Siege of Malta Source: Atlas Obscura

Fiorani (see below) says that this was the first ever atlas of Italy. Given that Italy as a country didn’t exist at this time but was an uneasy collection of independent states the project throws up some interesting questions as to Gregory’s intentions in commissioning it. Did he envisage a united Italy under his leadership?

In 1580 Danti was officially appointed Papal Cosmographer and at the same time appointed astronomical advisor to the Papal commission on calendar reform. His is one of the nine signatures on the final recommendations as presented to the Pope.

Whilst working in the Vatican Danti also created a new meridiana in the Tower of Winds.

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Source: Heilbron between pp 180-181

On 14 November 1583 in recognition of his services Gregory appointed him Bishop of Altari. Gregory’s successor Pope Sixtus V summoned back to Rome in 1586 to assist in the re-erection of the Vatican Obelisk.

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Re-erection of the Vatican Obelisk by the Renaissance architect Domenico Fontana in 1586 Source: Wikimedia Commons

Egnatio Danti died on 19 October 1586, today he is largely forgotten but, although often restored and modified over the centuries, Danti’s two great galleries of maps still exist as a monument to a great Italian Renaissance artist, cosmographer, mathematician, astronomer, instrument maker, textbook author and teacher.

This blog post is largely based on two excellent books: John Heilbron’s The Sun in the Church[1]a fascinating history of the construction of meridiana in the Early Modern Period and Francesca Fiorani’s The Marvel of Maps[2]a beautiful book on the Renaissance map galleries. Heilbron’s book is really a must read for anybody interested in the history of Early Modern astronomy and is available as a good value paperback. Fiorani’s book is one of the best books that I have read in recent years. It covers an extensive range of historical aspects of the central theme, all of them excellently researched and presented. The book is a real pleasure to read and the illustrations are first class. The only drawback is the price, weighing in at $150 on Amazon.com and more expensive elsewhere. I got lucky and picked up a ridiculously cheap second hand copy in perfect condition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1]J. L. Heilbron, The Sun in the Church: Cathedrals as Solar Observatories, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts & London England, 1999

[2]Francesca Fiorani, The Marvel of Maps: Art,Cartography and Politics in Renaissance Italy, Yale University Press, New Haven & London, 2005

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Filed under History of Astronomy, History of Cartography, History of Mathematics, History of science, Renaissance Science

Carl Sagan Skewered

I didn’t have time this week to write a proper blog post, so I thought I would pass on something I read recently. Not necessarily here on the blog but I tend to annoy people when I make rude comments about the American astrophysicist and science populariser Carl Sagan. Many people grew up watching his 1980s TV series Cosmos and regarded him as some sort of science saint. However, whatever his abilities to communicate science Sagan’s presentation of the history of science was terrible. Another thing that is likely to bring out the HIST_SCI HULK is mention of the biopic Agora, supposedly the life story of the ancient Greek mathematician Hypatia. Unfortunately the story line of Agora has more in common with a fairy tale than real history of science.

The medieval volume of the Cambridge History of Science[1]skewers both Sagan and Agora in just one paragraph and one footnote.

Many otherwise well-educated people have long taken this picture for granted. [Complete lack of science in the Middle Ages] No one has diffused it more widely than astronomer Carl Sagan (1934–1996), whose television series Cosmos drew an audience estimated at half a billion. In his 1980 book by the same name, a timeline of astronomy from Greek antiquity to the present left between the fifth and the late fifteenth centuries a familiar thousand-year blank labelled as a “poignant lost opportunity for mankind.” (a) The timeline reflected not the state of knowledge in 1980 but Sagan’s own “poignant lost opportunity” to consult the library of Cornell University, where he taught. In it, Sagan would have discovered large volumes devoted to the medieval history of his own field, some of them two hundred years old. He would also have learnt that the alleged medieval vacuum spawned the two institutions in which he spent his life: the observatory as a research institution (Islamic civilization) and the university (Latin Europe).

(a) Carl Sagan, Cosmos (New York: Random House, 1980), p. 335. Sagan’s outlook recently regained currency thanks to Alejandro Amenábar’s spectacular and spectacularly anachronistic film “Agor” (2009), which portrays Hypatia (d. 415) as on the verge of discovering the law of free fall and heliocentric planetary ellipses before she is murdered by fanatical monks.

[1]The Cambridge History of Science: Volume 2 Medieval Science, ed. David C. Lindberg & Michael H. Shank, CUP, New York, ppb. 2015 pp.9-10

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Books about the book

Most readers are probably aware that I live not very far away from the Renaissance city of Nürnberg in Southern Germany. It is a city rich in the history of science particularly during the Renaissance and so it was only a mater of time, after I moved here, that I would get sucked into becoming a local historian. In the end it was the fact that Copernicus’ magnum opus was printed and published there that proved to be the bait. This, however, also took me down another path, the early history of scientific printing in which the city is particularly rich. Not only was it the home of Johannes Petreius, who printed and published the De revolutionibus, as well as many other important early scientific titles, but it was also where Johannes Müller, aka Regiomontanus, chose to set up the world’s first-ever scientific publishing house. Researching Regiomontanus as a printer publisher leads automatically to Erhard Ratdolt, who, whilst not a Nürnberger printer publisher, published several of those titles that Regiomontanus intended to publish but was unable to due to his untimely demise. Around 1500 CE, the world’s biggest printed publisher was the Nürnberger Anton Koberger, who printed, amongst many other volumes, the Liber Chronicarum. Better know as the Nuremberg Chronicle in English and Die Schedel’sche Weltchronik in German, the world’s first-ever printed encyclopaedia. As always when I develop an interest for a historical topic I try to view it not as isolated incidents but to develop knowledge of and a feeling for the complete historical context, as far as this is possible. This inevitably leads to the acquisition of books on the topic, preferably general, wide ranging, good quality reference books to which I can return as the situation demands. I now have a small, but I think, high-quality collection of books about the book. Last week saw a new addition to this collection Erik Kwakkel’s Books Before Print[1].

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Having followed Erik on Twitter for a small eternity, at the same time reading his blog and also having had the pleasure of meeting him in person and hearing him lecture on the subject of the medieval book, I knew his book wouldn’t disappoint and it doesn’t. This is an introduction to the medieval book for people, who like me, have little or no knowledge of them. Basically a modified version of his blog on the subject it consists of short, clear simple chapters on each individual aspect of medieval manuscripts, divided into five sections: 1. Filling the Page: Script, Writing, and Page Design 2. Enhancing the Manuscript: Binding and Decoration 3. Reading in Context: Annotations, Bookmarks, and Libraries 4. The Margins of Manuscript Culture 5. Contextualizing the Medieval Manuscript.

Excellently structured, well written and beautifully illustrated this volume fulfils its intended purpose admirably; it really is everything you wanted to know about the medieval manuscript book and were too afraid to ask.

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As I often get asked to recommend books on a given topic and so having started this post I decided to give a small overview of the books that I have and use on the history of the book. As a historian of science my main interest is in the invention of moving type printing, which according to conventional wisdom was one of the major driving forces of the so-called scientific revolution, thus most of the books I have deal primarily with the emergence of the printed book.

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The Renaissance Mathematicus book-history-books bookshelf

However, the first book I would recommend is one for the general reader covering the entire history of the book from clay tablets to the modern printed book, Keith Houston’s The Book:A Cover-to-Cover Exploration of the Most Powerful Object of Our Time, which I reviewed here, so I won’t say anything more now. As a small bonus I also recommend Houston’s Shady Characters:The Secret Life of Punctuation, Symbol & Other Typographical Marks[2]. It’s eccentric, unique and a delight.

In his essay in TheCambridge Companion to the History of the Book(of which more later) Adrian Johns writes: “The introduction of Printing into western Europe has counted as the signature event of the history of the book ever since Lucien Febvre and Henri-Jean Martin’s l’Apparition du Livre launched the modern discipline in 1958. The purpose of l’Apparitionwas to demonstrate that Johann Gutenberg’ innovation was the most important turning point in human history, separating modernity from everything before”[3]The Febvre/Martin, The Coming of the Book[4]in English translation is a classic and was the book that introduced me to book history. Although now dated both in its historical facts and its historiography I still think it can be read with profit, although if wishing to quote anything from it one should check against more up to date works.

Next up is another absolute classic Elizabeth Eisenstein’s The printing press as an agent of change[5] probably the most famous and most influential volume on book history. Originally published in two volumes it is now available as a single volume paperback weighing in at just under 800 pages. Eisenstein introduced the concept of print culture, which she contrasts with the preceding age of the manuscript and to which she attributes massive influence (change) not only in the scientific revolution but also in the Reformation, claiming it as an unacknowledged revolution. It is a cornucopia of information, thoughts, ideas and theories that repays careful reading.

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However Eisenstein’s central thesis does not go unchallenged. Our next book is Adrian Johns’ equally massive The Nature of the Book.[6] Johns’ sets out his stall thus, “The unifying concept of Eisenstein’s argument is that of “print culture.” This “culture” is characterized primarily in terms of certain traits that print is said to endow on texts. Specifically, those produced in such an environment are subject to conditions of standardization, dissemination, and fixity. The last of these is perhaps the most important.”[7] Johns’ then devotes his 700 plus pages to supposedly proving that Eisenstein’s “print culture” and above her fixity did not exist. Like Eisenstein’s tome it is also a cornucopia of information, thoughts, ideas and theories that repays careful reading. However, I personally don’t think he actually succeeds in proving his central thesis.

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The American Historical Review staged a forum[8], introduced by Anthony Grafton, with a defence of her thesis by Eisenstein followed by a response from Johns and then a reply from Eisenstein in which the adversaries mostly argued past each other rather than with each other. However you can read both volumes and the forum and decide for yourself who is right! Happy reading.

If you wanted something shorter than the Eisenstein/Johns debate then you can turn to Andrew Pettegree’s The Book in the Renaissance.[9] Pettegree starts with the book before printing and follows with the invention of printing. He then introduces what he defines as the crisis in printing. This is the fact that there was not a large enough market for the Latin academic and theological texts that was the original fare of the earliest printing houses leading to an economic crisis. Out of this crisis emerged new forms of literature generated by the publishing houses to create new markets to finance their presses. This ‘creation of a European book market’, as he terms it is the central theme of Pettegree’s interesting and stimulating book.

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Already mention above, The Cambridge Companion to the History of the Book (see footnote 3) is a collection of papers covering a wide-ranging series of book history topics from a very modern standpoint and is more than worth reading as a supplement to the volumes sketched above.

Another slightly dated but still useful volume is Colin Clair’s A History of European Printing.[10] This is basically an annotated chronology of the spread of the book printing business throughout Europe from its beginnings down to the end of the nineteenth century.

I close with a beautiful volume issued by the Gutenberg-Gesellschaft and Gutenberg-Museum, which is, unfortunately for those who don’t read the language, only available in German, Blockbücher des Mittelalters: Bilderfolgen als Lektüre.[11] Which is a collection of detailed essays on the books printed in Europe in the second half of the fifteenth century with woodblocks, issued as a guide to an exhibition of these books in the Gutenberg-Museum from 22 June to 1 September 1991. The book forms a complete history of this interesting anomaly in the European history of the printed book.

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There has been, of course, since Levbre/Martin established the modern book history discipline with their tome in 1958 a vast flood of academic literature on the history of the book in Europe and indeed the world much of which the interested reader can find listed in the very extensive bibliographies of the volumes described above. As I also said above, happy reading!

 

 

[1]Erik Kwakkel, Books Before Print, ARC Humanities Press, Leeds, 2018

[2]Keith Houston, Shady Characters: The Secret Life of Punctuation, Symbol & Other Typographical Marks, W. W. Norton, New York & London, 2013.

[3]Adrian Johns, The coming of print to Europe, in The Cambridge Companion to the History of the Book, ed. Leslie Howsam, CUP, Cambridge, 2015

[4]Lucien Febvre and Henri-Jean Martin, The Coming of the Book, Verso, London & New York, ppb. 1997

[5]Elizabeth L. Eisenstein, The printing press as an agent of change: Communications and cultural transformations in early-modern Europe, CUP, Cambridge et al., ppb. 1980

[6]Adrian Johns, The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making, Chicago University Press, Chicago and London, ppb. 1998

[7]Johns, The Nature of the Book p. 10

[8]American Historical Review: Volume 107, Issue 1, 2002, pp. 84-128

[9]Andrew Pettegree, The Book in the Renaissance, Yale University Press, New Haven & London, ppb. 2011

[10]Colin Clair, A History of European Printing, Academic Press, London, New York, San Francisco, 1976

[11]Blockbücher des Mittelalters: Bilderfolgen als Lektüre, Herausgegeben von Gutenberg-Gesellschaft und Gutenberg-Museum, 1991.

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If you’re going to lecture others on the need to learn history then it pays to get your own history right.

The HIST_SCI HULK has been slumbering very peaceably somewhere deep in the catacombs under Mathematicus Mountain the home of the Renaissance Mathematicus’ humble cave. However, the pungent smell of #histsci bullshit drifted downwards on a draft disturbing his slumbers and now he is raging through the underground chambers demanding access to the blog.

In the Guardian, journalist Van Badham has written an article criticising Senator Simon Birmingham’s vetoing of research grants approved by the Australian Research Council, with the following title.

Simon Birmingham is the one who needs a history lesson in western civilisation

Her criticism centres round what she sees as Birmingham’s lack of historical awareness, banging on about the fact that the vetoes are mostly of humanities research and that if Birmingham had more knowledge of history then he would be more aware of the origins of the western civilisation he wishes to defend. For itself Van Badham’s criticism is valid and would be OK if her own knowledge of the history of science weren’t so abysmal, as illustrated by the following paragraph.

It’s a tender solidarity exhibited here by a man of science to the humanities community. The habit of scientists to offend the “common sense” standards of their times with research has historically proven quite dangerous.Rhazes, the medical pioneer of ninth century Baghdad, was beaten blind with his own compendium by a priest. The humanist Michael Servetus, a 16th century physician credited with discovering pulmonary circulation, was tortured and burned along with his books on the shores of Lake Geneva at the personal behest of John Calvin. In the 17th century, Galileo spent his last years under house arrest, forced by the church to recant the heretical belief that the earth orbited the sun.

We can of course assume that Badham got her history of science information from all those professional humanities scholars that she is arguing Birmingham should be supporting with research grants. However, if we did so, we would be very wrong. Her source is a pop article published in Wired in 2012 by a woefully ignorant staff journalist, Olivia Solon, under the title:

Galileo to Turing: The Historical Persecution of Scientists

There are several more horrors in the original article but I shall only deal here with the three examples that Badham paraphrased. The original Rhazes paragraph reads as follows:

Rhazes (865-925)
Muhammad ibn Zakariyā Rāzī or Rhazes was a medical pioneer from Baghdad who lived between 860 and 932 AD. He was responsible for introducing western teachings, rational thought and the works of Hippocrates and Galen to the Arabic world. One of his books, Continens Liber, was a compendium of everything known about medicine. The book made him famous, but offended a Muslim priest who ordered the doctor to be beaten over the head with his own manuscript, which caused him to go blind, preventing him from future practice.

1024px-Portrait_of_Rhazes_(al-Razi)_(AD_865_-_925)_Wellcome_L0005053_(cropped)

Portrait of Rhazes (al-Razi) (AD 865 – 925), physician and alchemist who lived in Baghdad Wellcome Images via Wikimedia Commons

I love the arrant chauvinism of He was responsible for introducing western teachings, rational thought and the works of Hippocrates and Galen to the Arabic world.It smacks of the old style: the Islamic world only conserved the Greek heritage until Renaissance Europe could inherit it and develop it further. The Persian physician Abū Bakr Muhammad ibn Zakariyyā al-Rāzī (854–925) or al-Rāzī for short was one of the two most significant Islamic medical authorities, who made important original contributions to medical knowledge. He was also, like many other Islamic scholars, a polymath who wrote on medicine, alchemy, philosophy, logic, astronomy and grammar. Historians of medicine are convinced that al-Rāzī suffered from cataracts at the end of a long, very productive and very successful life, which caused him to go blind. There are various anecdotes about the cause of his blindness. One of them attributed to Ibn Jujil (c.944–c.994), an Adulusian Arab physician, says that it was caused by a blow to his head by his patron Mansur ibn Ishaq, the governor of his birthplace Rey and an early employer, for failing to provide proof for his alchemy theories. Note, not a Muslim priest. Another, recorded by Gregory Bar Hebraeus (1226–1286), a Syriac Christian Bishop, and Miguel Casiri (1710–1791), a Maronite scholar, was that it was caused by a diet of only beans. Somehow this differs somewhat from the film ripe fantasy account delivered up by Solon and parroted by Badham

Michael Servetus (1511-1553)
Servetus was a Spanish physician credited with discovering pulmonary circulation. He wrote a book, which outlined his discovery along with his ideas about reforming Christianity – it was deemed to be heretical. He escaped from Spain and the Catholic Inquisition but came up against the Protestant Inquisition in Switzerland, who held him in equal disregard. Under orders from John Calvin, Servetus was arrested, tortured and burned at the stake on the shores of Lake Geneva – copies of his book were accompanied for good measure.

Michael_Servetus

Miguel Serveto Source: Wikimedia Commons

I’ve actually written a whole blog post on the Spanish physician, theologian, cartographer and Renaissance humanist Miguel Serveto (1509 or 1511–1553) under the title Not a martyr for science. Serveto was even more of a polymath than al-Rāzīand made contribution to a bewildering range of topics. His execution had absolutely nothing to do with his discovery of the pulmonary circulation but was entirely the result of his highly heterodox religious views. He did not escape from Spain but from Vienne in France, where he had been imprisoned on suspicion of heresy. Fleeing to Italy he stopped in Geneva, a strange decision as he had already had a major dispute, by exchange of letters, with Calvin on the subject of Christian doctrine. He was arrested, tried, found guilty of heresy and burnt at the stake. Interestingly not only the Catholics and Calvin were happy to see him executed but Luther and Melanchthon as well. Serveto really knew how to make enemies.

Galileo (1564-1642)
The Italian astronomer and physicist Galileo Galilei was trialled and convicted in 1633 for publishing his evidence that supported the Copernican theory that the Earth revolves around the Sun. His research was instantly criticized by the Catholic Church for going against the established scripture that places Earth and not the Sun at the center of the universe. Galileo was found “vehemently suspect of heresy” for his heliocentric views and was required to “abjure, curse and detest” his opinions. He was sentenced to house arrest, where he remained for the rest of his life and his offending texts were banned.

Galileo_Galilei_by_Ottavio_Leoni_Marucelliana_(cropped)

Galileo Galilei. Portrait by Ottavio Leoni Marucelliana Source: Wikimedia Commons

If I were God, I would arrange it so that every time a journalist typed the name Galileo a miniature thermo-nuclear device would materialise over their workplace and upon detonating would reduce their computer to a meagre pile of radioactive dust and a small mushroom cloud.

If Galileo didn’t exist then people like Solon and Badham would have to invent him. He’s the one example that is always used when they want to prove that somebody, in particular somebody religious, tried to suppress science or a scientist. The trial in 1633 had multiple causes of which the nominal scientific one was probably the least important. It was simply the stick used to beat an uppity subject. To stretch an analogy it’s about the same as Al Capone being charged with tax evasion.

The main cause was a clash of egos: Galileo with an ego the size of the Peter’s dome, whose hubris made him blind to every day reality and Maffeo Barberini, Pope Urban VII, with an equally large ego and the manic paranoia of an absolutist ruler beset on all sides by real and imaginary enemies. Galileo’s hubris misled him into thinking that he, a mere mathematicus, could hoodwink an absolutist, paranoid Pope. He discovered that he couldn’t and was brought down to earth rather quickly if, for the circumstances, comparatively gently. As for Galileo “publishing his evidence that supported the Copernican theory”, his problem was that he didn’t really have any. As I have said on previous occasions, Dialogo is strong on polemic but lacking in facts. Galileo’s crowning proof, Day 4’s theory of the tides would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. As has been pointed out many times, and not just by me, in 1633 the empirical evidence still spoke clearly in favour of geocentrism and not for heliocentrism. I will add the usual caveat that this does not excuse the Church’s behaviour towards Galileo but also doesn’t let Galileo off the hook for having poked a sleeping bear with a sharp stick.

Ms Badham would have been wise if she had checked her ‘historical sources’ before using them as an example to support her attack on Simon Birmingham’s apparent lack of historical awareness.

P.S. I promise that after three negative ones in a row the next post will be a positive one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under History of Astronomy, History of medicine, Myths of Science, Uncategorized

Don’t criticise what you don’t understand!

I was pleasantly surprised by the level of positive support my latest anti-Ada polemic received on Twitter, I had expected much more negative reaction to be honest. But I did receive two attacks that I would like to comment on more fully here. The first came from a certain Yael Moussaieff (@sachaieff) and reads as follows:

 

It still blows my mind how convinced mediocre men are that they’re not mediocre and that their opinions are in fact urgent and needed.

I’m not really sure in what sense here I am supposedly mediocre: my intelligence, my expertise, my abilities, all three, in all aspects of my existence? And how does Ms Moussaieff (I assume she is a she) know this, never having met me, on the basis of one, what I consider to be a fairly reasonably argued, blog post on the evaluation of the contributions of one Victorian woman to computer science. If she had brought some counter arguments to demonstrate the mediocrity of my thought processes or the mediocrity of my understanding of the historical period or the mediocrity of my abilities as a historian of computing (and I am one, see the reply to the next comment) then perhaps I could understand the intension or meaning of her criticism but for the moment I remain perplexed. Maybe my inability to comprehend is, in itself, a sign of my mediocrity.

Peter Robinson (@PeterRobinson76) chose a different line of attack:

We also love to put down anyone that dares to have popularity. Even long dead women.

To which I spontaneously responded:

There is a difference between a put down and a reasoned argument based on facts. I formally studied and researched both Babbage and Lovelace long before the current Lovelace hagiography started, as a professional historian of logic and computing. What are your qualifications?

For his benefit I would like to elucidate and explain my claim to professionalism in this matter. Some or even most of what I am now going to relate ought to be already known to those who have been reading this blog for a number of years for newer readers it might prove instructive.

Throughout the 1980s and the early 1990s I studied as a mature student at the Friedrich-Alexander University of Erlangen & Nürnberg. The first two and a half years I studied mathematics with philosophy as my subsidiary. I then changed to philosophy with English philology and history as my subsidiaries. The emphasis of my studies was always on the history and philosophy of science. During this time I worked for ten years as a paid research assistant in a major research project into the history of formal/symbolic/mathematical logic under the supervision of one of the world’s leading logic historians. This means that somebody, who is considered knowledgeable in these things, thought me competent enough to appoint me to this position. The fact that I was still there ten years later shows that he still believed in my competence. Possibly because I was the only English native speaker in the research team, my main area of research was nineteenth century British algebraic logics, which means I was researching Boole, Jevons, De Morgan, Venn, Cayley, McColl and others including the Americans working together with Peirce. Because algebraic logic was just a small part of the much wider field of abstract algebras emerging in the nineteenth century, I also researched Peacock, John Herschel, Babbage, Cayley, Sylvester, William Rowan Hamilton and various others. Calculating machines was also a part of our remit so Babbage and his computers along with the good Countess Lovelace came in for extensive study on my part.

Now ten plus years might seem a rather long time to study as a student but as I said I was a mature student without grant or parental support, which meant I had to earn money to do silly things like pay the rent or even on occasions eat and the pittance paid to research assistants in those days did not cover my daily living costs, so I also worked outside of the university. I had virtually finished my studies with just my master thesis to complete and my final exams to write–not a very big deal, as there was in those days a strong emphasis on continual assessment–when I crashed out with serious mental health problems. You can only burn the candle at both ends for a limited period of time until the two flames meet in the middle. Coming out of the loony bin I chucked my studies because being a qualified historian of science was never going to pay those pesky bills.

When I quit I had completed the entire research for both my master’s thesis and my doctoral thesis. I had written about 50–70% of my master’s thesis and a complete, highly detailed outline for my doctoral thesis. Now it might seem strange that I was writing both theses at the same time but my original master’s thesis, a wide-ranging study of the entire English speaking nineteenth century algebraic logic community, had grown far too big to be a master’s thesis, so I had cut out one section, on the life and work of Hugh McColl, to be my master’s thesis and turned the main project into a potential doctoral thesis. I recently, whilst clearing out some old cartons, came across all the material for that doctoral thesis. I was stunned at how far I had got with it, having in the intervening years forgotten most of the work I had invested. I sat and stared at it for three days then threw it all away.

So you see, if I say that I have researched and studied Babbage and Lovelace in a professional capacity it is simply the truth. I should point out that if I write about either of them now, I don’t rely on my memory of work done long ago but go back and read the original sources that I sorted out and studied then, modifying if necessary my views, as my knowledge has grown over the intervening years. In more recent years I have been paid by reputable, educational institutions to hold public lectures on Mr Babbage and his computing engines, so yes through preparing those lectures my knowledge has grown.

Let us return to my critics. Over the years battling the Ada hagiography I have come to the conclusion that the majority of her acolytes don’t actually bother to look at the sources at all. It seems some of them have read a blog post or an article in a non-academic Internet magazine, highly biased and based on dubious secondary sources rather than primary ones (and yes I am aware of the irony of writing that on a blog post). The rest have only ever read a short précis of those blog posts/articles posted on one or other of the Internet’s social media, which parrot the inaccurate accounts of their sources. This majority continue to parrot this ‘fake news’ without bothering to check whether it is historical accurate. The result is that we now have a major Ada myth industry.

If I had the chance to discuss with Yael, Peter or any of the acolytes who have criticised and attacked me over the years I would ask them the following questions:

Which Ada biography have you read?

 I have read five of which I have what I regard as the two best ones standing on my bookshelf.

What about Babbage? Have you read his autobiography?

It’s actually a fascinating piece of literature covering much more than the computing engines for which Babbage is famous.

Maybe you have instead read the more modern and objective biography contained in Laura Snyder’s “The Philosophical Breakfast Club”?

A wonderful book, as I wrote in my review of it for the journal Endeavour

Have you read his 9thBridgewater Treatise, in which Babbage discusses religion and expands on his theory that one could explain miracles by unexpected changes in computer programmes?

An interesting if slightly bizarre  argument.

Or perhaps, you have read his On the Economy of Machinery Manufactures, the result of his extensive research into automation?

Babbage’s interest in automation drove much of his studies including his work on computing and computers. His On the Economy was a highly influential book in the nineteenth century.

Maybe you have read his unpublished writings on abstract algebra, now in the British Library, that are thought to have inspired George Peacock’s “Treatise on Algebra”?

 I will admit that I haven’t but it’s on my bucket list. I have however read Peacock’s book, fascinating and an important milestone in the history of mathematics,

Maybe you’ve read up on the Analytical Society, the student group Babbage and Herschel created in Cambridge to convince the university to introduce continental methods of analysis to replace Newton?

I stumbled across this intriguing piece of maths history during my research; it shows the dynamic that drove Babbage even from an early age.

This might seem like an intellectual pissing contest but if you wish to criticise me and maybe show me that I have erred, that I am mistaken or that I’m just plain wrong then I expect you to at least do the leg work. I actually like being shown that I am wrong because it means that I have learnt something new and I love to learn, to improve and to expand my knowledge of a subject. It is what I live for. I am a historian of science with a good international reputation that I have worked very hard to earn. I also work very hard to get my facts right. If you criticise me and hold a different opinion on some topic that I have written about but treat me with respect then I will treat you with respect even if I know that you are wrong. If, however, you just gratuitously insult me, as, in my opinion, Yael and Peter have done then I will treat you with disdain and if the mood suits me with a generous portion of sarcasm.

 

 

 

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