Category Archives: History of Cartography

How Renaissance Nürnberg became the Scientific Instrument Capital of Europe

This is a writen version of the lecture that I was due to hold at the Science and the City conference in London on 7 April 2020. The conference has for obvious reasons been cancelled and will now take place on the Internet. You can view the revised conference program here.

The title of my piece is, of course, somewhat hyperbolic, as far as I know nobody has ever done a statistical analysis of the manufacture of and trade in scientific instruments in the sixteenth century. However, it is certain that in the period 1450-1550 Nürnberg was one of the leading European centres both the manufacture of and the trade in scientific instruments. Instruments made in Nürnberg in this period can be found in every major collection of historical instruments, ranging from luxury items, usually made for rich patrons, like the column sundial by Christian Heyden (1526–1576) from Hessen-Kassel

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Column Sundial by Christian Heyden Source: Museumslandschaft Hessen-Kassel

to cheap everyday instruments like this rare (rare because they seldom survive) paper astrolabe by Georg Hartman (1489–1564) from the MHS in Oxford.

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Paper and Wood Astrolabe Hartmann Source: MHS Oxford

I shall be looking at the reasons why and how Nürnberg became such a major centre for scientific instruments around 1500, which surprisingly have very little to do with science and a lot to do with geography, politics and economics.

Like many medieval settlements Nürnberg began simply as a fortification of a prominent rock outcrop overlooking an important crossroads. The first historical mention of that fortification is 1050 CE and there is circumstantial evidence that it was not more than twenty or thirty years old. It seems to have been built in order to set something against the growing power of the Prince Bishopric of Bamberg to the north. As is normal a settlement developed on the downhill slopes from the fortification of people supplying services to it.

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A fairly accurate depiction of Nürnberg from the Nuremberg Chronicle from 1493. The castles (by then 3) at the top with the city spreading down the hill. Large parts of the inner city still look like this today

Initially the inhabitants were under the authority of the owner of the fortification a Burggraf or castellan. With time as the settlement grew the inhabitants began to struggle for independence to govern themselves.

In 1200 the inhabitants received a town charter and in 1219 Friedrich II granted the town of Nürnberg a charter as a Free Imperial City. This meant that Nürnberg was an independent city-state, which only owed allegiance to the king or emperor. The charter also stated that because Nürnberg did not possess a navigable river or any natural resources it was granted special tax privileges and customs unions with a number of southern German town and cities. Nürnberg became a trading city. This is where the geography comes into play, remember that important crossroads. If we look at the map below, Nürnberg is the comparatively small red patch in the middle of the Holy Roman Empire at the beginning of the sixteenth century. If your draw a line from Paris to Prague, both big important medieval cities, and a second line from the border with Denmark in Northern Germany down to Venice, Nürnberg sits where the lines cross almost literally in the centre of Europe. Nürnberg also sits in the middle of what was known in the Middle Ages as the Golden Road, the road that connected Prague and Frankfurt, two important imperial cities.

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You can also very clearly see Nürnberg’s central position in Europe on Erhard Etzlaub’s  (c. 1460–c. 1531) pilgrimage map of Europe created for the Holy Year of 1500. Nürnberg, Etzlaub’s hometown, is the yellow patch in the middle. Careful, south is at the top.

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Over the following decades and centuries the merchant traders of Nürnberg systematically expanded their activities forming more and more customs unions, with the support of various German Emperors, with towns, cities and regions throughout the whole of Europe north of Italy. Nürnberg which traded extensively with the North Italian cities, bringing spices, silk and other eastern wares, up from the Italian trading cities to distribute throughout Europe, had an agreement not to trade with the Mediterranean states in exchange for the Italians not trading north of their northern border.

As Nürnberg grew and became more prosperous, so its political status and position within the German Empire changed and developed. In the beginning, in 1219, the Emperor appointed a civil servant (Schultheis), who was the legal authority in the city and its judge, especially in capital cases. The earliest mention of a town council is 1256 but it can be assumed it started forming earlier. In 1356 the Emperor, Karl IV, issued the Golden Bull at the Imperial Diet in Nürnberg. This was effectively a constitution for the Holy Roman Empire that regulated how the Emperor was to be elected and, who was to be appointed as the Seven Prince-electors, three archbishops and four secular rulers. It also stipulated that the first Imperial Diet of a newly elected Emperor was to be held in Nürnberg. This stipulation reflects Nürnberg’s status in the middle of the fourteenth century.

The event is celebrated by the mechanical clock ordered by the town council to be constructed for the Frauenkirche, on the market place in 1506 on the 150th anniversary of the Golden Bull, which at twelve noon displays the seven Prince-electors circling the Emperor.

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Mechanical clock on the Frauenkirche overlooking the market place in Nürnberg. Ordered by the city council in 1506 to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the issuing of the Golden Bull at the Imperial Diet in 1356

Over time the city council had taken more and more power from the Schultheis and in 1385 they formally bought the office, integrating it into the councils authority, for 8,000 gulden, a small fortune. In 1424 Emperor, Sigismund appointed Nürnberg the permanent residence of the Reichskleinodien (the Imperial Regalia–crown, orb, sceptre, etc.).

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The Imperial Regalia

This raised Nürnberg in the Imperial hierarchy on a level with Frankfurt, where the Emperor was elected, and Aachen, where he was crowned. In 1427, the Hohenzollern family, current holders of the Burggraf title, sold the castle, which was actually a ruin at that time having been burnt to the ground by the Bavarian army, to the town council for 120,000 gulden, a very large fortune. From this point onwards Nürnberg, in the style of Venice, called itself a republic up to 1806 when it was integrated into Bavaria.

In 1500 Nürnberg was the second biggest city in Germany, after Köln, with a population of approximately 40,000, about half of which lived inside the impressive city walls and the other half in the territory surrounding the city, which belonged to it.

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Map of the city-state of Nürnberg by Abraham Ortelius 1590. the city itself is to the left just under the middle of the map. Large parts of the forest still exists and I live on the northern edge of it, Dormitz is a neighbouring village to the one where I live.

Small in comparison to the major Italian cities of the period but even today Germany is much more decentralised with its population more evenly distributed than other European countries. It was also one of the richest cities in the whole of Europe.

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Nürnberg, Plan by Paul Pfinzing, 1594 Castles in the top left hand corner

Nürnberg’s wealth was based on two factors, trading, in 1500 at least 27 major trade routes ran through Nürnberg, which had over 90 customs unions with cities and regions throughout Europe, and secondly the manufacture of trading goods. It is now time to turn to this second branch of Nürnberg’s wealth but before doing so it is important to note that whereas in other trading centres in Europe individual traders competed with each other, Nürnberg function like a single giant corporation, with the city council as the board of directors, the merchant traders cooperating with each other on all levels for the general good of the city.

In 1363 Nürnberg had more than 1200 trades and crafts masters working in the city. About 14% worked in the food industry, bakes, butchers, etc. About 16% in the textile industry and another 27% working leather. Those working in wood or the building branch make up another 14% but the largest segment with 353 masters consisted of those working in metal, including 16 gold and silver smiths. By 1500 it is estimated that Nürnberg had between 2,000 and 3,000 trades and crafts master that is between 10 and 15 per cent of those living in the city with the metal workers still the biggest segment. The metal workers of Nürnberg produced literally anything that could be made of metal from sewing needles and nails to suits of armour. Nürnberg’s reputation as a producer rested on the quality of its metal wares, which they sold all over Europe and beyond. According to the Venetian accounts books, Nürnberg metal wares were the leading export goods to the orient. To give an idea of the scale of production at the beginning of the 16th century the knife makers and the sword blade makers (two separate crafts) had a potential production capacity of 80,000 blades a week. The Nürnberger armourers filled an order for armour for 5,000 soldiers for the Holy Roman Emperor, Karl V (1500–1558).

The Nürnberger craftsmen did not only produce goods made of metal but the merchant traders, full blood capitalists, bought into and bought up the metal ore mining industry–iron, copper, zinc, gold and silver–of Middle Europe, and beyond, (in the 16th century they even owned copper mines in Cuba) both to trade in ore and to smelt and trade in metal as well as to ensure adequate supplies for the home production. The council invested heavily in the industry, for example, providing funds for the research and development of the world’s first mechanical wire-pulling mill, which entered production in 1368.

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The wirepulling mills of Nürnberg by Albrecht Dürer

Wire was required in large quantities to make chainmail amongst other things. Around 1500 Nürnberg had monopolies in the production of copper ore, and in the trade with steel and iron.  Scientific instruments are also largely made of metal so the Nürnberger gold, silver and copper smiths, and toolmakers also began to manufacture them for the export trade. There was large scale production of compasses, sundials (in particular portable sundials), astronomical quadrants, horary quadrants, torquetum, and astrolabes as well as metal drawing and measuring instruments such as dividers, compasses etc.

The city corporation of Nürnberg had a couple of peculiarities in terms of its governance and the city council that exercised that governance. Firstly the city council was made up exclusively of members of the so-called Patrizier. These were 43 families, who were regarded as founding families of the city all of them were merchant traders. There was a larger body that elected the council but they only gave the nod to a list of the members of the council that was presented to them. Secondly Nürnberg had no trades and crafts guilds, the trades and crafts were controlled by the city council. There was a tight control on what could be produced and an equally tight quality control on everything produced to ensure the high quality of goods that were traded. What would have motivated the council to enter the scientific instrument market, was there a demand here to be filled?

It is difficult to establish why the Nürnberg city corporation entered the scientific instrument market before 1400 but by the middle of the 15th century they were established in that market. In 1444 the Catholic philosopher, theologian and astronomer Nicolaus Cusanus (1401–1464) bought a copper celestial globe, a torquetum and an astrolabe at the Imperial Diet in Nürnberg. These instruments are still preserved in the Cusanus museum in his birthplace, Kues on the Mosel.

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The Cusanus Museum in Kue

In fact the demand for scientific instrument rose sharply in the 15th & 16th centuries for the following reasons. In 1406 Jacopo d’Angelo produced the first Latin translation of Ptolemy’s Geographia in Florence, reintroducing mathematical cartography into Renaissance Europe. One can trace the spread of the ‘new’ cartography from Florence up through Austria and into Southern Germany during the 15th century. In the early 16th century Nürnberg was a major centre for cartography and the production of both terrestrial and celestial globes. One historian of cartography refers to a Viennese-Nürnberger school of mathematical cartography in this period. The availability of the Geographia was also one trigger of a 15th century renaissance in astronomy one sign of which was the so-called 1st Viennese School of Mathematics, Georg von Peuerbach (1423–1461) and Regiomontanus (1436–176), in the middle of the century. Regiomontanus moved to Nürnberg in 1471, following a decade wandering around Europe, to carry out his reform of astronomy, according to his own account, because Nürnberg made the best astronomical instruments and had the best communications network. The latter a product of the city’s trading activities. When in Nürnberg, Regiomontanus set up the world’s first scientific publishing house, the production of which was curtailed by his early death.

Another source for the rise in demand for instruments was the rise in interest in astrology. Dedicated chairs for mathematics, which were actually chairs for astrology, were established in the humanist universities of Northern Italy and Krakow in Poland early in the 15th century and then around 1470 in Ingolstadt. There were close connections between Nürnberg and the Universities of Ingolstadt and Vienna. A number of important early 16th century astrologers lived and worked in Nürnberg.

The second half of the 15th century saw the start of the so-called age of exploration with ships venturing out of the Iberian peninsular into the Atlantic and down the coast of Africa, a process that peaked with Columbus’ first voyage to America in 1492 and Vasco da Gama’s first voyage to India (1497–199). Martin Behaim(1459–1507), son of a Nürnberger cloth trading family and creator of the oldest surviving terrestrial globe, sat on the Portuguese board of navigation, probably, according to David Waters, to attract traders from Nürnberg to invest in the Portuguese voyages of exploration.  This massively increased the demand for navigational instruments.

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The Erdapfel–the Behaim terrestial globe Germanische National Museum

Changes in the conduct of wars and in the ownership of land led to a demand for better, more accurate maps and the more accurate determination of boundaries. Both requiring surveying and the instruments needed for surveying. In 1524 Peter Apian (1495–1552) a product of the 2nd Viennese school of mathematics published his Cosmographia in Ingolstadt, a textbook for astronomy, astrology, cartography and surveying.

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The Cosmographia went through more than 30 expanded, updated editions, but all of which, apart from the first, were edited and published by Gemma Frisius (1508–1555) in Louvain. In 1533 in the third edition Gemma Frisius added an appendix Libellus de locorum describendum ratione, the first complete description of triangulation, the central method of cartography and surveying down to the present, which, of course in dependent on scientific instruments.

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In 1533 Apian’s Instrumentum Primi Mobilis 

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was published in Nürnberg by Johannes Petreius (c. 1497–1550) the leading scientific publisher in Europe, who would go on ten years later to publish, Copernicus’ De revolutionibus, which was a high point in the astronomical revival.

All of this constitutes a clear indication of the steep rise in the demand for scientific instruments in the hundred years between 1450 and 1550; a demand that the metal workers of Nürnberg were more than happy to fill. In the period between Regiomontanus and the middle of the 16th century Nürnberg also became a home for some of the leading mathematici of the period, mathematicians, astronomers, astrologers, cartographers, instrument makers and globe makers almost certainly, like Regiomontanus, at least partially attracted to the city by the quality and availability of the scientific instruments.  Some of them are well known to historians of Renaissance science, Erhard Etzlaub, Johannes Werner, Johannes Stabius (not a resident but a frequent visitor), Georg Hartmann, Johannes Neudörffer and Johannes Schöner.**

There is no doubt that around 1500, Nürnberg was one of the major producers and exporters of scientific instruments and I hope that I have shown above, in what is little more than a sketch of a fairly complex process, that this owed very little to science but much to the general geo-political and economic developments of the first 500 years of the city’s existence.

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One of the most beautiful sets on instruments manufactured in Nürnberg late 16th century. Designed by Johannes Pretorius (1537–1616), professor for astronomy at the Nürnberger University of Altdorf and manufactured by the goldsmith Hans Epischofer (c. 1530–1585) Germanische National Museum

 

**for an extensive list of those working in astronomy, mathematics, instrument making in Nürnberg (542 entries) see the history section of the Astronomie in Nürnberg website, created by Dr Hans Gaab.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Early Scientific Publishing, History of Astronomy, History of Cartography, History of Mathematics, History of Navigation, History of science, History of Technology, Renaissance Science

It’s all a question of angles.

Thomas Paine (1736–1809) was an eighteenth-century political radical famous, or perhaps that should be infamous, for two political pamphlets, Common Sense (1776) and Rights of Man (1791) (he also wrote many others) and for being hounded out of England for his political views and taking part in both the French and American Revolutions.

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Thomas Paine portrait of Laurent Dabos c. 1792 Source: Wikimedia Commons

So I was more than somewhat surprised when Michael Brooks, author of the excellent The Quantum Astrologer’s Handbook, posted the following excerpt from Paine’s The Age of Reason, praising trigonometry as the soul of science:

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My first reaction to this beautiful quote was that he could be describing this blog, as the activities he names, astronomy, navigation, geometry, land surveying make up the core of the writings on here. This is not surprising as Ivor Grattan-Guinness in his single volume survey of the history of maths, The Rainbow of Mathematics: A History of the Mathematical Sciences, called the period from 1540 to 1660 (which is basically the second half of the European Renaissance) The Age of Trigonometry. This being the case I thought it might be time for a sketch of the history of trigonometry.

Trigonometry is the branch of mathematics that studies the relationships between the side lengths and the angles of triangles. Possibly the oldest trigonometrical function, although not regarded as part of the trigonometrical cannon till much later, was the tangent. The relationship between a gnomon (a fancy word for a stick stuck upright in the ground or anything similar) and the shadow it casts defines the angle of inclination of the sun in the heavens. This knowledge existed in all ancient cultures with a certain level of mathematical development and is reflected in the shadow box found on the reverse of many astrolabes.

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Shadow box in the middle of a drawing of the reverse of Astrolabium Masha’Allah Public Library Bruges [nl] Ms. 522. Basically the tangent and cotangent functions when combined with the alidade

Trigonometry as we know it begins with ancient Greek astronomers, in order to determine the relative distance between celestial objects. These distances were determined by the angle subtended between the two objects as observed from the earth. As the heavens were thought to be a sphere this was spherical trigonometry[1], as opposed to the trigonometry that we all learnt at school that is plane trigonometry. The earliest known trigonometrical tables were said to have been constructed by Hipparchus of Nicaea (c. 190–c. 120 BCE) and the angles were defined by chords of circles. Hipparchus’ table of chords no longer exist but those of Ptolemaeus (fl. 150 CE) in his Mathēmatikē Syntaxis (Almagest) still do.

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The chord of an angle subtends the arc of the angle. Source: Wikimedia Commons

With Greek astronomy, trigonometry moved from Greece to India, where the Hindu mathematicians halved the Greek chords and thus created the sine and also defined the cosine. The first recoded uses of theses function can be found in the Surya Siddhanta (late 4th or early 5th century CE) an astronomical text and the Aryabhatiya of Aryabhata (476–550 CE).

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Statue depicting Aryabhata on the grounds of IUCAA, Pune (although there is no historical record of his appearance). Source: Wikimedia Commons

Medieval Islam in its general acquisition of mathematical knowledge took over trigonometry from both Greek and Indian sources and it was here that trigonometry in the modern sense first took shape.  Muḥammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī (c. 780–c. 850), famous for having introduced algebra into Europe, produced accurate sine and cosine tables and the first table of tangents.

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Statue of al-Khwarizmi in front of the Faculty of Mathematics of Amirkabir University of Technology in Tehran Source: Wikimedia Commons

In 830 CE Ahmad ibn ‘Abdallah Habash Hasib Marwazi (766–died after 869) produced the first table of cotangents. Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad ibn Jābir ibn Sinān al-Raqqī al-Ḥarrānī aṣ-Ṣābiʾ al-Battānī (c. 858–929) discovered the secant and cosecant and produced the first cosecant tables.

Abū al-Wafāʾ, Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad ibn Yaḥyā ibn Ismāʿīl ibn al-ʿAbbās al-Būzjānī (940–998) was the first mathematician to use all six trigonometrical functions.

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Abū al-Wafā Source: Wikimedia Commons

Islamic mathematicians extended the use of trigonometry from astronomy to cartography and surveying. Muhammad ibn Muhammad ibn al-Hasan al-Tūsī (1201–1274) is regarded as the first mathematician to present trigonometry as a mathematical discipline and not just a sub-discipline of astronomy.

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Iranian stamp for the 700th anniversary of Nasir al-Din Tusi’s death Source: Wikimedia Commons

Trigonometry came into Europe along with astronomy and mathematics as part the translation movement during the 11th and 12th centuries. Levi ben Gershon (1288–1344), a French Jewish mathematician/astronomer produced a trigonometrical text On Sines, Chords and Arcs in 1342. Trigonometry first really took off in Renaissance Europe with the translation of Ptolemaeus’ Geōgraphikḕ Hyphḗgēsis (Geographia) into Latin by Jacopo d’Angelo (before 1360–c. 1410) in 1406, which triggered a renaissance in cartography and astronomy.

The so-called first Viennese School of Mathematics made substantial contributions to the development of trigonometry in the sixteenth century. John of Gmunden (c. 1380–1442) produced a Tractatus de sinibus, chodis et arcubus. His successor, Georg von Peuerbach (1423–1461), published an abridgement of Gmunden’s work, Tractatus super propositiones Ptolemaei de sinibus et chordis together with a sine table produced by his pupil Regiomontanus (1436–1476) in 1541. He also calculated a monumental table of sines. Regiomontanus produced the first complete European account of all six trigonometrical functions as a separate mathematical discipline with his De Triangulis omnimodis (On Triangles) in 1464. To what extent his work borrowed from Arabic sources is the subject of discussion. Although Regiomontanus set up the first scientific publishing house in Nürnberg in 1471 he died before he could print De Triangulis. It was first edited by Johannes Schöner (1477–1547) and printed and published by Johannes Petreius (1497–1550) in Nürnberg in 1533.

At the request of Cardinal Bessarion, Peuerbach began the Epitoma in Almagestum Ptolomei in 1461 but died before he could complete it. It was completed by Regiomontanus and is a condensed and modernised version of Ptolemaeus’ Almagest. Peuerbach and Regiomontanus replaced the table of chords with trigonometrical tables and modernised many of the proofs with trigonometry. The Epitoma was published in Venice in 1496 and became the standard textbook for Ptolemaic geocentric astronomy throughout Europe for the next hundred years, spreading knowledge of trigonometry and its uses.

In 1533 in the third edition of the Apian/Frisius Cosmographia, Gemma Frisius (1508–1555) published as an appendix the first account of triangulationin his Libellus de locorum describendum ratione. This laid the trigonometry-based methodology of both surveying and cartography, which still exists today. Even GPS is based on triangulation.

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With the beginnings of deep-sea exploration in the fifteenth century first in Portugal and then in Spain the need for trigonometry in navigation started. Over the next centuries that need grew for determining latitude, for charting ships courses and for creating sea charts. This led to a rise in teaching trigonometry to seamen, as excellently described by Margaret Schotte in her Sailing School: Navigating Science and Skill, 1550–1800.

One of those students, who learnt their astronomy from the Epitoma was Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–1543). Modelled on the Almagest or more accurately the Epitoma, Copernicus’ De revolutionibus, published by Petreius in Nürnberg in 1543, also contained trigonometrical tables. WhenGeorg Joachim Rheticus (1514–1574) took Copernicus’ manuscript to Nürnberg to be printed, he also took the trigonometrical section home to Wittenberg, where he extended and improved it and published it under the title De lateribus et angulis triangulorum (On the Sides and Angles of Triangles) in 1542, a year before De revolutionibus was published. He would dedicate a large part of his future life to the science of trigonometry. In 1551 he published Canon doctrinae triangvlorvm in Leipzig. He then worked on what was intended to be the definitive work on trigonometry his Opus palatinum de triangulis, which he failed to finish before his death. It was completed by his student Valentin Otho (c. 1548–1603) and published in Neustadt an der Haardt in 1596.

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Source: Wikimedia Commons

In the meantime Bartholomäus Pitiscus (1561–1613) had published his own extensive work on both spherical and plane trigonometry, which coined the term trigonometry, Trigonometria: sive de solutione triangulorum tractatus brevis et perspicuous in 1595.

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Source: Wikimedia Commons

This work was republished in expanded editions in 1600, 1608 and 1612. The tables contained in Pitiscus’ Trigonometria were calculated to five or six places, where as those of Rheticus were calculated up to more than twenty places for large angles and fifteenth for small ones. However, on inspection, despite the years of effort that Rheticus and Otho had invested in the work, some of the calculations were found to be defective. Pitiscus recalculated them and republished the work as Magnus canon doctrinae triangulorum in 1607. He published a second further improved version under the title Thesaurus mathematicus in 1613. These tables remained the definitive trigonometrical tables for three centuries only being replaced by Henri Andoyer’s tables in 1915–18.

We have come a long way from ancient Greece in the second century BCE to Germany at the turn of the seventeenth century CE by way of Early Medieval India and the Medieval Islamic Empire. During the seventeenth century the trigonometrical relationships, which I have up till now somewhat anachronistically referred to as functions became functions in the true meaning of the term and through analytical geometry received graphical presentations completely divorced from the triangle. However, I’m not going to follow these developments here. The above is merely a superficial sketch that does not cover the problems involved in actually calculating trigonometrical tables or the discovery and development of the various relationships between the trigonometrical functions such as the sine and cosine laws. For a detailed description of these developments from the beginnings up to Pitiscus I highly recommend Glen van Brummelen’s The Mathematics of the Heavens and the Earth: The Early History of Trigonometry, Princeton University Press, Princeton and Oxford, 2009.

 

[1] For a wonderful detailed description of spherical trigonometry and its history see Glen van Brummelen, Heavenly Mathematics: The Forgotten Art of Spherical Trigonometry, Princeton University Press, Princeton and Oxford, 2013

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

Finding your way on the Seven Seas in the Early Modern Period

I spend a lot of my time trying to unravel and understand the complex bundle that is Renaissance or Early Modern mathematics and the people who practiced it. Regular readers of this blog should by now be well aware that the Renaissance mathematici, or mathematical practitioners as they are generally known in English, did not work on mathematics as we would understand it today but on practical mathematics that we might be inclined, somewhat mistakenly, to label applied mathematics. One group of disciplines that we often find treated together by one and the same practitioner consists of astronomy, cartography, navigation and the design and construction of tables and instruments to aid the study of these. This being the case I was delighted to receive a review copy of Margaret E. Schotte’s Sailing School: Navigating Science and Skill, 1550–1800[1], which deals with exactly this group of practical mathematical skills as applied to the real world of deep-sea sailing.

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Schotte’s book takes the reader on a journey both through time and around the major sea going nations of Europe, explaining, as she goes, how each of these nations dealt with the problem of educating, or maybe that should rather be training, seamen to become navigators for their navel and merchant fleets, as the Europeans began to span the world in their sailing ships both for exploration and trade.

Having set the course for the reader in a detailed introduction, Schotte sets sail from the Iberian peninsular in the sixteenth century. It was from there that the first Europeans set out on deep-sea voyages and it was here that it was first realised that navigators for such voyages could and probably should be trained. Next we travel up the coast of the Atlantic to Holland in the seventeenth century, where the Dutch set out to conquer the oceans and establish themselves as the world’s leading maritime nation with a wide range of training possibilities for deep-sea navigators, extending the foundations laid by the Spanish and Portuguese. Towards the end of the century we seek harbour in France to see how the French are training their navigators. Next port of call is England, a land that would famously go on, in their own estimation, to rule the seven seas. In the eighteenth century we cross the Channel back to Holland and the advances made over the last hundred years. The final chapter takes us to the end of the eighteenth century and the extraordinary story of the English seaman Lieutenant Riou, whose ship the HMS Guardian hit an iceberg in the Southern Atlantic. Lacking enough boats to evacuate all of his crew and passengers, Riou made temporary repairs to his vessel and motivating his men to continuously pump out the waters leaking into the rump of his ship, he then by a process of masterful navigation, on a level with his contemporaries Cook and Bligh, brought the badly damaged frigate to safety in South Africa.

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In each of our ports of call Schotte outlines and explains the training conceived by the authorities for training navigators and examines how it was or was not put into practice. Methods of determining latitude and longitude, sailing speeds and distances covered are described and explained. The differences in approach to this training developed in each of the sea going European nations are carefully presented and contrasted. Of special interest is the breach in understanding of what is necessary for a trainee navigator between the mathematical practitioners, who were appointed to teach those trainees, and the seamen, who were being trained, a large yawning gap between theory and practice. When discussing the Dutch approach to training Schotte clearly describes why experienced coastal navigators do not, without retraining, make good deep-sea navigators. The methodologies of these two areas of the art of navigation are substantially different.

The reader gets introduced to the methodologies used by deep-sea navigators, the mathematics developed, the tables considered necessary and the instruments and charts that were put to use. Of particular interest are the rules of thumb utilised to make course corrections before accurate methods of determining longitude were developed. There are also detailed discussions about how one or other aspect of the art of navigation was emphasised in the training in one country but considered less important in another. One conclusion the Schotte draws is that there is not really a discernable gradient of progress in the methods taught and the methods of teaching them over the two hundred and fifty years covered by the book.

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As well as everything you wanted to know about navigating sailing ships but were too afraid to ask, Schotte also delivers interesting knowledge of other areas. Theories of education come to the fore but an aspect that I found particularly fascinating were her comments on the book trade. Throughout the period covered, the teachers of navigation wrote and marketed books on the art of navigation. These books were fairly diverse and written for differing readers. Some were conceived as textbooks for the apprentice navigators whilst others were obviously written for interested, educated laymen, who would never navigate a ship. Later, as written exams began to play a greater role in the education of the aspirant navigators, authors and publishers began to market books of specimen exam questions as preparation for the exams. These books also went through an interesting evolution. Schotte deals with this topic in quite a lot of detail discussing the authors, publishers and booksellers, who were engaged in this market of navigational literature. This is detailed enough to be of interest to book historians, who might not really be interested in the history of navigation per se.

Schotte is excellent writer and the book is truly a pleasure to read. On a physical level the book is beautifully presented with lots of fascinating and highly informative illustrations. The apparatus starts with a very useful glossary of technical terms. There is a very extensive bibliography and an equally extensive and useful index. My only complaint concerns the notes, which are endnotes and not footnotes. These are in fact very extensive and highly informative containing lots of additional information not contained in the main text. I found myself continually leafing back and forth between main text and endnotes, making continuous reading almost impossible. In the end I developed a method of reading so many pages of main text followed by reading the endnotes for that section of the main text, mentally noting the number of particular endnotes that I wished to especially consult. Not ideal by any means.

This book is an essential read for anybody directly or indirectly interested in the history of navigation and also the history of practical mathematics. If however you are generally interested in good, well researched, well written history then you will almost certainly get a great deal of pleasure from reading this book.

[1] Margaret E. Schotte, Sailing School: Navigating Science and Skill, 1550–1800, Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 2019.

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Filed under Book Reviews, History of Astronomy, History of Cartography, History of Mathematics, History of Navigation, Renaissance Science, Uncategorized

Why, FFS! why?

On Twitter this morning physicist and science writer Graham Farmelo inadvertently drew my attention to a reader’s letter in The Guardian from Sunday by a Collin Moffat. Upon reading this load of old cobblers, your friendly, mild mannered historian of Renaissance mathematics instantly turned into the howling-with-rage HISTSCI_HULK. What could possibly have provoked this outbreak? I present for your delectation the offending object.

I fear Thomas Eaton (Weekend Quiz, 12 October) is giving further credence to “fake news” from 1507, when a German cartographer was seeking the derivation of “America” and hit upon the name of Amerigo Vespucci, an obscure Florentine navigator. Derived from this single source, this made-up derivation has been copied ever after.

The fact is that Christopher Columbus visited Iceland in 1477-78, and learned of a western landmass named “Markland”. Seeking funds from King Ferdinand of Spain, he told the king that the western continent really did exist, it even had a name – and Columbus adapted “Markland” into the Spanish way of speaking, which requires an initial vowel “A-”, and dropped “-land” substituting “-ia”.

Thus “A-mark-ia”, ie “America”. In Icelandic, “Markland” may be translated as “the Outback” – perhaps a fair description.

See Graeme Davis, Vikings in America (Birlinn, 2009).

Astute readers will remember that we have been here before, with those that erroneously claim that America was named after a Welsh merchant by the name of Richard Ap Meric. The claim presented here is equally erroneous; let us examine it in detail.

…when a German cartographer was seeking the derivation of “America” and hit upon the name of Amerigo Vespucci, an obscure Florentine navigator.

It was actually two German cartographers Martin Waldseemüller and Matthias Ringmann and they were not looking for a derivation of America, they coined the name. What is more, they give a clear explanation as to why and how the coined the name and why exactly they chose to name the newly discovered continent after Amerigo Vespucci, who, by the way, wasn’t that obscure. You can read the details in my earlier post. It is of interest that the supporters of the Ap Meric theory use exactly the same tactic of lying about Waldseemüller and Ringmann and their coinage.

The fact is that Christopher Columbus visited Iceland in 1477-78, and learned of a western landmass named “Markland”.

Let us examine what is known about Columbus’ supposed visit to Iceland. You will note that I use the term supposed, as facts about this voyage are more than rather thin. In his biography of Columbus, Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, historian of Early Modern exploration, writes:

He claimed that February 1477–the date can be treated as unreliable in such a long –deferred recollection [from 1495]–he sailed ‘a hundred leagues beyond’ Iceland, on a trip from Bristol…

In “Christopher Columbus and the Age of Exploration: An Encyclopedia”[1] edited by the American historian, Silvio A. Bedini, we can read:

The possibility of Columbus having visited Iceland is based on a passage in his son Fernando Colón’s biography of his father. He cites a letter from Columbus stating that in February 1477 he sailed “a hundred leagues beyond the island of Til” (i.e. Thule, Iceland). But there is no evidence to his having stopped in Iceland or spoken with anyone, and in any case it is unlikely that anyone he spoke to would have known about the the Icelandic discovery of Vinland.

This makes rather a mockery of the letter’s final claim:

Seeking funds from King Ferdinand of Spain, he told the king that the western continent really did exist, it even had a name – and Columbus adapted “Markland” into the Spanish way of speaking, which requires an initial vowel “A-”, and dropped “-land” substituting “-ia”.

Given that it is a well established fact that Columbus was trying to sail westward to Asia and ran into America purely by accident, convinced by the way that he had actually reached Asia, the above is nothing more than a fairly tale with no historical substance whatsoever.

To close I want to address the question posed in the title to this brief post. Given that we have a clear and one hundred per cent reliable source for the name of America and the two men who coined it, why oh why do people keep coming up with totally unsubstantiated origins of the name based on ahistorical fantasies? And no I can’t be bothered to waste either my time or my money on Graeme Davis’ book, which is currently deleted and only available as a Kindle.

[1] On days like this it pays to have one book or another sitting around on your bookshelves.

Felipe Fernández-Armesto, Columbus, Duckworth, London, ppb 1996, p. 18. Christopher Columbus and the Age of Exploration: An Encyclopedia, ed. Silvio A. Bedini, Da Capo Press, New York, ppb 1992, p. 314

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Vienna and Astronomy the beginnings.

Vienna and its university played a very central role in introducing the study of mathematics, cartography and astronomy into Northern Europe in the fifteenth and sixteenth century. In early blog posts I have dealt with Georg von Peuerbach and Johannes Regiomontanus, Conrad Celtis and his Collegium poetarum et mathematicorum, Georg Tannstetter and the Apians, and Emperor Maximilian and his use of the Viennese mathematici. Today, I’m going to look at the beginnings of the University of Vienna and the establishment of the mathematical science as a key part of the university’s programme.

The University of Vienna was founded in 1365 by Rudolf IV, Duke of Austria (1339–1365) and his brothers Albrecht III, (c. 1349–1395) and Leopold III (1351–1386) both Dukes of Austria.

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Rudolf IV, Duke of Austria Source: Wikimedia Commons

Like most young universities it’s early decades were not very successful or very stable. This began to change in 1384 when Heinrich von Langenstein (1325–1397) was appointed professor of theology.

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Presumably Heinrich von Langenstein (1325-1397), Book miniature in Rationale divinorum officiorum of Wilhelmus Durandus, c. 1395

Heinrich von Langenstein studied from 1358 in Paris and in 1363 he was appointed professor for philosophy on the Sorbonne advancing to Vice Chancellor. He took the wrong side during the Western Schism (1378–1417) and was forced to leave the Sorbonne and Paris in 1382. Paris’ loss was Vienna’s gain. An excellent academic and experienced administrator he set the University of Vienna on the path to success. Most important from our point of view is the study of mathematics and astronomy at the university. We tend to think of the curriculum of medieval universities as something fixed: a lower liberal arts faculty teaching the trivium and quadrivium and three higher faculties teaching law, medicine and theology. However in their early phases new universities only had a very truncated curriculum that was gradually expanded over the early decades; Heinrich brought the study of mathematics and astronomy to the young university.

Heinrich was a committed and knowledgeable astronomer, who established a high level of tuition in mathematics and astronomy. When he died he left his collection of astronomical manuscripts and instruments to the university. Henry’s efforts to establish astronomy as a discipline in Vienna might well have come to nothing if a successor to teach astronomy had not been found. However one was found in the person of Johannes von Gmunden (c. 1380–1442).

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Initial from British Library manuscript Add. 24071 Canones de practica et utilitatibus tabularum by Johannes von Gmunden written 1437/38 by his student Georg Prunner Possibly a portrait of Johannes Source: Johannes von Gmunden (ca. 1384–1442) Astronom und Mathematiker Hg. Rudolf Simek und Kathrin Chlench, Studia Medievalia Septentrionalia 12

Unfortunately, as is often the case with medieval and Renaissance astronomers and mathematicians, we know almost nothing personal about Johannes von Gmunden. There is indirect evidence that he comes from Gmunden in Upper Austria and not one of the other Gmunden’s or Gmund’s. His date of birth is an estimate based on the dates of his studies at the University of Vienna and everything else we know about him is based on the traces he left in the archives of the university during his life. He registered as a student at the university in 1400, graduating BA in 1402 and MA in 1406.

His MA was his licence to teach and he held his first lecture in 1406 on the Theoricae planetarum by Gerhard de Sabbioneta (who might well not have been the author) a standard medieval astronomy textbook, establishing Johannes’ preference for teaching astronomy and mathematics. In 1407, making the reasonable assumption that Johannes Kraft is Johannes von Gmunden, thereby establishing that his family name was Kraft, he lectured on Euclid. 1408 to 1409 sees him lecturing on non-mathematical, Aristotelian texts and 1410 teaching Aristotelian logic using the Tractatus of Petrus Hispanus. In the same year he also taught Euclid again. 1411 saw a return to Aristotle but in 1412 he taught Algorismus de minutiis i.e. sexagesimal fractions. The Babylonian sexagesimal number system was used in European astronomy down to and including Copernicus in the sixteenth century, Aristotelian logic again in 1413 but John Pecham’s Perspectiva in 1414.

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Johannes von Gmunden Algorismus de minutiis printed by Georg Tannstetter 1515 Source: Johannes von Gmunden (ca. 1384–1442) Astronom und Mathematiker Hg. Rudolf Simek und Kathrin Chlench, Studia Medievalia Septentrionalia 12

Around this time Johannes took up the study of theology, although he never proceeded past BA, and 1415 and 16 see him lecturing on religious topics although he also taught Algorismus de minutiis again in 1416. From 1417 till 1434, with breaks, he lectured exclusively on mathematical and astronomical topics making him probably the first dedicated lecturer for the mathematical disciplines at a European university. Beyond his lectures he calculated and wrote astronomical tables, taught students how to use astronomical instruments (for which he also wrote instruction manuals), including the construction of cheap paper instruments.

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Johannes von Gmunden instructions for constructing an astrolabe rete Wiener Codex ÖNB 5296 fol. 6r Source: Johannes von Gmunden (ca. 1384–1442) Astronom und Mathematiker Hg. Rudolf Simek und Kathrin Chlench, Studia Medievalia Septentrionalia 12

He collected and also wrote extensive astronomical texts. As well as his teaching duties, Johannes served several times a dean of the liberal arts faculty and even for a time as vice chancellor of the university. His influence in his own time was very extensive; there are more than four hundred surviving manuscripts of Johannes Gmunden’s work in European libraries and archives.

When he died Johannes willed his comparatively large collection of mathematical and astronomical texts and instruments to the university establishing a proper astronomy department that would be inherited with very positive results by Georg von Peuerbach and Johannes Regiomontanus. Perhaps the most fascinating items listed in his will are an Albion and an instruction manual for it.

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Albion front side Source: Seb Falk’s Twitter feed

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Albion rear Source: Seb Falk’s Twitter feed

The Albion is possibly the most fascinating of all medieval astronomical instruments. Invented by Richard of Wallingford (1292–1336), the Abbot of St Albans, mathematician, astronomer, horologist and instrument maker, most well known for the highly complex astronomical clock that he designed and had constructed for the abbey.

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Richard of Wallingford Source: Wikimedia Commons

The Albion, ‘all by one’, was a highly complex and sophisticated, multi-functional astronomical instrument conceived to replace a whole spectrum of other instruments. Johannes’ lecture from 1431 was on the Albion.

Johannes von Gmunden did not stand alone in his efforts to develop the mathematical sciences in Vienna in the first half of fifteenth century; he was actively supported by Georg Müstinger (before 1400–1442), the Prior of the Augustinian priory of Klosterneuburg.

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Klosterneuburg

Müstinger became prior of Klosterneuburg in 1418 and worked to turn the priory into an intellectual centre. In 1421 he sent a canon of the priory to Padua to purchase books for over five hundred florins, a very large sum of money. The priory became a centre for producing celestial globes and cartography. It produced a substantial corpus of maps including a mappa mundi, of which only the coordinate list of 703 location still exist. Scholar who worked in the priory and university fanned out into the Southern German area carrying the knowledge acquired in Vienna to other universities and monasteries.

Johannes’ status and influence are nicely expressed in a poem about him and Georg von Peuerbach written by Christoph Poppenheuser in 1551:

The great Johannes von Gmunden, noble in knowledge, distinguished in spirit, and dignified in piety                                                                                                                                         And you Peuerbach, favourite of the muses, whose praise nobody can sing well enough                                                                                                                                           And Johannes, named after his home town, known as far away as the stars for his erudition

The tradition established in Vienna by Heinrich von Langenstein, Johannes von Gmunden and Georg Müstinger was successfully continued by Georg von Peuerbach (1423–1461), who contrary to some older sources was not a direct student of Johannes von Gmunden arriving in Vienna only in 1443 the year after Johannes death. However Georg did find himself in a readymade nest for the mathematical disciplines, an opportunity that he grasped with both hands developing further Vienna’s excellent reputation in this area.

 

 

 

 

 

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Who created the first scientific map of the moon? – I expect better of the British Library

On 9 March the British Library Prints & Drawings Twitter account (@BL_prints) tweeted the following, accompanied by the illustration.

This is the first scientific map of the moon and was produced in Paris by astronomer Giovanni Domenico Cassini. Working in the 1670s, Cassini used a telescope to make careful observations of the moon’s surface.

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Source: British Library

This is of course historical rubbish Cassini’s being by no means the first ‘scientific’ map of the moon and I thought who ever runs the @BL_prints Twitter account really ought to up their historical game then I followed the link to the British Library website and discovered the following text:

This is the first scientific map of the moon and was produced in Paris by astronomer Giovanni Domenico Cassini. Working in the 1670s, Cassini used a telescope to make careful observations of the moon’s pock-marked surface. Thanks to the map, 17th-century European scientists had a greater understanding of the moon than they did of much of the Earth’s surface.

If you look very carefully at the map, you will find a ‘Moon Maiden’ hiding behind one of the craters. It seems that either Cassini, or the map’s famous engraver Claude Mellan, included the detail, believing that this tiny part of the moon’s surface looked like a beautiful woman.

Somebody at the British Library really needs to improve their knowledge of the history of astronomy in general and of selenography in particular. For anybody who doesn’t already know, selenography is the science of the physical features of the moon. Selenography is to the moon what geography is to the earth.

Interestingly the first scientific map of the moon was made before the invention of the telescope by William Gilbert (1540–1603) some time before1603. It was, however first published in the text De Mondo Nostro Sublunari in Amsterdam in 1651. No attempts to accurately draw the surface of the moon have survived from antiquity or the Middle Ages if they ever existed. Gilbert also regretted that no such drawing from antiquity existed because he would have liked to compare and contrast in order to see if the moon had changed over time. Although made without the assistance of a telescope the moons features are recognisable on Gilbert’s map.

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William Gilbert’s Map of the Moon Source

The earliest known telescopic drawings of the moon were made by Thomas Harriot (c. 1560–1621), a sketch in 1609 and a full map in 1613.

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Thomas Harriot’s initial telescopic sketch of the moon from 1609 Source: Wikimedia Commons

Harriot’s map is of course much more detailed than Glibert’s and displays a high level of accuracy. Harriot, however, never published his moon drawings and they remained unknown in the seventeenth century.

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Thomas Harriot’s 1613 telescopic map of the moon Source: Wikimedia Commons

The first published drawings of the moon were, of course, those notorius ones of Galileo in the Sidereus Nuncius, which I won’t reproduce here. They can’t really be called maps of the moon as they bear little or no relation to the real moon and might best be described as studies of hypothetical lunar features.

Christoph Scheiner (1575–1650) also produced accurate drawings of the moon in the early phase of telescopic astronomy which he published in his Disquisitiones Mathematicae de Controversiis et Novitatibus Astronomicis in 1614.

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Christoph Scheiner moon drawing Source

The Dutch astronomer and cartographer Michel Florent van Langren (1598–1675) published an extensive telescopic map of the moon in 1645.

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Michel Florent van Langren Map of the Moon 1645 Source: Wikimedia Commons

This was followed by the even more extensive telescopic map of Johannes Hevelius (1611–1687) in his Selenographia, sive Lunae descriptio in 1647.

Selenography

Source: Wikimedia Commons

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Johannes Hevelius Map of the Moon 1647 Source: Wikimedia Commons

Next up we have the lunar map of Francesco Maia Grimaldi (1618–1663) and Giovanni Battista Riccioli (1598–1671), which supplied the nomenclature for the lunar features that we still use today, and was published in Riccioli’s Almagestum Novum in 1651.

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Riccioli/Grimaldi Map of the Moon 1651 Source: Wikimedia Commons

This last is particularly embarrassing for the British Library’s claim that Cassini’s is the first scientific map of the moon, as Cassini was a student of Grimaldi and Riccioli in Bologna and would have been well aware of their selenographical work.

Even if we discount Galileo’s lunar diagrams as not particularly scientific, Cassini comes in, at best, in seventh place  in the league table of lunar cartography. I really expect an institution as big and famous as the British Library, with its world-wide impact to put a little more effort into their public presentations of #histSTM.

 

 

 

 

 

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Nit-picking – Authors who should know better

In my most recent reading I have come across three separate examples of professional historians making a mess of things when they turn the hand to the history of science.

First up we have Jerry Brotton’s The Renaissance: A Very Short Introduction[1]. I’m a fan of Oxford University Press’ Very Short Introduction series and also of Brotton’s A History of the World in Twelve Maps[2], so I was expecting to enjoy his Very Short Introduction to the Renaissance and in general I wasn’t disappointed.

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He chooses to lay the emphasis in his book on the fact that the Renaissance wasn’t a purely European phenomenon but a global one and writing from this perspective he opens up a novel vista on this period of history. However when he turns to the history of Renaissance science he, in my opinion, drops a major clangour.

He introduces his chapter on the topic with Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, telling us that:

Once Faustus has sold his soul, he asks Mephistopheles for a book ‘where I might see all characters and planets of the heavens’. The most controversial book that Faustus could have consulted was On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres by the Polish canon and astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus.[3]

We’ll ignore the Polish on this occasion and turn instead to what Brotton says about the book:

Copernicus’s revolutionary book overturned the medieval belief that the earth lay at the centre[my emphasis] of the universe. Copernicus’s vision of the heavens showed, along with all the other known planets, rotated around the sun. Copernicus subtly revised the work of classical Greek and Arabic astronomy scholars. He argued that ‘they did not achieve their aim, which we hope to reach by accepting the fact that the earth moves’.

Copernicus tried to limit the revolutionary significance of his ideas by accommodating them within a classical scientific tradition. But the Catholic Church was horrified and condemned the book. Copernicus’s argument overturned the biblical belief that the earth – and humanity with it – stood at the centre of the universe[4][my emphasis].

 

It was neither the biblical nor the medieval belief that the earth stood at the centre of the universe and removing the earth from this centre was not Copernicus’ offence. It was setting the earth in motion and stopping the motion of the sun that the Church found intolerable, as it contradicted several biblical passages. The myth about Copernicus displacing humanity from the centre of the universe is as far as I know and eighteenth or even nineteenth century invention and actually contradicts the medieval view of the position of the earth. The earth was not at the centre but at the bottom of the universe in the dregs. I once wrote a short blog post quoting Otto von Guericke on this subject, for those to lazy to click through:

OBJECTIONS OF THE ASTRONOMERS AND NATURAL PHILOSOPHERS TO THE COPERNICAN SYSTEM

Since, however, almost everyone has been of the conviction that the earth is immobile since it is a heavy body, the dregs, as it were, of the universe and for this reason situated in the middle or the lowest region of the heaven

Otto von Guericke; The New (So-Called) Magdeburg Experiments of Otto von Guericke, trans. with pref. by Margaret Glover Foley Ames. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht/Boston/London, 1994, pp. 15 – 16. (my emphasis)

Need I really point out that the Church didn’t condemn De revolutionibus but in 1616 merely placed it on the Index until corrected, a procedure that was carried out with surprising rapidity. A small number of statements claiming that heliocentricity was a fact rather than a hypothesis were removed and the book approved for use by 1620.

Our next offender is another respected Renaissance historian, Andrew Pettegree, in his The Book in the Renaissance[5].

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Once again this is a book that in general I find excellent and highly stimulating but like Brotton he disappoints when dealing with the history of science. Like Brotton he starts with Copernicus and De revolutionibus, he tells us:

In 1539 a young mathematician, Georg Joachim Rheticus, embarked on a journey of momentous consequence for the history of science. Rheticus is not a name well known even to scholars. At this point in his life he had little to distinguish him from other graduates at Wittenberg University apart from a family scandal: his father, a medical doctor, had been convicted of embezzlement and beheaded. In 1538 Rheticus left Wittenberg and settled in Nuremberg. Here he fell in with Johann Schoener, the city’s most distinguished astronomer: the following year he set off alone for Frauenberg, a small cathedral city on the Baltic coast beyond Danzig.

The purpose of this journey was to visit the renowned astronomer, Nicolas Copernicus. Although Copernicus had travelled in Europe earlier in his life, from 1510 he was permanently settled in his Polish-Prussian homeland, relatively remote from the major centres of European Scholarship. To ingratiate himself with the older man Rheticus had been provided with three valuable scientific volumes for Copernicus’s library. This was a gift with a purpose. The texts were the work of a Nuremberg printer, Johannes Petreius, who wanted Rheticus to persuade Copernicus to let him publish the master-work it was widely believed he would soon have ready for the press. The gift of the three texts was to demonstrate that only Germany’s greatest centre of scientific publishing could do justice to Copernicus’s work: and to help Rheticus prise the precious manuscript from the old man’s hands.

Copernicus kept Rheticus guessing. He seems to have enjoyed the younger man’s company, and it was 1541 before Rheticus could set off back to Wittenberg, clutching the manuscript of what would be Copernicus’s major text. De revolutionibus (Of the Revolution of the Heavenly Spheres). The following year he journeyed on to Nuremberg, where Petreius was waiting to set it on his press: it took until 1543 before the text, complete with its famous woodcut diagrams of Copernicus’s heliocentric system was ready for sale[6].

The story that Pettegree tells here is a very well-known one in the history of science that has been repeated, in one form or another, in numerous publications, but he still manages to get a whole series of fundamental facts wrong. Firstly, I would claim that whilst maybe not known to the general public, the name Rheticus is well-known to scholars. I think being appointed professor for the lower mathematics (i.e. arithmetic and geometry) at the University of Wittenberg in 1536 did distinguish him from other graduates of that university. He didn’t leave Wittenberg in 1538 and settle in Nuremberg but went on an official sabbatical armed with a letter of introduction written by the Rector of the university Philipp Melanchthon. One of the scholars he went to visit on that sabbatical, mentioned in that letter of introduction, was Johannes Schöner, the professor of mathematics at the Egidien Oberschule in Nürnberg a position to which he had been appointed on Melanchthon’s recommendation. Rheticus visited Schöner almost certainly to study astrology, a subject dear to Melanchthon’s heart.

Copernicus lived in Warmia (Ermland in German) an autonomous self governing Prince Bishopric. Rheticus took not three but six books as a gift to Copernicus of which four had been printed and published by Petreius in Nürnberg. When Rheticus visited Copernicus he was largely unknown and to describe him as renowned is more than a bit of a stretch. His renown came posthumously following the publication of De revolutionibus. There were rumours of a hypothesis and possibly a book, rumours created by the circulating manuscript of the Commentariolus but to state that Petreius or anybody else for that matter outside of Warmia knew of a master-work that would soon be ready for the press is once again an exaggeration. Rheticus’ mission could better be described as look see if Copernicus has anything substantial that could be of interest to a printer publisher specialised in astrological/astronomical and mathematical texts.

Copernicus did not keep Rheticus guessing. Firstly Rheticus suffered a period of illness and then travelled to Königsberg, where he wrote a chorography of Prussia for Duke Albrecht in 1541. Copernicus was reluctant to present his hypothesis to the world because he knew that he could not fulfil the promise that he had given in the Commentariolus that he would prove his hypothesis. To calm his fears Rheticus wrote and published his Narratio Prima in 1540 in Danzig, with a second edition appearing in Basel in 1541. This presented a brief first account of the heliocentric system and its positive reception convinced Copernicus to entrust Rheticus with his manuscript.

All in all a more than somewhat different story to that present to us by Pettegree

Next up we have my current bedtime reading Michael Bravo’s North Pole: Nature and Culture[7], which I’m enjoying immensely.

Nit Picking003

Although the emphasis of the book is on the polar voyages and expeditions beginning in the modern period the book starts much earlier. The first chapter contrasts the views of the North Pole of the ancient Greek astronomers, who saw it as the downwards extension of the North celestial pole and the Inuit who live/lived in the Arctic. The second chapter deals with the representations of the North Pole made by the cartographers and globe makers of the Early Modern Period, a topic of great interest to me, as regular readers will know. It is here that Bravo displays a surprising lack of accurate research. He tells us:

Apian was fortunate to have studied in nearby Vienna, introducing him to the work of a circle of highly talented mathematicians in Nuremberg, Ingolstadt and Vienna who were working under the patronage of Maximilian I, Holy Roman Emperor (1459–1519)…[8]

This is indeed correct and is something that I have written about in several posts and about which Darin Hayton has written a whole book, his The Crown and the Cosmos: Astrology and the Politics of Maximilian I, which I reviewed here. Bravo then goes on to discuss the Werner-Stabius cordiform map projection, which is of course a polar projection centred on the North Pole. All well and good up till now. After an extensive discussion of the cordiform projection, its use and its impact Bravo goes on to say:

Introducing the perspective of viewing the Earth from above brought cosmography into line with the new developments in drawing, projection and perspective pioneered in Renaissance Europe. Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528), one of the most remarkable German artists, was the son of a prominent goldsmith in Nuremberg. Dürer’s precocious talent for drawing broadened into printmaking, writing and an extraordinary rich span of philosophical interests. His studies of perspective spanned much of his life and he brought back to northern Europe the principles of linear perspective he encountered while studying in Bologna. He later moved to Vienna to work with Stabius and Werner under the patronage of Maximilian I[my emphasis] Dürer and Stabius published the first polar star chart in 1515[9].

 

As a Dürer fan, it’s nice to see him getting a nod for more than his Rhinoceros and yes Maximilian was one of his patrons, but the sentence I have placed in italics manages to include two major errors in just sixteen words. Firstly if Dürer had moved to Vienna, he would have only met Stabius and not Werner. The two knew each other from their mutual time at the University of Ingolstadt in the early 1480s but whereas Werner moved first to Rome and then to Nürnberg on the completion of his studies, Stabius stayed in Ingolstadt eventually becoming professor of mathematics before moving to Vienna as court historian and mathematician on Conrad Celtis’ Collegium poetarum et mathematicorum. The two of them continued to work together not by being in the same city but through correspondence. Needless to say Dürer never left Nürnberg and never moved to Vienna, his various shared projects with Stabius were either conducted by letter or by Stabius journeying to Nürnberg. I should point out the Dürer-Stabius-Heinfogel star maps were not the first polar star charts but the first European printed polar star charts, there are earlier manuscript ones and also earlier printed Chinese ones.

All of the things that I have criticised above are facts that are comparatively easy to find and verify with a relatively small amount of research work, so there really is no excuse for getting them wrong. It would be bad enough if the authors were beginners, amateurs or wanna be historians. But in each case we have to do with a justifiably renowned historian and author, so there is really no excuse for this level of sloppiness.

[1] Jerry Brotton, The Renaissance: A Very Short Introduction, OUP, Oxford, 2006

[2]Jerry Brotten, A History of the World in Twelve Maps, Allen Lane, London, 2012

[3] Brotton p. 99

[4] Brotton p. 99

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

[6] Pettegree pp. 273–274

[7]Michael Bravo, North Pole: Nature and Culture, Reaktion Books, London, 2019

[8] Bravo p. 56

[9] Bravo p. 60

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