Category Archives: History of Cartography

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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Filed under History of Cartography, History of Navigation, Myths of Science, Renaissance Science

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

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.

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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.

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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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The emergence of modern astronomy – a complex mosaic: Part IV

Part I  Part II Part III

There is general agreement amongst historians of science that a major factor in the emergence of modern science in general and modern astronomy in particular was the (re)invention of moveable type printing and the arrival of the printed book in the middle of the fifteenth century. I say reinvention because moveable type printing emerged twice before in China in the eleventh century CE and in Korea in the fourteenth century, as I explained in an earlier post. For a long time it was a commonplace in the historical narrative that the printed book, like gunpowder and the compass, was a Chinese invention but extensive long-term research has failed to produce any evidence of a technology transfer and it is now thought that Johannes Gutenberg’s was an independent invention. Even within Europe Gutenberg was not the first to experiment with moveable type and his real invention was the printing press, inclusive printing ink.

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Book Printers from Jost Amman  Professionals and Craftsmen

Less than twenty years after Gutenberg published his Bible, Regiomontanus printed and published the first printed astronomy book Peuerbach’s Theoricae Novae Planetarum (Nürnberg, 1473) followed by a handful of other astronomy/astrology books. Unfortunately he died before he could publish their Epytoma in almagesti Ptolemei, which was first published by Ratdolt in Venice in 1496. Both titles became standard astronomy textbooks throughout Europe for more than one hundred years. Famously also being the texts from which Copernicus learnt his astronomy and cosmology.

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Theoricae Novae Planetarum Source: Wikimedia Commons

This marked the start of a wave of printed astronomy/astrology books throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries including the works of Apian, Copernicus, Tycho, Kepler, Galileo and many other less well-known figures. Printing made reliable, consistent text available to a wide circle of readers. Whereas a copy of a manuscript in Copenhagen might well have serious deviations compared with a manuscript of the same work in Venice, printed copies of a book were in theory the same wherever their owners lived and worked.

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The Astronomer from Jost Amman’s Professionals and Craftsmen Source: Wikimedia Commons

As I pointed out in a reply to an earlier comment in this series the printed great works of astronomy, such as Copernicus’ De revolutionibusor Apian’s Astronomicum Caesareum, would have been way beyond the pocket of the average university student of the period but the professional astronomers, their patron and the institutions could and did acquire copies thus making them, at least potentially, accessible to those students. Interestingly Kepler bought a second hand copy of Copernicus’ De revolutionibus when he was still a student.

However, printing advanced the general dissemination and progress of astronomy and its related fields through purpose written textbooks. The most obvious example of this is Peter Apian’s Cosmographia, originally published by the author in Landshut in 1524. This was a basic introduction to astronomy, astrology, surveying, cartography etc. In total, over the sixteenth century, the book went through thirty-two expanded and improved editions all of which were, somewhat strangely, edited and published by Gemma Frisius and not Apian. Similar textbooks were produced by Oronce Fine, Michael Mästlin and many other sixteenth century mathematical authors.

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Title page of Apian’s Cosmpgraphia

It was not just major monographs that profited from the invention of movable type printing. Such astronomical/astrological tools as ephemerides benefited from a certain level of consistency given by print as opposed to hand written manuscripts with their copying errors. In fact a large part of Regiomontanus’ posthumous reputation was based on his printed ephemeris, one of the few books he was able to publish before his untimely demise.

Regiomontanus also led the way in producing printed astronomical/astrological calendars, volumes much in demand from all those working in the wider field of astronomy. In fact astronomical/astrological ephemera of all types–calendars, prognostica, single-sheet wall calendars, almanacs–became a mainstay of the early printing industry providing a much need flow of ready cash.

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Regiomontanus Calendar Source: University of Glasgow

To give an idea of the scope of this activity, one of the calendars of Simon Marius (1573–1625), which had to be withdrawn because of political complaints by the local authorities, was said by the printer publisher to have had an edition of 12,000. Marius was only a small local astrologer; the editions of the calendars and prognostica of an Apian or a Kepler would have been much larger. An astronomical monograph, such as De revolutionibus, would have had high production costs and an edition of maybe 500. It would take several years before it turned a profit for the printer publisher if at all. The author got nothing for his troubles. A calendar (wall or pocket), prognostica or almanac had comparatively low production costs, a large edition and if the author was established sold very rapidly. The profits were usually shared fifty-fifty between the printer and the author, a reliable stream of income for both parties. Gutenberg raised some of the finance for his Bible by printing and issuing an astro-medical single-sheet wall calendar.

In an important work, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800historian Bernard Capp showed that astrological ephemera made up by far and away the largest sector of publishing in the early centuries of printing and more importantly that the editorial sections of the cheap almanacs were one of the major sources for disseminating the latest developments in astronomy, in particular, in the seventeenth century, heliocentricity.

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Almanack by John Tulley, 1692. Book exhibited in the Cambridge Public Library, Cambridge, Massachusetts Source: Wikimedia Commons

Along with the development of moving type printing came an increased use of illustrations leading to a rapid development in the techniques used to produce them–woodblock printing, copperplate engraving and etching.

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Woodblock cutter Jost Amman’s Professionals and Craftsmen Source: Wikimedia Commons

These techniques were then extended to other field related to astronomy, cartography and globe making. Printed copies of Ptolemaeus’ Geographia with maps were already being printed in the last quarter of the fifteenth century. There also quickly developed a market for large scale printed wall maps, the most famous early example being Waldseemüller’s world map that gave the very recently discovered fourth part of the world the name America after Amerigo Vespucci (1454–1512). Waldseemüller also seems to have printed the first terrestrial globe, a small globe containing the same map of the world. Unfortunately we only have a small number of printed globe gores and no surviving finished globes.

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Waldseemüller World Map 1507 (Wikipedia Commons)

Johannes Schöner (1477–1547) was the first to start producing serial printed globes, his first terrestrial globe in 1515 and the matching celestial globe in 1517, establishing a tradition for matching pairs of printed globes that continued until the end of the nineteenth century. Judging by comments from his correspondence his globe printing enterprise was both very successful and very lucrative. Gemma Frisius (1508–1555) took up the baton producing printed globes to be sold with reprints of Schöner’s cosmographia, the descriptive book sold with each globe to explain how to use it. Gemma’s assistant was Gerhard Mercator, who would go on to become the most successful printed globe maker of the second half of the sixteenth century. Mercator’s globes inspired both the great Dutch cartographical houses of Hondius and Blaeu, who would dominate the European globe making and cartography industry in the seventeenth century. England’s first commercial globe printer, Joseph Moxon (1627–1691) learnt his handwork from Willem Janszoon Blaeu (c. 1570–1630). Printed globe making was big business in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and the globes were used to teach both astronomy and astrology.

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Pair of globes by Gerard Mercator (Globe Museum, Austrian National Library).

Of course all of the above applies equally well to printed maps. Along with the demand for large wall maps, a market developed for collections of printed maps, what we now call atlases. Bound collection of manuscript maps existed before the invention of printing but being the product of hundreds of hours of manual labour these tended to be art treasures for rich patrons rather than practical books for everyday usage. The man, who did most to change this was Abraham Ortelius (1527–1598), whose Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, a bound, standardised, collection of maps, produced especially for traders first published in 1570 was a runaway success. Initial less successful was the more academic Atlas of his good friend and rival Gerhard Mercator. However, both publications laid the foundations for the commercial success of the cartographical publications of Blaeu and Hondius.

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Theatrum Orbis Terrarum Title Page Source: Wikimedia Commons

A somewhat different approach was taken by Sebastian Münster (1488–1552), with his Cosmographia, first published in 1544, which was not just a collection of maps but also a full geographical and historical description of the world. In its numerous editions it was almost certainly the biggest selling book in the sixteenth century.

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Title page of the first edition of Münster’s Cosmographia Source: Wikimedia Commons

Like nearly-all-the-other globe makers and cartographers described here Münster was an astrologer and astronomer. Other astrologer/astronomers in the sixteenth century, who were also commercially successful as cartographers were Peter and Philipp Apian, Oronce Fine and Michael Mästlin.

It should be clear from the above that the advent of movable type printing had a very large impact on the dissemination of astronomy and its related fields at the same time raising its status in the Early Modern Period in Europe and bringing it to a much wider audience.

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The emergence of modern astronomy – a complex mosaic: Part III

You can read Part I here and Part II here

Although I dealt with the special case of Vienna and the 1st Viennese School of Mathematics in the first post of this series, it is now time to turn to the general history of the fifteenth-century university and the teaching of astronomy. Although the first, liberal arts, degree at the medieval university theoretically encompassed the teaching of the quadrivium, i.e. arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy, in reality the level of teaching was very low and often neglected all together. Geometry was a best the first six books of Euclid and at worst just book one and astronomy was the Sphaeraof Sacrobosco, a short non-technical introduction.

This all began to change in the fifteenth century. The humanist universities of Northern Italy and of Poland introduced dedicated chairs for mathematics, whose principle purpose was the teaching of astrology to medical students. However, to fully understand astrology and to be able to cast horoscopes from scratch students first had to learn astronomy, which in turn entailed first having to learn arithmetic and geometry, as well as the use of mathematical and astronomical instruments. The level of mathematical tuition on the university increased considerable. The chairs for mathematics that Galileo would occupy at the end of the sixteenth century in Pisa and Padua were two such astrology chairs.

As the first European university, Krakow introduced two such chairs for mathematics and astronomy relatively early in the fifteenth century.

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The founding of the University of Krakow in 1364, painted by Jan Matejko (1838–1893) Source: Wikimedia Commons

It was here at the end of the century  (1491–1495) that Copernicus first learnt his astronomy most probably in the lectures of Albert Brudzewski (c. 1445–c.1497) using Peuerbach’s Theoricae Novae Planetarum and Regiomontanus’ Astronomical Tables. Brudzewski also wrote an important commentary on Peuerbach’s Theoricae Novae Planetarum,Commentum planetarium in theoricas Georgii Purbachii (1482).Krakow was well endowed with Regiomontanus’ writings thanks to the Polish astrologer Marcin Bylica (c.1433–1493), who had worked closely with Regiomontanus on the court ofMatthias Corvinus (1443–1490) in Budapest and who when he died bequeathed his books and instruments to the University of Krakow, including the works of Regiomontanus and Peuerbach.

From Krakow Copernicus went on to Northern Italy and its humanist universities. Between 1496 and 1501 he studied canon law in Bologna, Europe’s oldest university.

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The entry of some students in the Natio Germanica Bononiae, the nation of German students at Bologna; miniature of 1497. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Here he also met and studied under/worked with the professor for astronomer Domenico Maria Novara da Ferrara (1454–1504), who claimed to be a student of Regiomontanus and it is known that he studied under Luca Pacioli (c. 1447–1517), who was also Leonardo’s mathematics teacher. Although none of Novara da Ferrara writings have survived he is said to have taken a critical attitude to Ptolemaic astronomy and he might be the trigger that started Copernicus on his way. In late 1501 Copernicus moved to the University of Padua, where he studied medicine until 1503, a course that would also have included instruction in astrology and astronomy. In 1503 he took a doctorate in canon law at the University of Ferrara. Sometime in the early sixteenth century, probably around 1510 he wrote an account of his first thoughts on heliocentricity, now known as the Commentariolus, which was never published but seems to have circulated fairly widely in manuscript. We will return to this later.

The first German university to install a dedicated chair for mathematics/astronomy was Ingolstadt in the 1470s.

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The Hohe Schule (High School), The main building of the University of Ingolstadt 1571 Source: Wikimedia Commons

As with the North Italian universities this was principally to teach astrology to medical student. This chair would prove to be an important institution for spreading the study of the mathematical sciences. In 1491/1492 the humanist scholar and poet, Conrad Celtis (1459–1508) was appointed professor of poetics and rhetoric in Ingolstadt. Celtis had a strong interest in cartography as a part of history and travelled to Krakow in 1489 in order to study the mathematical sciences. In Ingolstadt Celtis was able to turn the attention of Andreas Stiborius (1464–1515) and Johannes Stabius (1468–1522) somewhat away from astrology and more towards cartography. In 1497 Celtis received a call from the University of Vienna and taking Stiborius and Stiborius’ star student Georg Tannstetter (1482–1535) with him he decamped to Vienna, where he set up his Collegium poetarum et mathematicorum, with Stiborius as professor for mathematics. In 1502 he also fetched Johannes Stabius. From 1502 Tannstetter also began to lecture on mathematics and astronomy in Vienna. Stiborius, Stabius and Tannstetter form the foundations of what is known as the 2ndViennese School of Mathematics. Tannstetter taught several important students, most notably Peter Apian, who returned to Ingolstadt as professor for mathematics in the 1520, a position in which he was succeeded by his son Philipp. Both of them made major contributions to the developments of astronomy and cartography.

Stabius’ friend and colleague Johannes Werner also studied in Ingolstadt before moving to and settling in Nürnberg. One of the few astronomical writing of Copernicus, apart from De revolutionibus, that exist is the so-called Letter against Werner in which Copernicus harshly criticised Werner’s Motion of the Eighth Sphere an essay on the theory of precession of the equinox.

Another graduate of Ingolstadt was Johannes Stöffler (1452–1531), who having had a successful career as an astronomer, astrologer and globe and instrument maker was appointed the first professor of mathematics at the University of Tübingen.

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The Old Auditorium University of Tübingen Source: Wikimedia Commons

Amongst his student were Sebastian Münster (1488–1552) the most important cosmographer of the sixteenth century and Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560), who as a enthusiastic fan of astrology established chairs for mathematics and astronomy at all of the protestant schools and universities that he established starting in Wittenberg, where the first professor for lower mathematic was Jakob Milich (1501–1559) another graduate of the University of Vienna. Milich’s fellow professor for astronomy in Wittenberg Johannes Volmar (?–1536), who started his studies in Krakow. The successors to Milich and Volmar were Georg Joachim Rheticus (1514–1574) and Erasmus Reinhold (1511–1553).

Another Melanchthon appointment was the first professor for mathematics on the Egidien Obere Schule in Nürnberg, (Germany’s first gymnasium), the globe maker Johannes Schöner (1477–1547), who would play a central role in the heliocentricity story. Schöner had learnt his mathematics at the university of Erfurt, one of the few German universities with a reputation for mathematics in the fifteenth century. When Regiomontanus moved from Budapest to Nürnberg he explained his reasons for doing so in a letter to the Rector of Erfurt University, the mathematician Christian Roder, asking him for his active support in his reform programme.

The Catholic universities would have to wait for Christoph Clavius (1538–1612) at the end of the sixteenth century before they received dedicated chairs for astronomy to match the Lutheran Protestant institutions. However, there were exceptions. In Leuven, where he was actually professor for medicine, Gemma Frisius (1508–1555) taught astronomy, astrology, cartography and mathematics. Amongst his long list of influential pupils we find Johannes Stadius (1527–1579), Gerhard Mercator (1512–1594) and John Dee (1527–1609). In France, François I appointed Oronce Fine (1494–1555) Royal lecturer for mathematics at the University of Paris. He was not a very impressive mathematician or astronomer but a highly influential teacher and textbook author. In Portugal, Pedro Nunes (1502–1578) was appointed the first professor of mathematics at the university of Coimbra as well as to the position of Royal Cosmographer.

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The University of Coimbra Palace Gate. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Over the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the mathematical sciences, driven mainly by astrology and cartography, established themselves in the European universities, where the professors and lecturers, as we shall see, played a central role in the reform and renewal of astronomy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under History of Astrology, History of Astronomy, History of Cartography, History of medicine, Renaissance Science