Category Archives: History of science

A bit on the side

Galileo by Justus Sustermans/Wikipedia

Galileo by Justus Sustermans/Wikipedia

For those of my readers who don’t follow me on Twitter or Facebook I have indulged in my favourite pastime, slagging of Galileo Galilei, but this time in an opinion piece in the online science journal AEON. If you’ve already read my old Galileo post Extracting the stopper, this is just a shorter punchier version of the same. If not or if you want to read the updated sexy version then mosey on over to AEON and read Galileo’s reputation is more hyperbole than truth.

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Filed under History of science, Myths of Science

The Reformation, Astrology, and Mathematics in Schools and Universities.

It is one of the ironies of the medieval universities that mathematics played almost no role in undergraduate education. It is ironical because the curriculum was nominally based on the seven liberal arts of which the mathematical sciences – arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy – formed one half, the quadrivium. Although the quadrivium was officially a large part of the curriculum in reality the four mathematical disciplines were paid little attention and hardly taught at all. This only began to change in the fifteenth century with the rise of astro-medicine or iatromathematics, to give it its formal name. With the rise of this astrology-based medicine the humanist universities of Northern Italy and Kraków introduced chairs of mathematics to teach astrology to their students of medicine. This of course entailed first teaching mathematics and then astronomy in order to be able to do astrology and thus mathematics gained a first foothold in the European universities. Ingolstadt became the first German university to introduce a chair for mathematics, also for teaching astrology to medical students, in the 1470s. It became an important centre for seeding new chairs at other universities with its graduates. Stabius and Stiborius going from there to Vienna with Celtis, for example. However there was no systematic introduction of mathematics into the university curriculum as of yet, this would first come as a result of the Reformation and the educational reforms of Philip Melanchthon.

Melanchthon in 1526: engraving by Albrecht Dürer Translation of Latin caption: «Dürer was able to draw Philip’s face, but the learned hand could not paint his spirit». Source: Wikimedia Commons

Melanchthon in 1526: engraving by Albrecht Dürer Translation of Latin caption: «Dürer was able to draw Philip’s face, but the learned hand could not paint his spirit».
Source: Wikimedia Commons

Melanchthon was born Philip Schwartzerdt in Bretten near Karlsruhe on 16 February 1497. A great nephew of Johann Reuchlin a leading humanist scholar Philip changed his name to Melanchthon, a literal Greek translation of his German name, which means black earth, at Reuchlin’s suggestion. Melanchthon was a child prodigy who would grow up to be Germany’s greatest humanist scholar. He studied at Heidelberg University where he was denied his master degree in 1512 on account of his youth. He transferred to Tübingen where he came under the influence of Johannes Stöffler, one of those Ingolstadt graduates, a leading and highly influential mathematician/astrologer.

Johannes Stöffler Source Wikimedia Commons

Johannes Stöffler
Source Wikimedia Commons

The cosmograph Sebastian Münster was another of Stöffler’s famous pupils. Stöffler also has a great influence on several of the Nürnberger mathematician-astronomers, especial Johannes Schöner and Georg Hartmann. Under Stöffler’s influence Melanchthon became a passionate supporter of astrology.

On Reuchlin’s recommendation Melanchthon became professor of Greek at Luther’s University of Wittenberg at the age of twenty-one and thus a central figure in the Reformation. One of the major problems faced by the reformers was the fact that the education system was totally in the hands of the Catholic Church, which meant that they had to start from scratch and create their own school and university system; this task was taken on by Melanchthon, who became Luther’s Preceptor Germania, Germany’s Schoolmaster.

Because of his own personal passion for astrology Melanchthon introduced mathematics into the curriculum of all the Lutheran schools and universities. He invented a new type of school on a level between the old Church Latin schools and the universities that were devised to prepare their pupils for a university education. The very first of these was the Eigidien Oberschule in Nürnberg, which opened in 1526 with Johannes Schöner, as its first professor for mathematics.

Johannes_Schoner_Astronomer_01

These type of school created by Melanchthon would become the Gymnasium, still today the highest level secondary schools in the German education system.

In Wittenberg he appointed Johannes Volmar (1480-1536) professor for the higher mathematic, music and astronomy, and Jakob Milich (1501- 1559) professor for the lower mathematic, arithmetic and geometry, in 1525. Their most famous students were Erasmus Reinhold, who followed Volmar on the chair for higher mathematics when he died in 1536, and Georg Joachim Rheticus, who followed Milich on the chair for lower mathematics, in the same year when Milich became professor for medicine. Schöner, Reinhold and Rheticus were not the only mathematicians supported by Melanchthon, who played an important role in the dissemination of the heliocentric astronomy. Although following Melanchthon’s lead these Protestant mathematicians treated the heliocentric hypothesis in a purely instrumentalist manner, i.e. it is not true but is mathematically useful, they taught it in their university courses alongside the geocentric astronomy.

As a result of Melanchthon’s passion for astrology the Lutheran Protestant schools and universities of Europe all had departments for the study of mathematics headed by qualified professors. The Catholic schools and universities would have to wait until the end of the sixteenth century before Christoph Clavius did the same for them, although his motivation was not astrology. Sadly Anglican England lagged well behind the continent with Oxford first appointing professors for geometry and astronomy in the 1620s at the bequest of Henry Savile, who had had to go abroad to receive his own mathematical education. Cambridge only followed suit with the establishment of the Lucasian Chair in 1663, whose first occupant was Isaac Barrow followed by that other Isaac, Newton. In 1705 John Arbuthnot could still complain in an essay that there was not one single school in England that taught mathematics.

 

 

 

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Filed under History of Astrology, History of Astronomy, History of Mathematics, History of science, Renaissance Science, University History

We’re British not European – Really?

Yesterday evening my #histsci soul sister Becky Higgitt tweeted the following:

Scientists for Britain on #bbcnews – we had Newton therefore we don’t want to be in Europe

As #histsci bloggers both Becky and I have been here before, Becky here on her H-Word blog at the Guardian and myself here on the Renaissance Mathematicus but as it’s something that can’t be said too often, I thought I would point out once again that science is collaborative and international and all attempts to claim it for some sort of lone genius, as is often the case with Newton, or to make nationalist claims on its behalf are a massive distortion of the history of science.

Becky’s tweet specifically mentions Britain’s science icon ‘numero uno’ Isaac Newton, so let’s take a look at his scientific achievements and the foundations on which they were built. As Newton, paraphrasing Bernard of Chartres, famously wrote in a letter to Robert Hooke: If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants. So who were these giants on whose shoulders Newton was perched? What follows is a bit shopping list I’m afraid and is by no means exhaustive, listing only the better known names of the predecessors in each area of study where Newton made a contribution.

Newton’s mathematics built on the work in algebra of Cardano and Bombelli, both Italians, and Stifel, a German, from the sixteenth century. Their work was built on the efforts of quite a large number of Islamic mathematicians who in turn owed a debt to the Indians and Babylonians. Moving on into the seventeenth century we have Viète, Fermat, Pascal and Descartes, all of them Frenchmen, as well as Oughtred, Wallis and Barrow representing the English and James Gregory the Scots. Italy is represented by Cavalieri. The Dutch are represented by Huygens and Van Schooten, whose expanded Latin edition of Descartes Géométrie was Newton’s chief source on the continental mathematics.

We see a similar pattern in Newton’s optics where the earliest influence is the 10/11th century Islamic scholar Ibn al-Haytham, although largely filtered through the work of others. In the seventeenth century we have Kepler and Schiener, both Germans, Descartes, the Frenchman, and Huygens, the Dutchman, pop up again along with Grimaldi, an Italian, Gassendi, another Frenchman, and James Gregory a Scot and last but by no means least Robert Hooke.

In astronomy we kick off in the fifteenth century with Peuerbach and Regiomontanus, an Austrian and a German, followed in the sixteenth century by Copernicus, another German. All three of course owed a large debt to numerous earlier Islamic astronomers. Building on Copernicus we have Tycho, a Dane, Kepler, a German, and of course Galileo, a Tuscan. France is once again represented by Descartes along with Ismael Boulliau. Also very significant are Cassini, an Italian turned Frenchman, and once again the ubiquitous Huygens. At last we can throw in a gaggle of Englishmen with Horrocks, Wren, Flamsteed, Halley and Hooke.

In physics we have the usual suspects with Kepler and Galileo to which we can add the two Dutchmen Stevin and Beeckman. Descartes and Pascal are back for the French and Borelli joins Galileo in representing Italy. Huygens once again plays a central role and one should not forget Hooke’s contributions on gravity.

As I said at the beginning these lists are by no means exhaustive but I think that they demonstrate very clearly that Newton’s achievements were very much a pan-European affair and thus cannot in anyway be used as an argument for an English or British science existing without massive European cooperation.

If we look at Newton’s scientific inheritance then things look rather bad for the British in the eighteenth century with the developments being made by a whole battalion of French, Swiss, German, Dutch and Italian researchers with not a Brit in sight anywhere. Things improved somewhat in the nineteenth century but even here the progress is truly international. If we take just one small example the dethroning of Newton’s corpuscular theory of light by the wave theory. Originated by Huygens and Hooke in the seventeenth century it was championed by Ampère, Fresnel, Poisson and Arago all of whom were French and by Young and Airy for the British in the nineteenth century.

I hope that yet again, with this brief example, I have made clear that science is a collaborative and cooperative enterprise that doesn’t acknowledge or respect national boundaries but wanders through the cultures where and when it pleases, changing nationalities and languages at will. Science is a universal human activity to which many different and varied cultures have made contributions and will continue to do so in the future. Science should have absolutely nothing to do with nationalism and chauvinism and politicians who try and harness it to their nationalist causes by corrupting its history are despicable.

 

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Filed under History of science, Myths of Science, Newton

Christoph and the Calendar

The first substantive history of science post that I wrote on this blog was about the Jesuit mathematician and astronomer Christoph Clavius. I wrote this because at the time I was preparing a lecture on the life and work of Clavius to be held in his hometown Bamberg. Clavius is one of my local history of science celebrities and over the years I have become the local default Clavius expert and because of his involvement in the Gregorian calendar reform of 1572 I have also become the local default expert on that topic too.

Christoph Clavius

Christoph Clavius

All of this means that I have become very sensitive to incorrect statements about either Clavius or the Gregorian calendar reform and particularly sensitive to false statements about Clavius’ involvement in the latter. Some time back the Atlas Obscura website had a ‘time week’ featuring a series of blog post on the subject of time one of which, When The Pope Made 10 Days Disappear, was about the Gregorian calendar reform and contained the following claim:

The new lead astronomer on the project, Jesuit prodigy Christopher Clavius, considered this and other proposals for five years.

The brief statement contains three major inaccuracies, the most important of which, is that Clavius as not the lead astronomer, or lead anything else for that matter, on the project. This is a very widespread misconception and one to which I devote a far amount of time when I lecture on the subject, so I thought I would clear up the matter in a post. Before doing so I would point out that I have never come across any other reference to Clavius as a prodigy and there is absolutely nothing in his biography to suggest that he was one. That was the second major inaccuracy for those who are counting.

Before telling the correct story we need to look at the wider context as presented in the article before the quote I brought above we have the following:

A hundred years later, Pope Gregory XIII rolled up his sleeves and went for it in earnest. After a call for suggestions, he was brought a gigantic manuscript. This was the life’s work of physician Luigi Lilio, who argued for a “slow 10-day correction” to bring things back into alignment, and a new leap year system to keep them that way. This would have meant that years divisible by 100 but not by 400 (e.g. 1800, 1900, and 2100) didn’t get the extra day, thereby shrinking the difference between the solar calendar and the Earthly calendar down to a mere .00031 days, or 26 seconds.

Luigi LIlio Source: Wikimedia Commons

Luigi LIlio
Source: Wikimedia Commons

This is correct as far as it goes, although there were two Europe wide appeals for suggestions and we don’t actually know how many different suggestions were made as the relevant documents are missing from the Vatican archives. It should also be pointed out the Lilio was a physician/astronomer/astrologer and not just simply a physician. Whether or not his manuscript was gigantic is not known because it no longer exists. Having decided to consider Lilio’s proposal this was not simply passed on to Christoph Clavius, who was a largely unknown mathematicus at the time, which should be obvious to anybody who gives more than five minutes thought to the subject.

The problem with the calendar, as far as the Church was concerned, was that they were celebrating Easter the most important doctrinal festival in the Church calendar on the wrong date. This was not a problem that could be decided by a mere mathematicus, at a time when the social status of a mathematicus was about the level of a bricklayer, it was far too important for that. This problem required a high-ranking Church commission and one was duly set up. This commission did not consider the proposal for five years but for at least ten and possibly more, again we are not sure due to missing documents. It is more than likely that the membership of the commission changed over the period of its existence but because we don’t have the minutes of its meetings we can only speculate. What we do have is the signatures of the nine members of the commission who signed the final proposal that was presented to the Pope at the end of their deliberations. It is to these names that we will now turn our attention.

The names fall into three distinct groups of three of which the first consists of the high-ranking clerics who actually lead this very important enquiry into a fundamental change in Church doctrinal practice. The chairman of the committee was of course a cardinal,Guglielmo Sirleto (1514–1584) a distinguished linguist and from 1570 Vatican librarian.

Cardinal Guglielmo Sirleto Source: Wikimedia Commons

Cardinal Guglielmo Sirleto
Source: Wikimedia Commons

The vice chairman was Bishop Vincenzo Lauro (1523–1592) a Papal diplomat who was created cardinal in 1583. Next up was Ignatius Nemet Aloho Patriarch of Antioch and head of the Syriac Orthodox Church till his forced resignation in 1576. Ignatius was like his two Catholic colleagues highly knowledgeable of astronomy and was brought into the commission because of his knowledge of Arabic astronomy and also to try to make the reform acceptable to the Orthodox Churches. The last did not function as the Orthodox Churches initially rejected the reform only adopting it one after the other over the centuries with the exception of the Russian Eastern Orthodox Churches, whose church calendar is still the Julian one, which is why they celebrate Christmas on 6 7 January.

Our second triplet is a mixed bag. First up we have Leonardo Abela from Malta who functioned as Ignatius’ translator, he couldn’t speak Latin, and witnessed his signature on the commissions final report. He is followed by Seraphinus Olivarius an expert lawyer, whose role was to check that the reform did not conflict with any aspects of cannon law. The third member of this group was Pedro Chacón a Spanish mathematician and historian, whose role was to check that the reform was in line with the doctrines of the Church Fathers.

Our final triplet consists of what might be termed the scientific advisors. Heading this group is Antonio Lilio the brother of Luigi and like his brother a physician and astronomer. He was here to elucidate Luigi’s plan, as Luigi was already dead. The lead astronomer, to use the Atlas Obscura phase, was the Dominican monk Ignazio Danti (1536–1582) mathematician, astronomer, cosmographer, architect and instrument maker.

Ignazio Danti Source: Wikimedia Commons

Ignazio Danti
Source: Wikimedia Commons

In a distinguished career Danti was cosmographer to Cosimo I, Duke of Tuscany whilst professor of mathematics at the university of Pissa, professor of mathematics at the University of Bologna and finally pontifical mathematicus in Rome. For the Pope Danti painted the Gallery of Maps in the Cortile del Belvedere in the Vatican Palace and deigned and constructed the instruments in the Sundial Rome of the Gregorian Tower of Tower of Winds above the Gallery of Maps.

Map of Italy, Corsica and Sardinia - Gallery of Maps - Vatican Museums. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Map of Italy, Corsica and Sardinia – Gallery of Maps – Vatican Museums.
Source: Wikimedia Commons

After the calendar reform the Pope appointed him Bishop of Altari. Danti was one of the leading mathematical practitioners of the age, who was more than capable of supplying all the scientific expertise necessary for the reform, so what was the role of Christoph Clavius the last signer of the commission’s recommendation.

The simple answer to this question is that we don’t know; all we can do is speculate. When Clavius (1538–1612) first joined the commission he was, in comparison to Danti, a relative nobody so his appointment to this high level commission with its all-star cast is somewhat puzzling. Apart from his acknowledged mathematical skills it seems that his membership of the Jesuit Order and his status as a Rome insider are the most obvious reasons. Although relative young the Jesuit Order was already a powerful group within the Church and would have wanted one of theirs in such a an important commission. The same thought concerns Clavius’ status as a Rome insider. The Church was highly fractional and all of the other members of the commission came from power bases outside of Rome, whereas Clavius, although a German, as professor at the Collegio Romano counted as part of the Roman establishment, thus representing that establishment in the commission. It was probably a bit of all three reasons that led to Clavius’ appointment.

Having established that Clavius only had a fairly lowly status within the commission how did the very widespread myth come into being that he was somehow the calendar reform man? Quite simply after the event he did in fact become just that.

When Pope Gregory accepted the recommendations of the commission and issued the papal bull Inter gravissimas on 24 February 1582, ordering the introduction of the new calendar on 4 October of the same year,

Inter-grav

he granted Antonio Lilio an exclusive licence to write a book describing the details of the calendar reform and the modifications made to the process of calculating the date of Easter. The sales of the book, which were expected to be high, would then be the Lilio family’s reward for Luigi Lilio having created the mathematical basis of the reform. Unfortunately Antonio Lilio failed to deliver and after a few years the public demand for a written explanation of the reform had become such that the Pope commissioned Clavius, who had by now become a leading European astronomer and mathematician, to write the book instead. Clavius complied with the Pope’s wishes and wrote and published his Novi calendarii romani apologia, Rome 1588, which would become the first of a series of texts explaining and defending the calendar reform. The later was necessary because the reform was not only attacked on religious grounds by numerous Protestants, but also on mathematical and astronomical grounds by such leading mathematicians as François Viète and Michael Maestlin. Over the years Clavius wrote and published several thousand pages defending and explicating the Gregorian calendar reform and it is this work that has linked him inseparably with the calendar reform and not his activities in the commission.

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Filed under History of Astronomy, History of Mathematics, History of science, Local Heroes, Renaissance Science

The orbital mechanics of Johann Georg Locher a seventeenth-century Tychonic anti-Copernican

Our favourite guest blogger Chris Graney is back with a question. Busy translating the Disquisitiones mathematicae de controversis et novitatibus astronomicis (1614) of Johann Georg Locher, a student of Christoph Scheiner at the University of Ingolstadt, he came across a fascinating theory of orbital mechanics, which he outlines in this post. Chris’s question is how does this theory fit in with seventeenth-century force dependent orbital theories? Read the post and enlighten Chris with your history of astronomy wisdom!

Did Johann Georg Locher write something very interesting in 1614 about how the Earth could orbit the Sun under the influence of gravity? I am hoping that the RM and his many readers might be able to weigh in on this.

Who is Locher? He is the author of the 1614 Disquisitiones Mathematicae (Mathematical Disquisitions), an anti-Copernican book known primarily because Galileo made sport of it within his Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems: Ptolemaic and Copernican. It is the “booklet of theses, which is full of novelties” that Galileo has the anti-Copernican Simplicio drag out in order to defend one or another wrong-headed idea. Galileo describes the booklet’s author as producing arguments full of “falsehoods and fallacies and contradictions,” as “thinking up, one by one, things that would be required to serve his purposes, instead of adjusting his purposes step by step to things as they are,” and as being excessively bold and self-confident, “setting himself up to refute another’s doctrine while remaining ignorant of the basic foundations upon which the greatest and most important parts of the whole structure are supported.” As far as I can tell, little is known about Locher himself other than what he says in his book: he was from Munich; he studied at Ingolstadt under the Jesuit astronomer Christopher Scheiner. This is the same Scheiner who Galileo debated regarding sunspots. Some writers treat the Disquisitions as Scheiner’s work.

I became better acquainted with the Disquisitions through Dennis Danielson’s work on Milton, in which it plays a part. This prompted me to look at Locher’s work directly. Then I discovered that Locher wields Tycho Brahe’s star size argument against Copernicus, that he illustrates the Disquisitions lavishly, and that the Disquisitions is short. So I decided to read and translate it cover-to-cover.

The Disquisitions turns out to be fascinating. It is nothing like what one might expect from reading the Dialogue. And among the gems within it is this thing that Locher thinks up:

Imagine an L-shaped rod, buried in the Earth, with a heavy iron ball attached to it, as shown in the left-hand figure below. The heaviness or gravity of the ball (that is, its action of trying to reach its natural place at the center of the universe—in 1614 Newtonian physics was many decades in the future; Aristotelian physics was the rule) presses down on the rod, but the rigidity of the rod keeps the ball from falling.

Now imagine the rod being hinged at the Earth’s surface (at point A in the right-hand figure below). The heaviness of the ball will now cause the rod to pivot about the hinge. The ball will fall along an arc of a circle whose center is A, striking the Earth at B.

Fig1

Now imagine the Earth is made smaller relative to the rod. The same thing will still occur—the rod pivots; the iron ball falls in a circular arc (below left). If the Earth is imagined to be smaller still, the rod will be what hits the ground, not the ball (below right), so the ball stops at C, but the ball still falls in a circular arc whose center is A.

Fig2

If you imagine the Earth to be smaller and smaller, the ball still falls, driven by its gravity, in a circular arc (below). You can see where Locher is going! He is thinking his way toward a limiting case.

Fig3

At last Locher says to imagine the rod to be pivoting on the center of the universe itself—the Earth vanishing to a point. Surely, he says, in this situation, a complete and perpetual revolution will take place around that same pivot point A (fiet reuolutio integra & perpetua circa idem A).

Fig4

Now, he says, we have demonstrated that perpetual circular motion of a heavy body is possible. And if we imagine the Earth in the place of the iron ball, suspended over the center of the universe, now we have a thought experiment (cogitatione percipi possit—it may be able to be perceived by thought) that shows how the Earth might be made to revolve about that center (and about the sun, which would be at the center in the Copernican system). But this sort of thing does not exist, he says, and if it did exist, it would not help the Copernicans any, because no phenomena are saved—that is, no observations are explained—by means of it.

Below is Locher’s sketch of this. Curves MN, OP, and QR are the surface of the Earth, being imagined smaller and smaller. S is the iron ball. A is the center of the universe. Circle CHIC is the path of the orbiting ball.

Fig5

So it seems that in 1614 an anti-Copernican—a student of one of Galileo’s adversaries—proposed a mechanism to explain the orbit of the Earth, and that mechanism involved a fall under a central force. This is not the Newtonian explanation of Earth’s orbit, but it does have significant elements in common with Newton. And, Locher was definitely an anti-Copernican. Indeed, while he illustrates telescopic discoveries such as the phases of Venus, and states that the telescope shows that the world is structured according to the Tychonic system (sun, moon, and stars circle Earth, planets circle sun), he clearly rejects Copernicus—on the grounds of the star size problem (and the Copernican tendency to invoke the Creator’s majesty to get around that problem) and on the grounds that a moving Earth grossly complicates the motions of bodies moving over its surface.

Fig6

The history of orbital mechanics is not my bailiwick, so I ask RM readers whether they think Locher is a “first”? Is this really as interesting as it seems to me? Or do RM readers know of others who proposed the “an orbit is a fall under a central force” idea prior to Locher? Whether I search in English or in Latin I can find neither primary nor secondary sources that discuss the Disquisitions’ treatment of orbits, nor can I find primary or secondary sources that discuss orbits and central forces in general prior to the late-seventeenth century. In fact, I can find little written on the Disquisitions itself (outside of its role in the Dialogue), and what I have found typically conflicts with what is actually in the Disquisitions (for example, one author describes the Disquisitions as a book “in which the proponents of Earth’s motion were violently attacked,” but actually Locher’s worst words are for Simon Marius, a fellow supporter of the Tychonic system, while his most favorable words are for Galileo). But many of you are much more well-read than I am.

My searches did turn up one interesting item, however. Locher uses the term forced suspension to describe what is going on in an orbit (motus huius continui caussa est violenta suspensio—the cause of this continuing motion is forced suspension) and I have found that term in what appears to be another seventeenth-century Jesuit’s commentary on the work of Thomas Aquinas.

With luck the translation of Disquisitions will be published in a year or so.

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Christmas Trilogy 2015 Part 1: The famous witty Mrs Barton

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Younger readers might be excused if they thought that the IT Girl phenomenon, as illustrated by the likes of Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, was a product of the computer social media age but those of us who are somewhat more mature can remember such as Jacqueline Lee “Jackie” Kennedy Onassis (née Bouvier) and Bianca Jagger (born Bianca Pérez-Mora Macias), who were IT Girls of their respective generations. In fact I assume there have been IT Girls as long as there has been human society. That is young attractive women, who became famous or even infamous purely on the strength of their appearances and social behaviour.

In the Augustan age of London at the beginning of the eighteenth century one such IT Girl was Catherine Barton who’s beauty was celebrated at the Kit-Kat Club, drinking den of the Whig Party grandees, in the following verse[1]:

At Barton’s feet the God of Love

His Arrows and his Quiver lays,

Forgets he has a Throne above,

And with this lovely Creature stays.

Not Venus’ Beauties are more bright,

But each appear so like the other,

That Cupid has mistook the Right,

And takes the Nymph to be his Mother.

Apparently the only image of the young Catherine Barton Source: Wikimedia Commons

Apparently the only image of the young Catherine Barton
Source: Wikimedia Commons

Now those not already in the know are probably wondering why I’m wittering on about an eighteenth-century It Girl instead of the history of science, especially in the first part of my traditional Christmas Trilogy, which is normally dedicated to Isaac Newton who was born 25 December 1642 (os). The answer is very simple, because the charming Catherine Barton was Newton’s niece, the daughter of his half sister Hannah Baton née Smith, and his housekeeper for part of the thirty years that he lived in London.

It is not know for certain when Newton brought his niece, who was born in 1679, from her native Lincolnshire to look after his house in London but not before 1696 when he first moved there himself and probably not later than 1700, however she stayed with her uncle until she married John Conduitt in 1717.

As well as being the toast of London’s high society Catherine Barton played an important part in Newton’s London life. For example she was closely acquainted with the satirist Jonathan Swift and it was through his friendship with Barton that the Tory Swift approached the Whig Newton in 1713 to try to persuade him to relinquish the Mastership of the Mint, an important political sinecure that the Tories wished to bestow on one of their own, in exchange for a state pension of £2,000 per annum, a very large sum of money. An offer than Newton simply refused remaining Master of the Mint until his death.

Catherine’s fame or maybe notoriety extended beyond London to the continent. Rémond de Monmort, a member of the French Regency Council, who met her in 1716 whilst visiting Newton later wrote of her, “I have retained the most magnificent idea in the world of her wit and her beauty”. More famously Voltaire wrote of her:

I thought in my youth that Newton made his fortune by his merit. I supposed that the Court and the city of London named him Master of the Mint by acclamation. No such thing. Isaac Newton had a very charming niece, Madame Conduitt, who made a conquest of the minister Halifax. Fluxions and gravitation would have been of no use without a pretty niece.

Voltaire was wrong. It was indeed Charles Montagu, Lord Halifax, who appointed Newton initially to the Wardenship of the Mint in 1696, the two had been friends when Montagu was a student at Cambridge in the 1680s, but this was before Newton had brought Catherine to London so Montagu could not have known her then. However Voltaire’s quip was almost certainly based on knowledge of a real scandal involving Lord Halifax and Catherine Barton.

Charles Montagu, 1st Earl of Halifax by Sir Godfrey Kneller (NPG) Source: Wikimedia Commons

Charles Montagu, 1st Earl of Halifax by Sir Godfrey Kneller (NPG)
Source: Wikimedia Commons

Halifax had become acquainted with Catherine by 1703 at the latest when he engraved a toasting glass at the Kit-Kat Club with her name and composed the following verse to her:

Stampt with her reigning Charms, this Standard Glass

Shall current through the Realms of Bacchus pass;

Full fraught with beauty shall new Flames impart,

And mint her shining Image on the Heart.

 

Montagu may have been a successful politician and a great economics expert but he was no poet. Toasting a beauty at the Kit-Kat Club does not constitute a scandal but Halifax’s will, originally drafted in 1706, did. In a codicil he bequeathed Catherine £3,000 and all his jewels, “as a small Token of the great Love and Affection I have long had for her”. Faced with this anything but small token, and there was worse to come, Newton’s nineteenth-century biographers were left snapping for air in their attempts to find a not scandalous explanation for this act. Later in the year he even purchased a £200 per annum annuity for her. Was she his lover, his mistress? This explanation seems to offer itself. In 1710 Mrs Mary de la Rivière Manly a Tory satirist published a satire on the Whig’s, which featured a mistress called Bartica for the Halifax figure.

As I said above, the situation got worse in 1713 when Halifax revoked the first codicil and drew up a new one bequeathing £5,000 to Mrs Barton with the grant during her life of the rangership and lodge of Bushey Park and all its furnishings, to enable her to maintain the house and garden, the manor of Apscourt in Surrey. “These Gifts and Legacies, I leave to her as a Token of the sincere Love, Affection, and Esteem I have long had for her Person, and as a small Recompence for the Pleasure and Happiness I have had in her Conversation”.

Flamsteed, always eager to to get in a jibe against Newton, writing to Abraham Sharp on hearing of the bequest after Halifax’s death said sarcastically that it was given to Mrs Barton “for her excellent conversation”. In his desperate attempt to avoid the obvious implications for the morality of the Newton household, Augustus De Morgan, in his Newton biography, constructed a secrete marriage between Catherine and Halifax to explain the level of the bequest, which now, including the worth of the house, stood at about £25,000, a very large sum indeed. However when Catherine married John Conduitt, a retired soldier, following a whirlwind romance in 1717, she gave her status as spinster and not widow. Newton appeared to have no problems with the bequest, ever a shrewd businessman rather than a moralist, as he assisted Catherine with negotiations with Halifax’s heirs to settle the bequest.

Catherine is also one of two sources for the infamous apple story, the other being William Stukeley, Newton’s personal physician in his later life. Her version of the story appears in her husbands never finished or published memoir of Newton’s life and more importantly, it was she who told the story to Voltaire, who published it and thus started the legend.

Newton spent his last days living with the Conduitts and it fell to Catherine’s husband John to divide up the spoils amongst the various half brothers and sisters and their offspring. These eager to screw as much as possible out of Uncle Isaac’s estate forced Conduitt to sell off Newton’s extensive library of almost 2,000 volumes and wanted him to also sell off Newton’s papers convinced that anything connected with the great man would fetch a good price. Conduitt persuaded them to let the papers be sorted and evaluated for publication and in the end only Newton’s Chronology, an original draft of Principia and his Observations upon the Prophecies were printed and published the rest of his papers becoming the property of Catherine and her husband. After their deaths the papers passed to their daughter Catherine, who married the Hon. John Wallop, Viscount Lymington. Their son became the second Earl of Portsmouth and thus Newton’s papers were passed down through the years by the Portsmouth family who eventually disposed of them in the 1930s, but what became of them then is another story.

Female beauty and glamour are not things that one would normally think of if somebody mentions the name of Isaac Newton, but through the famous witty Mrs Barton these things did indeed play a role in Newton’s later life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] This and all other quotes, as indeed the meat of the story, are all taken from Richard Westfall’s excellent Newton biography Never at Rest

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The greatest villain in the history of science?

In the popular version of the so-called astronomical revolution Andreas Osiander, who was born on the 19th December 1496 or 1498, is very often presented as the greatest villain in the history of science because he dared to suggest in the ad lectorum (to the reader) that he added to the front of Copernicus’ De revolutionibus that one could regard the heliocentric hypothesis as a mere mathematical model and not necessarily a true representation of the cosmos. Is the judgement of history just and who was Andreas Osiander anyway?

Andreas Osiander portrait by Georg Pencz Source: Wikimedia Commons

Andreas Osiander portrait by Georg Pencz
Source: Wikimedia Commons

Andreas Osiander was born in Gunzenhausen, a small town to the south of Nürnberg, the son of Endres Osannder a smith and Anna Herzog. His father was also a local councillor, who later became mayor. He entered the University of Ingolstadt in 1515 where he, amongst other things, studied Hebrew under Johannes Reuchlin one of the greatest humanist scholars in Germany at that time, the great uncle from Philipp Melanchthon and the leading Hebrew scholar of the age. In 1520 Osiander was ordained a priest and called to Nürnberg to teach Hebrew at the Augustinian Cloister. This had been a major centre for reformatory debate for a number of years and it is here that Osiander became a religious reformer. In 1522 he was appointed preacher at the Saint Lorenz church in Nürnberg and became the leading voice for religious reform in the city. In 1525 Nürnberg, a city-state, became the first state to officially adopt the Lutheran Protestant religion, and Osiander became a highly influential and powerful figure. He was largely responsible for converting Albrecht of Prussia to Protestantism and also had a major influence on Thomas Cranmer, later Archbishop of Canterbury and author of the Common Book of Prayer. A trivial pursuits fact is that Cranmer married one of Osiander’s nieces.

Osiander’s first links with the printer/publisher Johannes Petreius was as the author of polemical religious tracts, which Petreius published. How he became an editor for Petreius is not know. It is also not known when and where Osiander developed his interest in and knowledge of the mathematical sciences. What is certain is that it was Osiander who, after Petreius had discovered Cardano’s books at the book fair in Frankfurt, who wrote to the Italian mathematician/physician/philosopher on Petreius’ behalf offering to publish his books in Germany; an offer that Cardano was more than willing to accept. Osiander then became the editor of those books of Cardano’s that Petreius published over the years; a service for which Cardano thanks him very warmly in the preface to one of his books, praising him highly for his abilities as an editor.

When Rheticus published his account of Copernicus’ heliocentric astronomy in his Narratio Prima, in the form of an open letter addressed to Johannes Schöner, another of Petreius’ editors, it was Osiander who wrote to Rheticus on behalf of the publishing house showing great interest in the cyclical astrological theory of history outlined by Rheticus in his little book.

After Rheticus had brought the manuscript of De revolutionibus to Nürnberg, Philipp Melanchthon pressured him to take up the professorship for mathematics in Leipzig and Osiander took over the task of seeing the text through the press. It is here that Osiander added the ad lectorum to the finished book, which has, over the centuries, pulled down so much odium on his head. Is this harsh judgement of his actions justified or have we, as I believe, been blaming the wrong man for the last four and a half centuries.

In the early days of printing there was no such thing as authors rights. The rights to a book lay with the printer/publisher, who was also the first port of call should the authorities decide that a book or pamphlet was seditious, blasphemous or in any other way unacceptable. And please remember our concepts of freedom of speech simply did not exist in sixteenth-century Europe. The ad lectorum was added to De revolutionibus certainly with Petreius’ knowledge and almost certainly at his instigation. This is confirmed by his reaction as Copernicus’ friend Bishop Tiedemann Giese complained to the city council of Nürnberg about the inclusion of the ad lectorum in his dead friend’s magnum opus. Consulted by the council on the subject Petreius basically flew off the handle and told them to get stuffed, it was his book and he’d put what the hell he liked in it.

Osiander continued to edit the books of Cardano for Petreius but in 1548 the city of Nürnberg accepted the Augsburg Interim an edict issued by Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, who had just won a decisive victory against the Protestant forces, forcing the Protestant states within the Empire to revert to Catholicism. In a moonlight flit Osiander fled the city of Nürnberg and made his way north to Königsberg, where Albrecht appointed him professor of theology at the newly established university. This caused much bad blood, as Osiander was not a qualified theologian. In this position Osiander became embroiled in a major theological dispute with the supporters of Melanchthon in Wittenberg over the doctrine of justification. This dispute is known in German church history as the Osiander Dispute and led to a schism between the two parties, with Osiander basically forming his own branch of Protestantism.

Osiander died in 1552 a controversial figure both in the history of religion and the history of science. However as I have sketched above I think his bad reputation in the history of science is not really justified and the real villain of the piece, if there is one, is Johannes Petreius. I say if there is one, because many historians are of the opinion that the ad lectorum saved the De revolutionibus from being condemned straight away, when it was published, and allowed the heliocentric hypothesis it contained to spread relatively unhindered and become established.

 

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Filed under Early Scientific Publishing, History of Astronomy, History of science, Renaissance Science