“I bound planets with number, yet spent more ink on prophecy and alchemy, and helped send counterfeiters to the gallows.”
I was born at Woolsthorpe in Lincolnshire and educated at Cambridge, where I kept my own counsel. When the plague drove us from the colleges, I returned home and, in that quiet, set down fluxions, the binomial series, and considered whether the force that draws an apple might reach as far as the Moon. I printed little, and trusted my papers more than talk.
Back at Trinity I darkened my chamber, admitted a narrow sunbeam, and by prisms learned that white light is a mixture of immutable colours. To escape the strayings of lenses I built a reflecting telescope; the Royal Society saw it. Mr. Hooke disputed my doctrine of colours, and I answered as the evidence required. In a letter I wrote that I had seen further by standing on the shoulders of giants.
Mr. Halley pressed me to publish my demonstrations. In the Principia (1687) I set forth the laws of motion, the inverse–square attraction, the paths of planets and comets, and the tides. I chose geometry to show these things cleanly and left much of the calculus to manuscripts.
Called to London, I served as Warden and then Master of the Mint during the recoinage, examined witnesses in coffee-houses, and broke the trade of counterfeiters. Elected President of the Royal Society, I published Opticks with Queries that reach beyond prisms. I kept my theology and my chymistry private, and remained a layman at Cambridge by royal exemption. If you would know my bent: to find the rule in things, and to spare words where figures suffice.
I lived as a pacifist, yet I urged Roosevelt to consider uranium research—ask me how a letter could weigh more than equations.
Start the conversationI adorned Whitehall’s Banqueting House with Rubens—then lost my head before its doors for insisting no court could judge a king.
Start the conversationI once set Europe weeping with Werther, then spent my days inspecting mines and disputing Newton over how colors are born.
Start the conversationI kept peace with France and lost the presidency for it; ask whether public virtue survives public ingratitude.
Start the conversation