by E. T. Bell
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I. There had been gossip that Newton’s favorite niece had used her charms to further Newton’s advancement.
II. The problem was to find the orthogonal trajectories of any one-parameter family of curves (in modern language).
CHAPTER SEVEN
Master of All Trades
LEIBNIZ
I have so many ideas that may perhaps be of some use in time if others more penetrating than I go deeply into them some day and join the beauty of their minds to the labor of mine.—G. W. LEIBNIZ
“JACK OF ALL TRADES, master of none” has its spectacular exceptions like any other folk proverb, and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (16461716) is one of them.
Mathematics was but one of the many fields in which Leibniz showed conspicuous genius: law, religion, statecraft, history, literature, logic, metaphysics, and speculative philosophy all owe to him contributions, any one of which would have secured his fame and have preserved his memory. “Universal genius” can be applied to Leibniz without hyperbole, as it cannot to Newton, his rival in mathematics and his infinite superior in natural philosophy.
Even in mathematics Leibniz’ universality contrasts with Newton’s undeviating direction to a unique end, that of applying mathematical reasoning to the phenomena of the physical universe: Newton imagined one thing of absolutely the first magnitude in mathematics; Leibniz, two. The first of these was the calculus, the second, combinatorial analysis. The calculus is the natural language of the continuous; combinatorial analysis does for the discrete (see Chapter 1) what the calculus does for the continuous. In combinatorial analysis we are confronted with an assemblage of distinct things, each with an individuality of its own, and we are asked, in the most general situation, to state what relations, if any, subsist between these completely heterogeneous individuals. Here we look, not at the smoothed-out resemblances of our mathematical population, but at whatever it may be that the individuals, as individuals, have in common—obviously not much. In fact it seems as if, in the end, all that we can say combinatorially, comes down to a matter of counting off the individuals in different ways, and comparing the results. That this apparently abstract and seemingly barren procedure should lead to anything of importance is in the nature of a miracle, but it is a fact. Leibniz was a pioneer in this field, and he was one of the first to perceive that the anatomy of logic—“the laws of thought”—is a matter of combinatorial analysis. In our own day the entire subject is being arithmetized.
In Newton the mathematical spirit of his age took definite form and substance. It was inevitable after the work of Cavalieri (15981647), Fermat (1601-1665), Wallis (1616-1703), Barrow (16301677), and others that the calculus should presently get itself organized as an autonomous discipline. Like a crystal being dropped into a saturated solution at the critical instant, Newton solidified the suspended ideas of his time, and the calculus took definite shape. Any mind of the first rank might equally well have served as the crystal. Leibniz was the other first-rate mind of the age, and he too crystallized the calculus. But he was more than an agent for the expression of the spirit of his times, which Newton, in mathematics, was not. In his dream of a “universal characteristic” Leibniz was well over two centuries ahead of his age, again only as concerns mathematics and logic. So far as historical research has yet shown, Leibniz was alone in his second great mathematical dream.
The union in one mind of the highest ability in the two broad, antithetical domains of mathematical thought, the analytical and the combinatorial, or the continuous and the discrete, was without precedent before Leibniz and without sequent after him. He is the one man in the history of mathematics who has had both qualities of thought in a superlative degree. His combinatorial side was reflected in the work of his German successors, largely in trivialities, and it was only in the twentieth century, when the work of Whitehead and Russell, following that of Boole in the nineteenth, partly realized the Leibnizian dream of a universal symbolic reasoning, that the supreme importance for all mathematical and scientific thought of the combinatorial side of mathematics became as significant as Leibniz had predicted that it must. Today Leibniz’ combinatorial method, as developed in symbolic logic and its extensions, is as important for the analysis that he and Newton started toward its present complexity as analysis itself is; for the symbolic method offers the only prospect in sight of clearing mathematical analysis of the paradoxes and antinomies that have infested its foundations since Zeno.
Combinatorial analysis has already been mentioned in connection with the work of Fermat and Pascal in the mathematical theory of probability. This, however, is only a detail in the “universal characteristic” which Leibniz had in mind and toward which (as will appear) he took a considerable first step. But the development and applications of the calculus offered an irresistible attraction to the mathematicians of the eighteenth century, and Leibniz’ program was not taken up seriously till the 1840’s. Thereafter it was again ignored except by a few nonconformists to mathematical fashion until 1910, when the modern movement in symbolic reasoning originated in another Principia, that of Whitehead and Russell, Principia Mathematica.
Since 1910 the program has become one of the major interests of modern mathematics. By a curious sort of “eternal recurrence” the theory of probability, where combinatorial analysis in the narrow sense (as applied by Pascal, Fermat, and their successors) first appeared, has recently come under Leibniz’ program in the fundamental revision of the basic concepts of probability which experience, partly in the new quantum mechanics, has shown to be desirable; and today the theory of probability is on its way to becoming a province in the empire of symbolic logic—“combinatoric” in the broad sense of Leibniz.
The part Leibniz played in the creation of the calculus was noted in the preceding chapter, also the disastrous controversy to which that part gave rise. For long after both Newton and Leibniz were dead and buried (Newton in Westminster Abbey, a relic to be reverenced by the whole English-speaking race; Leibniz, indifferently cast off by his own people, in an obscure grave where only the men with shovels and his own secretary heard the dirt thudding down on the coffin), Newton carried off all the honors—or dishonors, at least wherever English is spoken.
Leibniz did not himself elaborate his great project of reducing all exact reasoning to a symbolical technique. Nor, for that matter, has it been done yet. But he did imagine it all, and he did make a significant start. Servitude to the princelings of his day to earn worthless honors and more money than he needed, the universality of his mind, and exhausting controversies during his last years, all militated against the whole creation of a masterpiece such as Newton achieved in his Principia. In the bare summary of what Leibniz accomplished, his multifarious activities and his restless curiosity, we shall see the familiar tragedy of frustration which has prematurely withered more than one mathematical talent of the highest order—Newton, pursuing a popular esteem not worthy his spitting on, and Gauss seduced from his greater work by his necessity to gain the attention of men who were his intellectual inferiors. Only Archimedes of all the greatest mathematicians never wavered. He alone was born into the social class to which the others strove to elevate themselves; Newton crudely and directly; Gauss indirectly and no doubt subconsciously, by seeking the approbation of men of established reputation and recognized social standing, although he himself was the simplest of the simple. So there may after all be something to be said for aristocracy: its possession by birthright or other social discrimination is the one thing that will teach its fortunate possessor its worthlessness.
In the case of Leibniz the greed for money which he caught from his aristocratic employers contributed to his intellectual dalliance: he was forever disentangling the genealogies of the semi-royal bastards whose descendants paid his generous wages, and proving with his unexcelled knowledge of the law their legitimate claims to duchies into which their careless ancestors had neglected to fornicate them. But more disastrously than his itch for mon
ey his universal intellect, capable of anything and everything had he lived a thousand years instead of a meager seventy, undid him. As Gauss blamed him for doing, Leibniz squandered his splendid talent for mathematics on a diversity of subjects in all of which no human being could hope to be supreme, whereas—according to Gauss—he had in him supremacy in mathematics. But why censure him? He was what he was, and willy-nilly he had to “dree his weird.” The very diffusion of his genius made him capable of the dream which Archimedes, Newton, and Gauss missed—the “universal characteristic.” Others may bring it to realization; Leibniz did his part in dreaming it to be possible.
Leibniz may be said to have lived not one life but several. As a diplomat, historian, philosopher, and mathematician he did enough in each field to fill one ordinary working life. Younger than Newton by about four years, he was born at Leipzig on July 1, 1646, and living only seventy years against Newton’s eighty five, died in Hanover on November 14, 1716. His father was a professor of moral philosophy and came of a good family which had served the government of Saxony for three generations. Thus young Leibniz’ earliest years were passed in an atmosphere of scholarship heavily charged with politics.
At the age of six he lost his father, but not before he had acquired from him a passion for history. Although he attended a school in Leipzig, Leibniz was largely self-taught by incessant reading in his father’s library. At eight he began the study of Latin and by twelve had mastered it sufficiently to compose creditable Latin verse. From Latin he passed on to Greek which he also learned largely by his own efforts.
At this stage his mental development parallels that of Descartes: classical studies no longer satisfied him and he turned to logic. From his attempts as a boy of less than fifteen to reform logic as presented by the classicists, the scholastics, and the Christian fathers, developed the first germs of his Characteristica Universalis or Universal Mathematics, which, as has been shown by Couturat, Russell, and others, is the clue to his metaphysics. The symbolic logic invented by Boole in 1847-54 (to be discussed in a later chapter) is only that part of the Characteristica which Leibniz called calculus raticinator. His own description of the universal characteristic will be quoted presently.
At the age of fifteen Leibniz entered the University of Leipzig as a student in law. The law, however, did not occupy all his time. In his first two years he read widely in philosophy and for the first time became aware of the new world which the modern, or “natural” philosophers, Kepler, Galileo, and Descartes had discovered. Seeing that this newer philosophy could be understood only by one acquainted with mathematics, Leibniz passed the summer of 1663 at the University of Jena, where he attended the mathematical lectures of Erhard Weigel, a man of considerable local reputation but scarcely a mathematician.
On returning to Leipzig he concentrated on law. By 1666, at the age of twenty, he was thoroughly prepared for his doctor’s degree in law. This is the year, we recall, in which Newton began the rustication at Woolsthorpe that gave him the calculus and his law of universal gravitation. The Leipzig faculty, bilious with jealousy, refused Leibniz his degree, officially on account of his youth, actually because he knew more about law than the whole dull lot of them.
Before this he had taken his bachelor’s degree in 1663 at the age of seventeen with a brilliant essay foreshadowing one of the cardinal doctrines of his mature philosophy. We shall not take space to go into this, but it may be mentioned that one possible interpretation of Leibniz’ essay is the doctrine of “the organism as a whole,” which one progressive school of biologists and another of psychologists has found attractive in our own time.
Disgusted at the pettiness of the Leipzig faculty Leibniz left his native town for good and proceeded to Nuremberg where, on November 5, 1666, at the affiliated University of Altdorf, he was not only granted his doctor’s degree at once for his essay on a new method (the historical) of teaching law, but was begged to accept the University professorship of law. But, like Descartes refusing the offer of a lieutenant-generalship because he knew what he wanted out of life, Leibniz declined, saying he had very different ambitions. What these may have been he did not divulge. It seems unlikely that they could have been the higher pettifogging for princelets into which fate presently kicked him. Leibniz’ tragedy was that he met the lawyers before the scientists.
His essay on the teaching of the law and its proposed recodification was composed on the journey from Leipzig to Nuremberg. This illustrates a lifelong characteristic of Leibniz, his ability to work anywhere, at any time, under any conditions. He read, wrote, and thought incessantly. Much of his mathematics, to say nothing of his other wonderings on everything this side of eternity and beyond, was written out in the jolting, draughty rattletraps that bumped him over the cow trails of seventeenth century Europe as he sped hither and thither at his employers’ erratic bidding. The harvest of all this ceaseless activity was a mass of papers, of all sizes and all qualities, as big as a young haystack, that has never been thoroughly sorted, much less published. Today most of it lies baled in the royal Hanover library waiting the patient labors of an army of scholars to winnow the wheat from the straw.
It seems incredible that one head could have been responsible for all the thoughts, published and unpublished, that Leibniz committed to paper. As an item of interest to phrenologists and anatomists it has been stated (whether reliably or not I don’t know) that Leibniz’ skull was dug up, measured, and found to be markedly under the normal adult size. There may be something in this, as many of us have seen perfect idiots with noble brows bulging from heads as big as broth pots.
Newton’s miraculous year 1666 was also the great year for Leibniz. In what he called a “schoolboy’s essay,” De arte combinatoria, the young man of twenty aimed to create “a general method in which all truths of the reason would be reduced to a kind of calculation. At the same time this would be a sort of universal language or script, but infinitely different from all those projected hitherto; for the symbols and even the words in it would direct the reason; and errors, except those of fact, would be mere mistakes in calculation. It would be very difficult to form or invent this language or characteristic, but very easy to understand it without any dictionaries.” In a later description he confidently (and optimistically) estimates how long it would take to carry out his project: “I think a few chosen men could turn the trick within five years.” Toward the end of his life Leibniz regretted that he had been too distracted by other things ever to work out his idea. If he were younger himself or had competent young assistants, he says, he could still do it—a common alibi for a talent squandered on snobbery, greed, and intrigue.
To anticipate slightly, it may be said that Leibniz’ dream struck his mathematical and scientific contemporaries as a dream and nothing more, to be politely ignored as the fixed idea of an otherwise sane and universally gifted genius. In a letter of September 8, 1679, Leibniz (speaking of geometry in particular but of all reasoning in general) tells Huygens of a “new characteristic, entirely different from Algebra, which will have great advantages for representing exactly and naturally to the mind, and without figures, everything that depends on the imagination.”
Such a direct, symbolic way of handling geometry was invented in the nineteenth century by Hermann Grassmann (whose work in algebra generalized that of Hamilton). Leibniz goes on to discuss the difficulties inherent in the project, and presently emphasizes what he considers its superiority over the Cartesian analytic geometry.
“But its principal utility consists in the consequences and reasonings which can be performed by the operations of characters [symbols], which could not be expressed by diagrams (or even by models) without too great elaboration, or without confusing them by an excessive number of points and lines, so that one would be obliged to make an infinity of useless trials: in contrast this method would lead surely and simply [to the desired end]. I believe mechanics could be handled by this method almost like geometry.”
Of the definite th
ings that Leibniz did in that part of his universal characteristic which is now called symbolic logic, we may cite his formulation of the principal properties of logical addition and logical multiplication, negation, identity, the null class, and class inclusion. For an explanation of what some of these terms mean and the postulates of the algebra of logic we must refer ahead to the chapter on Boole. All this fell by the wayside. Had it been picked up by able men when Leibniz scattered it broadcast, instead of in the 1840’s, the history of mathematics might now be quite a different story from what it is. Almost as well never as too soon.
Having dreamed his universal dream at the age of twenty, Leibniz presently turned to something more practical, and he became a sort of corporation lawyer and glorified commercial traveller for the Elector of Mainz. Taking one last spree in the world of dreams before plunging up to his chin into more or less filthy politics, Leibniz devoted some months to alchemy in the company of the Rosicrucians infesting Nuremberg.
It was his essay on a new method of teaching law that undid him. The essay came to the attention of the Elector’s right-hand statesman, who urged Leibniz to have it printed so that a copy might be laid before the august Elector. This was done, and Leibniz, after a personal interview, was appointed to revise the code. Before long he was being entrusted with important commissions of all degrees of delicacy and shadiness. He became a diplomat of the first rank, always pleasant, always open and aboveboard, but never scrupulous, even when asleep. To his genius is due, at least partly, that unstable formula known as the “balance of power.” And for sheer cynical brilliance, it would be hard to surpass, even today, Leibniz’ great dream of a holy war for the conquest and civilization of Egypt. Napoleon was quite chagrined when he discovered that Leibniz had anticipated him in this sublime vision.