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Unfortunately for Newton the boy, but conceivably of the utmost importance to the advancement of human knowledge, any hopes that Hannah might have had for a short marriage followed by great wealth were disappointed. Barnabas Smith lived for almost another eight years, dying at the age of seventy-one in 1653 after fathering three children: Mary (Marie), born in 1647; Benjamin, born in 1651; and Hannah, born in 1652. Although circumstances would later result in these half-siblings doing little to damage the value of Isaac’s inheritance, the enforced separation from his mother at such an impressionable age has long been recognised as one of the key factors in shaping Newton’s character.
Isaac had been raised solely by his mother, and there is little doubt that until her departure they were almost inseparable; his dependency upon her would have been far greater than if both his parents had survived. Furthermore, it was not death which effectively deprived Newton of his mother: she was taken by another man and continued to live close by. To rub salt into Isaac’s emotional wounds, he never knew when or if his mother would turn up. Sometimes she would reappear for an hour or for an afternoon, but always she would go again – and always to the other man, the hated Barnabas Smith. We know from clues left in his notebooks and personal papers that Newton loathed his stepfather and, to a lesser extent, grew to resent his mother.
Of Newton’s earliest writings only a few fragments remain, but these provide some revealing insights into the psychology of the boy. Four notebooks survive from his days in Lincolnshire and his first year at Trinity College, Cambridge. Of these, the most interesting are a notebook kept at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, and a schoolboy exercise book in the possession of the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York, which has become known as the Morgan Notebook.
Newton began writing in the Fitzwilliam Notebook sometime during the early summer of 1662, when he was a nineteen-year-old undergraduate. At first he treated the book as a form of confessional, purging himself by writing out his felonies against the Lord. In shorthand, he drew up two lists: of sins committed ‘Before Whitsunday 1662’ and of those ‘Since Whitsunday 1662’. The first list, stretching back to his childhood, contains forty-five transgressions; the other, more recent, set contains nine ‘sins’. Most startling of this earlier batch are numbers 13 and 14: ‘Threatening my father and mother Smith to burne them and the house over them’ and ‘Wishing death and hoping it to some’.
What is so surprising about these entries is not so much the violence of Isaac’s feelings as a child – that could be expected – but the fact that he remembered his anger so clearly and felt compelled to confess it so many years later, long after the principal object of his hatred was dead and buried.
Perhaps even more fascinating is the window into Newton’s psychology offered by the schoolboy exercise book, the Morgan Notebook. This contains collections of scribblings, ideas jotted down from books Isaac read, lists and other notes probably dating from about the age of ten to his early teenage years. Most pertinent to his mental state is an alphabetical list of word associations based upon a contemporary book, Father Francis Gregory’s Nomenclatura. Newton placed these associations under different headings. Under the heading ‘Of Kindred and Titles’, we have F: ‘Father’ (out of Gregory) followed by ‘Fornicator’ and ‘Flatterer’ (both from Newton). Under B we have ‘Brother’ (Gregory) followed by ‘Bastard’, ‘Blasphemer’, ‘Brawler’, ‘Bedlam’, ‘Beggar’ and finally ‘Benjamite’ (all from Newton – whose half-brother, it should be remembered, was named Benjamin).
W begins innocently with Gregory’s ‘Wife’ and ‘Wedlock’, but is completed by Newton’s ‘Whore’.
Although he was later attentive and caring towards his mother, and nursed her during her final illness in 1679, the psychological scars of her remarriage clearly dug deep and almost certainly affected Newton’s future relationships with women. Although unquantifiable, the effect of such trauma moulds different individuals in different ways according to their particular circumstances, and in Newton’s case we may match the damage to the personality which emerged from the wreckage.
During the eight years in which Hannah lived in North Witham, Isaac remained in the care of his grandparents, James and Margery Ayscough, who had taken up residence at the manor. As Newton never mentioned his grandparents later in life, it would appear there was little love lost between them. The Ayscoughs probably did their best, but they could never have replaced Hannah. From a state where he could do no wrong, bonded intimately with his gentle mother, he was inexplicably deserted and thrust into the care of two elderly people. The three-year-old Isaac’s instinctive reaction to being left in this situation would be to feel overwhelming guilt, to imagine he had somehow done something terribly wrong. Interestingly, the Morgan Notebook includes O: ‘Orphan’ (Gregory) followed by ‘Offender’ (Newton). When, eight years later, Hannah returned to stay, the eleven-year-old pre-pubescent was again disturbed emotionally. Was his mother’s sudden return a reward? Had he then been right all along to feel guilty over some unknown and unknowable deed? Had he now served his punishment?
Upon Hannah’s return, his parents moved back to their home village of Market Overton, a few miles distant, and Hannah perhaps assumed that her and Isaac’s lives could pick up where they had left off in 1646. But it was not to be. They were certainly wealthier and more secure, but the rift between mother and son was now too wide ever to heal properly. Not only was the fact of her desertion irreversible, but she was returning to the manor with three young children in tow.
Apart from the word associations of the Morgan Notebook, little evidence remains of Isaac’s feelings towards his half-siblings, but we can understand the resentment he must have harboured for this threesome whose father he despised and with whom he could only associate betrayal and desertion. In his school Latin exercise book (one of the four documents surviving from his youth) we have his comment, ‘I have my brother to entreat’,
in which a number of biographers have detected a hint of sarcasm – at least, now his mother had returned, he had a brother to talk to – but nothing else on the subject survives.
Although by all accounts Newton was a quiet child, he also possessed a malicious streak, as is evidenced by his private outbursts against Smith recorded in the Fitzwilliam Notebook. Hannah may well have been relieved when a year after her return he was old enough to attend King’s School in Grantham, seven miles away – a distance much too great to travel each day.
Established sometime during the 1520s, by the time Newton arrived King’s School had for some 130 years provided a solid grounding in what were then considered to be the basics of education: Latin, Greek and Bible studies. In 1654 the headmaster was Henry Stokes, a graduate of Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, and a man who later exerted a profound influence upon the course of Newton’s early academic career.
If the years immediately following Hannah Newton’s departure for a new life with Smith and the confusion of her return moulded Isaac’s emotional make-up, then those between his arrival in Grantham and his leaving for Cambridge in 1661 laid the foundations of his intellectual outlook. He had two major influences in this new life. The first was the routine of a formal education; the other was his new home environment as a lodger with the family of the local apothecary, the Clarks, who had close links with Grantham School and provided accommodation for a succession of pupils in their apartment above the apothecary shop next to the George Inn on the High Street.
At first, school was of little interest to Isaac, as is shown by his lacklustre and completely unexceptional academic status. He was quick to learn but was also a natural autodidact, ignored by most of his teachers and disliked by the other boys. Pupils were expected to learn the core curriculum of classical languages and scriptural studies parrot-fashion. It all required little imagination and offered no inspiration for inquisitiveness. It is, to the modern mind, astonishing that Newton had no formal mathematical training until he entered Cambridge (and even then mathematics was not part of the standard curriculum during his first years as an undergraduate). To compensate for this dull fare, Isaac first read the books handed down to him by his stepfather and later those he found in the library of St Wulfram’s church in Grantham – a long, narrow room above the church porch. Most of these texts were dry fodder indeed: theological tracts and Puritan propaganda that Newton was encouraged to read by a Puritan divine and lecturer at the school named John Angell.
These theology books and the encouragement of Angell led Newton into a religious doctrine he maintained for the rest of his life, but they did not provide the intellectual meat he needed. Fortunately, other books came his way. The most important in leading him to scientific inquiry was The Mysteries of Nature and Art by John Bate, which Isaac discovered when he was about thirteen. He was totally captivated by it and spent 2
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d. on an exercise book into which he copied out long passages.
Bate’s book, first published in 1634, was full of detailed instructions for making wonderful machines and devices, and it was from following these that the teenage Newton was able to design and build working mechanical models for which he gained something of a reputation as a schoolboy. Some seventy years later, Stukeley was able to find a few old folk who still remembered Newton’s miraculous models – windmills that actually worked, into which the boy sometimes placed a mouse to turn the sails; kites; perfectly functioning sundials; and paper lanterns with which he found his way to school on dark winter mornings. The ancient villagers to whom Stukeley referred knew nothing of Bate’s book, which might go some way to account for such hyperbole as ‘Newton’s innate fire was soon excited. He penetrated beyond the superficial view of the thing … He obtained so exact a notion of the mechanism of it, that he made a true and perfect model of it in wood; and it was said to be as clean a piece of workmanship as the original.’
Model-building provided a suitably insular pastime for a boy who appears to have had no friends at school. According to Stukeley’s interviewees, Newton tried to interest his schoolmates in his cerebral activities; rather than being content to watch his contemporaries indulge in what Stukeley calls ‘trifling sports’, Isaac apparently tried to ‘teach them … to play philosophically’.
It is easy to detect here the personality of a boy crying out for attention and companionship but simply unable to communicate with others of his age. He had been an only child, and under the best of circumstances such an upbringing can cause children to have difficulty in adjusting when they first encounter others of similar age at school. Stukeley and his followers have tried to imply that the matter went deeper than this: that there was something totally otherworldly about Newton as a boy. And no doubt he was exceptional; he was certainly a talented youth, even if at this age he showed little interest in the official curriculum. Thanks to Stukeley’s first-hand accounts, we know Isaac could draw and write well. ‘Sir Isaac furnished his whole room with pictures of his own making, which probably he copied from prints, as well as from life,’ claimed one interviewee.
Another recalled in her dotage that Newton had written a poem for her, which she could still recall from memory.
And, although his mathematical talent had not yet emerged, his interest in mechanical devices illustrates that the skill and curiosity of the scientist, the talent for constructing experiments and testing ideas, was already awakened.
What eventually transformed his unhappy relationship with official learning was a seemingly trivial event. On the way to school one morning, one of the boys in his class (according to some historians, Clark’s stepson, Arthur) kicked Isaac hard in the stomach. What provoked the attack is open to conjecture, but it is significant that the bully was one place above Newton in their class ratings. Enraged, Isaac challenged the other, much larger, boy to a fight after school. According to John Conduitt, who popularised the tale:
[A]s soon as the school was over he challenged the boy to fight, & they went out together into the church yard, the schoolmaster’s son came to them whilst they were fighting & clapped one on the back & winked at the other to encourage them both. Though Sir Isaac was not so lusty as his antagonist he had so much more spirit & resolution that he beat him ‘til he declared he would fight no more, upon which the schoolmaster’s son bad him use him like a coward, & rub his nose against the wall & accordingly Sir Isaac pulled him along by the ears and thrust his face against the side of the church.
Still not content, before leaving the bully to nurse his wounds, Newton declared he would not rest until he had overtaken his combatant’s academic position. According to Conduitt, Isaac not only overtook the bully but, within a short time, rose to first place in the school.
The rooms Newton shared with the Clarks above the apothecary shop must have been crowded at this time; Mr Clark and his wife had three children from his wife’s previous marriage – Catherine, Eduard and Arthur Storer. Newton probably shared a room with one or both of the brothers, and in any event, given the size of apartments above town-centre shops of the seventeenth century, living conditions must have seemed very cramped to a boy brought up in a manor house set in acres of open space. Yet, by all accounts, Isaac was content living with the Clarks. If Arthur Storer was indeed his antagonist until the fight in the churchyard, then we can imagine the schoolboy arguments and rivalries within the Clark household when the adults were out or busy in the shop. It is easier to imagine the rows and recriminations after the fight, when Arthur and Isaac returned home, one with cuts and bruises all over his face, the other still rigid with anger.
Fortunately for Isaac, the Clarks appear to have been a very placid couple who raised their children with a distinctly far-sighted liberalism quite atypical of the time. Furthermore, Clark – proud of his position as an apothecary and, according to contemporaries, a cheerful, open man – encouraged the inquisitive Newton to watch him at work and to ask questions.
To Newton, bored with school and searching for something to stimulate his intellect, the apothecary – a repository for chemicals from which remedies and medicines of all descriptions were concocted and sold to the public – was a place full of wonders. On the shelves around the walls of the shop stood jar upon jar of strange-coloured powders and liquids – yellow sulphur, silver mercury, red lead oxide. The shop provided him with his earliest experience of the possibilities of chemistry. It also offered an opportunity to conduct his own experiments.
We know from his surviving notebooks that Newton did not simply watch Mr Clark go about his business but transcribed remedies and cures from books he discovered alongside the chemical jars. He may have even devised his own recipes. In these journals we find descriptions of how to produce paints and pigments, methods by which glass may be cut with chemicals, and ‘a bait to catch fish’. We also encounter cures for various illnesses – such as that for fistulas (here meaning surgically produced openings into the body), which involved ‘drinking twice or thrice a day a … small portion of mint and wormwood and 300 millipedes well beaten (when their heads are pulled off) in a mortar … & suspended in 4 gallons of ale in its fermentation’.
Newton was evidently a hypochondriac from an early age and was fond of concocting remedies which he both used upon himself and offered to others. He listed over 200 different human ailments in the Morgan Notebook under the heading ‘Of Diseases’.
As well as receiving his earliest knowledge of primitive chemistry from Clark the apothecary, Newton acquired from him an introduction to the concept of brotherhood.
Along with all other members of his profession (which at the time existed in a anachronistic limbo: part shopkeeping, part quack medicine), Clark was a member of the Society of Apothecaries. Perhaps, upon his return from regular meetings of the society at its then premises in Water Lane in London, the affable Clark would hint at the proceedings and glamorise the rules and regulations of the organisation to the ever-inquisitive Newton. In this way he not only inspired the boy to delve into the arcane world of cures, remedies and recipes but provided him with another valued piece of knowledge: the concept that there existed brotherhoods through which individuals could communicate and circulate information.
Primitive chemistry and the charms of the apothecary’s world were not the only distractions in the Clarks’ home. Living under the same roof was Mr Clark’s stepdaughter, Catherine Storer, the only female other than his mother and later his half-niece Catherine Barton to whom Newton is known to have been emotionally attached.
It is difficult to assess accurately how important Catherine Storer was to Newton, because we have only her account of their relationship – conveyed to Stukeley shortly before Newton’s death. By this time Newton was a world-renowned scientist and, aside from the fact that she was in her early eighties and doubtless romanticising her own past, for Catherine to exaggerate her place in the great man’s boyhood affections would have been quite natural.
They were certainly close friends. This much is demonstrated by their writing to each other during Newton’s early days in Cambridge. Further evidence comes from a conversation Stukeley recalled having with Newton shortly before the scientist’s death. Newton, he claimed, expressed a desire to return to live out his days in Woolsthorpe and showed a particular interest in acquiring a property near to where Catherine had once lived.
However, Catherine Storer’s suggestions to Stukeley that she and Isaac were sweethearts, and that Newton had at one time seriously considered passing up his academic career in order to marry her are most probably pure fantasy. In his memoirs, Stukeley recounted Catherine Storer’s tale, saying:
Sir Isaac and she being thus brought up together, it is said that he entertained a love for her, nor does she deny it. But her portion being not considerable, and he being [a] fellow of a college, it was incompatible with his fortunes to marry, perhaps his studies too. It is certain he always had a kindness for her, visited her whenever in the country, in both her husbands’ days, and gave her forty shillings upon a time, when it was of service to her. She is a little woman, but we may with ease discern that she has been very handsome.
Catherine may have harboured hopes, but any spark of romantic interest that Isaac might have shown her was soon extinguished. As his academic performance improved, he was drawn to the attention of his headmaster, Henry Stokes, who saw in him a talent he could not allow to go to waste.
No record of Newton’s academic progress survives, but it is safe to assume that by the time the boy was sixteen Stokes was already viewing him as a likely candidate for university entrance. What Hannah’s initial reaction to her son’s progress might have been is unknown, but late in 1658, as Stokes was about to suggest that her son should consider a university education, Hannah decided to remove him from King’s School.
Hannah had shown little consideration for education, and it had been at the insistence of her brother, the Cambridge-educated William Ayscough, that Isaac had attended an elementary school while living with his grandparents. Ironically, it could have been Stokes’s enthusiasm that prompted Hannah to remove Isaac from the school. She saw little need for her son to be educated; her husband had demonstrated how the farm could be managed even without the benefit of literacy.
At first Hannah had her way. For most of 1659 Isaac lived at the manor with his mother and Barnabas Smith’s children. But, in the notebook started in 1662, the list of his ‘sins’ during the period in which he lived there indicates that it was a time fraught with bitterness and family arguments.
He was, for the most part, an obedient and respectful son, but the stress of being taken away from an environment in which he was blossoming and the threat of having his life ruined again by the wishes of his mother were evidently too much. The Fitzwilliam Notebook lists his crimes as ‘Refusing to go to the close at my mother’s command’, ‘Striking many’, ‘Peevishness with my mother’, ‘With my sister’, ‘Punching my sister’ and ‘Falling out with the servants’. The signs of strain are clear.
Whether it was to show deliberately how bad he was at farm duties or through genuine inability and absent-mindedness, he did not perform his duties at all well. Stukeley tells us that:
When at home if his mother ordered him into the fields to look after the sheep, the corn, or upon any rural employment, it went on very heavily through his manage [i.e. he did not conduct the task well]. His chief delight was to sit under a tree, with a book in his hands, or to busy himself with his knife in cutting wood for models of somewhat or other that struck his fancy, or he would go to the running stream, and make little millwheels to put into the water.
His lack of interest even brought an admonition from the authorities. The records of the manor court of the nearby village of Colsterworth show that on 28 October 1659 an Isaac Newton was fined 3s. 4d. ‘for suffering his sheep to break the stubbs of 23 of loes [loose?, meaning unenclosed] furlongs’. On top of this, he was obliged to pay 1s. on each of two further counts, ‘for suffering his swine to trespass in the corn fields’ and ‘for suffering his fence belonging to his yards to be out of repair’.
Following this, Hannah decided that her son should be supervised by a servant from the household who would look after him and give the boy proper instruction. Predictably, the idea failed because Newton quickly turned the situation to his advantage, allowing the servant to do all the work while he sloped off to read or to pursue other interests.
Each Saturday, Isaac set off dutifully with the servant to Grantham to sell the farm produce and to purchase supplies for the following week. Arriving at the Saracen’s Head, the inn in Westgate, he would instruct the servant to continue with the business of the day while he went off to visit Mr Clark at his shop in the High Street.
What drew Newton there was a collection of books that Clark had acquired from his recently deceased brother, Dr Joseph Clark, the usher (assistant teacher) of King’s School. The apothecary himself was interested in the collection, but had little time to read. Perhaps Newton had offered to catalogue the books in exchange for the chance to read them; be that as it may, somehow he managed to persuade Clark to allow him to spend almost all of each Saturday in the back room behind the shop in solitary bliss studying texts on physics, anatomy, botany, philosophy and mathematics – his first real exposure to these things. From Bate’s The Mysteries of Nature and Art Newton had discovered the elements of experimentation and practical skills – lessons he would never forget but would employ both as an orthodox scholar and in his role as alchemist. But here were texts by greater writers and natural philosophers. We do not know for sure the contents of the library, but it is safe to assume a scholar such as Dr Clark would have collected the works of the great names of the past and perhaps the more controversial figures of the day, and it is likely that Newton now first discovered Francis Bacon and René Descartes, Aristotle and Plato, acquiring a fuller and more useful education than he could possibly have gained within the narrow confines of the school curriculum.
Word of Isaac’s truancy soon reached two different parties involved in the argument over his future. Hannah heard of her son’s antics through the complaints of the servant, and Henry Stokes discovered how his ex-pupil was showing admirable determination not to fall under his mother’s yoke. Stokes had tried to dissuade Hannah from taking Newton away from school but had been unsuccessful. Now, hearing how Isaac was doing everything he could to foil his mother’s efforts, Stokes decided to try again.
Initially, nothing changed. Despite the irritation caused by her son’s behaviour, Hannah would not listen to suggestions that he should pursue an academic career and desert the farm. To be fair, Hannah was herself poorly educated and could not have appreciated the world of learning that Isaac took to so naturally. To her, the only thing that mattered was the management of the estate: it was the source of their prosperity, and she could not understand what her son could possibly gain by attending university. She had already lost two husbands and was expected to maintain a farm, run a household and look after three young children. She could not bear to lose Isaac too.
But, after Stokes appealed to her a second time, she realised she could hold Isaac back no longer. (Her decision was no doubt sweetened by Stokes’s offer to remit the standard charge of forty shillings paid to the school by the parents of all boys who came from beyond the town.
)
Stokes then talked to William Ayscough (who had probably influenced Hannah’s change of heart and was himself a graduate of Trinity College, Cambridge), and probably to Humphrey Babington, a relative of the Clarks and a fellow at Cambridge University. Together they smoothed the way for Isaac’s admission, and by the autumn of 1660 the young man was back in Grantham preparing for Cambridge.
Helped by those around him who understood his desire to learn, Isaac now, for the first time, found himself completely content. Throughout his childhood and teenage years he had constantly been pulled in different directions. At school he clashed with the teaching tradition on the one hand and his contemporaries on the other. He eventually found his true nature not from the comfort of others or through the small accomplishments of orthodoxy, but in the discovery of a larger world beyond the confines of his upbringing. By 1660 he had passed the threshold and entered the world in which he would flourish.
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