by E. T. Bell
Today the tendency is in the opposite direction of a purely mathematical correlation and a complete abandonment of ethers, elastic solids, or other mechanical “explanations” more difficult to grasp than the thing explained. Physicists at present seem to have heeded Byron’s query, “Who will then explain the explanation?” The elastic solid theory had a long and brilliant success, and even today some of the formulas Cauchy derived from his false hypothesis are in use. But the theory itself was abandoned when, as not infrequently happens, refined experimental technique and unsuspected phenomena (anomalous dispersion in this case) failed to accord with the predictions of the theory.
Cauchy escaped from his pupil in 1838 (he was then almost fifty). Friends in Paris had been urging him for some time to return, and Cauchy seized the excuse of his parents’ golden wedding to bid adieu to Charles and all his entourage. By a special dispensation members of the Institut (of which the Academy of Sciences was, and is, a part) were not required to take an oath of allegiance to the Government, so Cauchy resumed his seat. His mathematical activity now became greater than ever. During the last nineteen years of his life he produced over 500 papers on all branches of mathematics, including mechanics, physics, and astronomy. Many of these works were long treatises.
His troubles were not yet over. When a vacancy occurred at the Collège de France Cauchy was unanimously elected to fill the place. But here there was no dispensation and before he could step into the position Cauchy would have to take the oath of allegiance. Believing the Government to be usurping the divine rights of his master, Cauchy stiffened his neck and refused to take the oath. Once more he was out of a job. But the Bureau des Longitudes could use a mathematician of his calibre. Again he was unanimously elected.
Then began an amusing tug of war between Baron Cauchy and the Bureau at one end of the rope and the unsanctified Government at the other. Conscious for once that it was making a fool of itself the Government let go and Cauchy was shot backwards into the Bureau without an oath. Defiance of the Government was grossly illegal, not to say treasonable, but Cauchy stuck to his job. His colleagues at the Bureau embarrassed the Government by politely ignoring its request to elect someone legally. For four years Cauchy turned his obstinate back on the Government and went on with his work.
To this period belong some of Cauchy’s most important contributions to mathematical astronomy. Leverrier had unwittingly started Cauchy off with his memoir of 1840 on Pallas. This was a lengthy work packed with numerical calculations which it would take any referee as long to check as it had taken the author to perform them in the first place. When the memoir was presented to the Academy the officers began looking about for someone willing to undertake the inhuman task of verifying the correctness of the conclusions. Cauchy volunteered. Instead of following Leverrier’s footsteps he quickly found shortcuts and invented new methods which enabled him to verify and extend the work in a remarkably short time.
The tussle with the Government reached its crisis in 1843 when Cauchy was fifty four. The Minister declined to be made a public laughing stock any longer and demanded that the Bureau hold r.n election to fill the position Cauchy refused to vacate. On the advice of his friends Cauchy laid his case before the people in an open letter. This letter is one of the finest things Cauchy ever wrote.
Whatever we may think of his quixotic championship of a cause which all but flyblown reactionaries knew had been well lost forever, we cannot help respecting Cauchy’s fearlessness in stating his own case, with dignity and without passion, and in fighting for the freedom of his conscience. It was the old fight for free thought in a guise that was not very familiar then but is common enough now.
In the time of Galileo, Cauchy no doubt would have gone to the stake to maintain the freedom of his beliefs; under Louis Philippe he denied the right of any government to exact an oath of allegiance which traversed his conscience, and he suffered for his courage. His stand earned him the respect even of his enemies, and brought the Government into contempt, even in the eyes of its supporters. Presently the stupidity of repression was brought home to the Government in a way it could understand—street fighting, riots, strikes, civil war, and an unanswerable order to get out and stay out. Louis Philippe and all his gang were ousted in 1848. One of the first acts of the Provisional Government was to abolish the oath of allegiance. With rare good sense the politicians realized that all such oaths are either unnecessary or worthless.
In 1852, when Napoleon III took charge, the oath was restored. But by this time Cauchy had won his battle. Word was quietly passed to him that he might resume his lectures without taking the oath. It was understood on both sides that no fuss was to be made. The Government asked no thanks for its liberality, nor did Cauchy tender any, but went on with his lectures as if nothing had happened. From then to the end of his life he was the chief glory of the Sorbonne.
In the interim between official instability and unofficial stability Cauchy had taken time out to splinter a lance in defence of the Jesuits. The trouble was the old one—the State educational authorities insisting that the Jesuit training incurred a divided allegiance, the Jesuits defending religious instruction as the only sound basis for any education. It was a fight up Cauchy’s own alley and he sailed into it with eloquent gusto. His defence of his friends was touching and sincere but unconvincing. Whenever Cauchy got off mathematics he substituted emotion for reason.
The Crimean War afforded Cauchy his last opportunity for getting himself disliked by his harder-headed colleagues. He became an enthusiastic propagandist for a singular enterprise known as Work of the Schools of the Orient. “Work” here is intended in the sense of a particular “good work.”
“It was necessary,” according to the sponsors of the Work in 1855, “to remedy the disorders of the past and at the same time impose a double check on Muscovite ambition and Mohammedan fanaticism: above all to prepare the regeneration of peoples brutalized by the Koran . . . .” In short the Crimean War had been the customary bayonet preparing the way for the Cross. Deeply impressed by the obvious necessity of replacing the brutalizing Koran by something more humane, Cauchy threw himself into the project, “completing and consolidating . . . the work of emancipation so admirably begun by the arms of France.”
The Jesuit Council, grateful for Cauchy’s expert help, gave him full credit for many of the details (including the collection of subscriptions) which were to accomplish “the moral regeneration of peoples enslaved to the law of the Koran, the triumph of the Gospel round the cradle and the sepulchre of Jesus Christ being the sole acceptable compensation for these billows of blood that have been shed” by the Christian French, English, Russians, Sardinians, and the Mohammedan Turks in the Crimean War.
It was good works of this character that caused some of Cauchy’s friends, out of sympathy with the pious spirit of the orthodox religion of the time, to call him a smug hypocrite. The epithet was wholly undeserved. Cauchy was one of the sincerest bigots that ever lived.
The net result of the Work was the particularly revolting massacre of May, 1860. Cauchy did not live to see his labors crowned.
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Reputations of great mathematicians are subject to the same vicissitudes as those of other great men. For long after his death—and even today—Cauchy was severely criticized for overproduction and hasty composition. His total output is 789 papers (many of them very extensive works) filling twenty four large quarto volumes. Criticism of this sort always seems rather beside the point if a man has put out a mass of first rate work in addition to some that is not of high quality, and is usually indulged in by men who themselves have done comparatively little, and that little not of the highest order of originality. Cauchy’s part in modern mathematics is somewhere not far from the center of the stage. This is now almost universally admitted, if grudgingly in some quarters. Since his death, especially in recent decades, Cauchy’s reputation as a mathematician has risen steadily. The methods he introduced, his whole program inaugu
rating the first period of modern rigor, and his almost unequalled inventiveness have made a mark on mathematics that is, so far as we can now see, destined to be visible for many years to come.
One apparently unimportant detail out of all the mass of new things Cauchy did may be mentioned as an illustration of his prophetic originality. Instead of using the “imaginary” Cauchy proposed to accomplish all that complex numbers do in mathematics by operating with congruences to the modulus i2 + 1. This was done in 1847. The paper—a short one—attracted but little attention. Yet it is the germ of something—Kronecker’s program—that is on its way to revolutionizing some of the fundamental concepts of mathematics. This matter will reappear frequently in later chapters, so we may pass it here with this allusion.
In social contacts Cauchy was extremely polite, not to say oily on occasion as when, for example, he was soliciting subscriptions for one of his jousts. His habits were temperate and in all things except mathematics and religion he was moderate. On the last he lacked ordinary common sense. Everyone who came near him was a prospect for conversion. When William Thomson (Lord Kelvin) as a young man of twenty one called on Cauchy to discuss mathematics, Cauchy spent the time trying to convert his visitor—then a staunch adherent of the Scottish Free Church—to Catholicism.
Cauchy had his share of rows over priority in which his enemies accused him of greed and unfair play. His last year was marred by one such dispute wherein it would seem that Cauchy had no case. But with his usual stubbornness where a matter of principle was involved he braved the outcry and stuck to his point with invincible sweetness and pertinacity.
Another peculiarity added to Cauchy’s unpopularity with his scientific colleagues. In scientific academies and societies a man is supposed to base his vote for a candidate only on the candidate’s scientific merits; any other procedure is considered bad ethics. Whether rightly or wrongly Cauchy was accused of voting in accordance with his religious and political views. His last years were embittered by what he considered a lack of understanding among his colleagues on this and similar foibles. Neither side could get the point of view of the other.
Cauchy died rather unexpectedly in his sixty eighth year on May 23, 1857. Hoping to benefit a bronchial trouble, he retired to the country to recuperate, only to be smitten with a fever which proved fatal. A few hours before his death he was talking animatedly with the Archbishop of Paris of the charitable works he had in view—charity was one of Cauchy’s lifelong interests. His last words were addressed to the Archbishop: “Men pass away but their deeds abide.”
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I. The operations in a pair may be the same, thus X, X.
II. For example, to infinity, obtained by dividing 1 by 1—x, is nonsense if x is a positive number equal to or greater than 1.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Copernicus of Geometry
LOBATCHEWSKY
Lobatchewsky’s theory was incomprehensible to his contemporaries, appearing as it did to contradict an axiom whose necessity is based only on a prejudice sanctified by thousands of years.—THE EDITORS OF LOBATCHEWSKY’S WORKS
GRANTING THAT THE COMMONLY ACCEPTED estimate of the importance of what Copernicus did is correct, we shall have to admit that it is either the highest praise or the severest condemnation humanly possible to call another man the “Copernicus” of anything. When we understand what Lobatchewsky did in the creation of non-Euclidean geometry, and consider its significance for all human thought, of which mathematics is only a small if important part, we shall probably agree that Clifford (1845-1879), himself a great geometer and far more than a “mere mathematician,” was not overpraising his hero when he called Lobatchewsky “The Copernicus of Geometry.”
Nikolas Ivanovitch Lobatchewsky, the second son of a minor government official, was born on November 2, 1793 in the district of Makarief, government of Nijni Novgorod, Russia. The father died when Nikolas was seven, leaving his widow, Praskovia Ivanovna, the care of three young sons. As the father’s salary had barely sufficed to keep his family going while he was alive the widow found herself in extreme poverty. She moved to Kazan, where she prepared her boys for school as best she could, and had the satisfaction of seeing them accepted, one after the other, as free scholars at the Gymnasium. Nikolas was admitted in 1802 at the age of eight. His progress was phenomenally rapid in both mathematics and the classics. At the age of fourteen he was ready for the university. In 1807 he entered the University of Kazan (founded in 1805), where he was to spend the next forty years of his life as student, assistant professor, professor, and finally rector.
Hoping to make Kazan ultimately the equal of any university in Europe, the authorities had imported several distinguished professors from Germany. Among these was the astronomer Littrow, who later became director of the Observatory at Vienna, whom Abel mentioned as one of his excuses for seeing something of “the south.” The German professors quickly recognized Lobatchewsky’s genius and gave him every encouragement.
In 1811, at the age of eighteen, Lobatchewsky obtained his master’s degree after a short tussle with the authorities, whose ire he had incurred through his youthful exuberance. His German friends on the faculty took his part and he got his degree with distinction. At this time his elder brother Alexis was in charge of the elementary mathematical courses for the training of minor government officials, and when Alexis presently took a sick-leave, Nikolas stepped into his place as substitute. Two years later, at the age of twenty one, Lobatchewsky received a probationary appointment as “Extraordinary Professor” or, as we should say in America, Assistant Professor.
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Lobatchewsky’s promotion to an ordinary professorship came in 1816 at the unusually early age of twenty three. His duties were heavy. In addition to his mathematical work he was charged with courses in astronomy and physics, the former to substitute for a colleague on leave. The fine balance with which he carried his heavy load made him a conspicuous candidate for yet more work, on the theory that a man who can do much is capable of doing more, and presently Lobatchewsky found himself University Librarian and curator of the chaotically disordered University Museum.
Students are often an unruly lot before life teaches them that generosity of spirit does not pay in the cut-throat business of earning a living. Among Lobatchewsky’s innumerable duties from 1819 till the death of the Czar Alexander in 1825 was that of supervisor of all the students in Kazan, from the elementary schools to the men taking post-graduate courses in the University. The supervision was primarily over the political opinions of his charges. The difficulties of such a thankless job can easily be imagined. That Lobatchewsky contrived to send in his reports day after day and year after year to his suspicious superiors without once being called on the carpet for laxity in espionage, and without losing the sincere respect and affection of all the students, says more for his administrative ability than do all the gaudy orders and medals which a grateful Government showered on him and with which he delighted to adorn himself on state occasions.
The collections in the University Museum to all appearance had been tossed in with a pitchfork. A similar disorder made the extensive library practically unusable. Lobatchewsky was commanded to clean up these messes. In recognition of his signal services the authorities promoted him to the deanship of the Faculty of Mathematics and Physics, but omitted to appropriate any funds for hiring assistance in straightening out the library and the museum. Lobatchewsky did the work with his own hands, cataloguing, dusting and casing, or wielding a mop as the occasion demanded.
With the death of Alexander in 1825 things took a turn for the better. The particular official responsible for the malicious persecution of the University of Kazan was kicked out as being too corrupt for even a government post, and his successor appointed a professional curator to relieve Lobatchewsky of his endless tasks of cataloguing books, dusting mineral specimens, and deverminizing stuffed birds. Needing political and moral support for his work in the University, the new curato
r did some high politics on his own account and secured the appointment in 1827 of Lobatchewsky as Rector. The mathematician was now head of the University, but the new position was no sinecure. Under his able direction the entire staff was reorganized, better men were brought in, instruction was liberalized in spite of official obstruction, the library was built up to a higher standard of scientific sufficiency, a mechanical workshop was organized for making the scientific instruments required in research and instruction, an observatory was founded and equipped—a pet project of the energetic Rector’s—and the vast mineralogical collection, representative of the whole of Russia, was put in order and constantly enriched.
Even the new dignity of his rectorship did not deter Lobatchewsky from manual labor in the library and museum when he felt that his help was necessary. The University was his life and he loved it. On the slightest provocation he would take off his collar and coat and go to work. Once a distinguished foreigner, taking the coatless Rector for a janitor or workman, asked to be shown through the libraries and museum collections. Lobatchewsky showed him the choicest treasures, explaining as he exhibited. The visitor was charmed and greatly impressed by the superior intelligence and courtesy of this obliging Russian worker. On parting from his guide he tendered a handsome tip. Lobatchewsky, to the foreigner’s bewilderment, froze up in a cold rage and indignantly spurned the proffered coin. Thinking it but just one more eccentricity of the high-minded Russian janitor, the visitor bowed and pocketed his money. That evening he and Lobatchewsky met at the Governor’s dinner table, where apologies were offered and accepted on both sides.
