This is another superb entry in OUP’s “Very Short Introduction” series. The value of the book is probably best shown by select quotations from it:
“One easily overlooked feature of printing was its ability to reproduce images and diagrams. Illustrations posed a problem for the manuscript tradition since the ability to render drawings accurately depended upon the copyist’s draftsmanship, and often upon his understanding of the text. Consequently, every copy meant degradation for anatomical renderings, botanical and zoological illustrations, maps, charts, and mathematical or technological diagrams. Some copyists simply omitted difficult graphics. Printing meant that an author could oversee the production of a master woodcut or engraving, which could then produce identical copies easily and reliably. Under such conditions, authors were more willing and able to include image sin their texts, enabling the growth of scientific illustration for the first time (13-14).
“”It is hard to imagine the flood of data that poured into Europe from the New World. New plants, new animals, new minerals, new medicines, and reports of new peoples, languages, ideas, observations, and phenomena overwhelmed the Old World’s ability to digest them. This was true ‘information overload,’ and it demanded revisions to ideas about the natural world and new methods for organizing knowledge” (16).
“When early modern thinkers looked on the world, they saw a cosmos in the true Greek sense of that word, that is, a well-ordered and arranged whole. They saw the various components of the physical universe tightly interwoven with one another, and joined intimately to human beings and to God. Their world was woven together in a complex web of connections and interdependencies, its every corner filled with purpose and rich with meaning. Thus, for them, studying the world meant not only uncovering and cataloguing facts about its contents, but also revealing its hidden design and silent messages. This perspective contrasts with that of modern scientists, whose increasing specialization reduces their focus to narrow topics of study and objects in isolation, whose methods emphasize dissecting rather than synthesizing approaches, and whose chosen outlooks actively discourage questions of meaning and purpose. Modern approaches have succeeded in revealing vast amounts of knowledge about the physical world, but have also produced a disjointed, fragmented world that can leave human beings feeling alienated and orphaned from the universe” (21).
“At the present time, applications of magia naturalis and the whole idea of an interconnected world of sympathies and analogies are sometimes dismissed as irrational or superstitious. But this harsh judgment is faulty. It results from a certain smug arrogance and a failure to exercise historical understanding. What our predecessors did was to observe various mysterious and apparently similar phenomena in nature and to extrapolate thence into a more universal statement–a law of nature–about connections and the transmission of influences in the world. This extrapolation led to one tenet that they held that we do not; namely, that similar or analogous objects silently exert influence upon one another. Once that assumption is made, then the rest of the system builds upon it rationally. They were trying to understand the world; they were trying to make sense of things and trying to make use of the powers of nature. They moved inductively from observed or reported instances to a general principle and then deductively to its consequences and applications. We might choose to say, informed as we are by more recent studies, that the action between Sun and sunflower, or Moon and sea, or magnet and iron, can be better explained by something other than hidden knots of sympathy. But that does not permit us to say that their methods or conclusions were irrational, or that the beliefs and practices that came from them were ‘superstitious.’ If that leap were allowed, than every scientific theory that comes ultimately to be rejected in the course of the development of our understanding of the world–no doubt including some things that we today believe to be true explanations of phenomena–would have to be judged irrational and superstitious as well, rather than simply mistaken notions that were arrived at rationally given the ideas, perspectives, and information available at the time” (35).
“In order to understand early modern natural philosophy, it is necessary to break free of several common modern assumptions and prejudices. First, virtually everyone in Europe, certainly every scientific thinker mentioned in this book, was a believing and practising Christian. The notion that scientific study, modern or otherwise, requires an atheistic–or what is euphemistically called a ‘sceptical’–viewpoint is a 20th-century myth proposed by those who wish science itself to be a religion (usually with themselves as its priestly hierarchy). Second, for early moderns, the doctrines of Christianity were not opinions or personal choices. They had the status of natural or historical facts. Dissension obviously existed between different denominations over the more advanced points of theology, just as scientists today argue over finer points without calling into question the reality of gravity, the existence of atoms, or the validity of the scientific enterprise. Never was theology demoted to the status of ‘personal belief'; it constituted, like science today, both a body of agreed-upon facts and a continuing search for truths about existence. As a result, theological tenets were considered part of the data set with which early modern natural philosophers worked. Thus theological ideas played major part in scientific study and speculation–not as external ‘influences’, but rather as serious and integral parts of the world the natural philosopher was studying” (36).