Humans are profoundly influenced by their visual perception. While the other senses—smell, sound, taste, touch—do contribute, sight takes precedence. This dominance is evident in our everyday language. When we wish to capture someone’s attention or underscore a point, we often exclaim “Look!” or “Look here!” even when we’re merely stating something rather than showing it. The term “see” is used to indicate comprehension, as in “I see” or “do you see”.
Visual perception also had a significant impact on the early development of science. Individuals formulated theories to explain what they observed. This was especially true in astrology-astronomy where the sole empirical evidence was visual. It’s notable that the era most widely regarded as the dawn of modern science, the early seventeenth century, witnessed the invention of both the telescope and the microscope—the initial instruments that broadened the perception of one of the senses, specifically vision, enabling researchers to observe and investigate phenomena that were previously obscure.
Visual representation increasingly influences the portrayal of the history of science, with historians analyzing and interpreting visual depictions from earlier periods. One aspect that captivates many, including non-historians, is the appearance of notable scientists. Sadly, popular depictions often feature portraits or photos of these scientists as distinguished elderly figures, perhaps when receiving a Nobel Prize or an honorary doctorate, rather than as young researchers during the time they conducted the work for which they gained recognition. As we delve further back in time, the challenge lies in discerning whether the visual representation is authentic, i.e., true to life, or merely an artist’s idealized version of the individual in question.
In the coming three days, I will explore the existing portraits of the three scholars who comprise my Christmas Trilogy each year—Isaac Newton, Charles Babbage, and Johannes Kepler.
Newton’s family was not impoverished; upon inheriting the family estates, they provided him with an income of £600 per year, while the income of the Astronomer Royal was £100 annually. However, they were relatively humble puritan farmers, resulting in a lack of youthful portraits of Isaac as a child. This dynamic shifted dramatically when he became the preeminent natural philosopher, and from the latter part of his life, we have numerous portraits illustrating his advancing age.
There exists, however, one engraved portrait from 1677, bearing the caption “Sir Isaac Newton. when Bachelor of Arts in Trinity College, Cambridge. Engraved by B. Reading from a Head painted by Sir Peter Lely in the Possession of the Right Honorable Lord Viscount Cremorne.”
Sir Peter Lely was actually Pieter van der Faes, a Dutch portrait artist who became a master of the Guild of St Luke, the painters’ guild in Haarlem, in 1637. He relocated to London in 1643 and succeeded Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641) as the most sought-after portrait painter, creating works for the affluent, powerful, and renowned, including both Charles I and Oliver Cromwell, as well as Charles’ most well-known mistress, Nell Gwynne.
Interestingly, when Robert Hooke first arrived in London, he apprenticed with Lely but later attended Westminster school.
The most recognizable portraits of Newton are likely those produced by Sir Godfrey Kneller (1646–1723). Like Lely, whom he eventually succeeded as London’s leading portrait painter, Kneller was not English. Born Gottfried Kniller in Lübeck, he was the son of portrait painter Zacharias Kniller. He initially studied in Leiden before becoming a pupil of Ferdinand Bol (1616–1680), a disciple of Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1606–1669), and even of Rembrandt himself. Alongside his brother Johann Zacharias Kniller (1642–1702), he spent the early 1670s creating works in Rome and Venice before moving to London in 1676, where Godfrey claimed the title of the reigning portrait artist. Kneller established a portrait studio and specialized almost entirely in painting portraits. His output was astonishing, achieved through an efficient work process. During sittings, he only sketched the sitter’s face and completed the remainder without the sitter present. It remains undetermined whether his portraits of Newton were created in this fashion.
A series of four formal portraits of Newton, painted by John Vanderbank (1694–1739), depicts him in his eighties as the President of the Royal Society. Vanderbank was an English-born artist but the son of a Huguenot refugee from Paris, John Vanderbank Sr., a prosperous proprietor of the Soho Tapestry Man.