In the early 1980s, I set out on a path as a mature student to pursue mathematics at the University of Erlangen. The German higher education system granted a diploma in mathematics, which was equivalent to a master’s degree and generally necessitated eight to nine semesters for completion. Numerous students extended their studies due to the demanding nature of the coursework. The program’s initial stage consisted of foundational courses in mathematics over four semesters, featuring rigorous double lectures in analysis and algebra, spread across four days each week. Each lecture required meticulous note-taking and weekly problem sets, supplemented by afternoon sessions dedicated to analysis and corrections. Following the first two semesters, seminars on advanced topics demanded that students prepare and present papers. Although I found analysis captivating, algebra did not hold the same appeal for me.
My educational experience included a secondary focus on philosophy, a choice that serendipitously aligned with the commencement of Christian Thiel’s role as a philosophy professor at Erlangen. This opportunity enabled me to delve deeply into the history and philosophy of science. Eventually, my growing interest in the history of mathematics led me to pursue a master’s degree in philosophy with additional focus on history and English. This shift marked a crucial step toward my current position as a writer in this domain.
My passion for mathematics was not a recent development; as a teenager, I thrived in O-level and A-level mathematics, particularly drawn to analysis, also known as calculus. A noteworthy experience during my A-level examinations, where I secured 102% by rectifying the teacher’s error, highlighted my enthusiasm for derivatives and integrals. Despite facing academic challenges associated with my AD(H)S, this incident stood out as an exception to my typical performance.
My fascination with history, nurtured since childhood, intersected with mathematics through Eric Temple Bell’s “Men of Mathematics,” a book introduced to me by my historian father. Although later critiqued for its inaccuracies, it initially fueled my inspiration. My expanding collection of books on the history of mathematics piqued my interest in the philosophy of mathematics and notable works by Stephen Korner and Karl Popper.
Bell’s book acquainted me with the simultaneous “discovery” of calculus by Leibniz and Newton, igniting my curiosity about their renowned dispute regarding priority and plagiarism—the “calculus wars.” Over time, I came to recognize that calculus was not solely created by these two figures but rather evolved over centuries, enhanced by numerous contributors. Newton and Leibniz integrated existing elements of calculus into a unified whole, a process that continued through the efforts of others for two hundred years.
I have frequently critiqued the oversimplified narrative surrounding the origins of calculus, addressing its intricate evolution in guest blog contributions. Now, I aim to investigate this narrative in depth through a comprehensive series, revealing the two-thousand-year journey of calculus development, a tale that disproportionately credits Newton and Leibniz.