understand, if he concentrated with enough gusto. He later concluded, that
during the “plague years of 1665–1666 ... I was in the prime of my age for
invention & minded Mathematicks [sic] & Philosophy more than at any
time since.” Among the Lincolnshire heath, Newton had tilted the earth
toward a new philosophical understanding; and in intellectual
investigation, there “is nothing remotely like it in the history of
thought.”^27 He had the added pleasure of knowing that only he
comprehended the rules of the machine, and many years would transpire
until he was essentially forced to divulge his discoveries to the members
of the Royal Society.
Following Newton’s annus mirabilis, in which he created modern
mathematics, optics, and mechanics, he returned to Cambridge, quickly
ascending to the title of Lucasian Professor of Mathematics, vacated by
his mentor, Isaac Barrow. (The most recent, familiar Lucasian Professor
has been Stephen Hawking.) Barrow departed to London, where he was an
early member of the Royal Society—and the link between the Society and
his protégé back in Cambridge. Over the course of many years, Barrow
urged Newton to correspond with various members in London, and
beyond, but the reclusive professor evaded contact with surprising
dedication. After more than a decade, Isaac Newton finally made an
appearance at a Royal Society meeting, in 1675.
As the years passed, Newton overcame isolationism and envy. At first,
Newton’s discoveries were steadfastly cloaked behind a murky veil, but a
small circle of trusted friends, like Isaac Barrow, Robert Boyle, and
Edmund Halley, were able to entice him to reveal his secrets. The first
taste of his genius was an examination of the telescope he had fashioned
by hand. Later, papers started to trickle in to Oldenburg, followed by
months, or years, of silence. To a society dedicated to information flow,
these tantalizing notes from the nearby mastermind were scintillating, if
not frustrating.
Another new discovery had recently descended upon English shores:
coffee. The first London coffeehouse opened in 1652, and by 1663, there
were eighty-two coffeehouses within the old Roman walls of the City.^28
Just as the Royal Society was emerging, “coffee came to be portrayed as
an antidote to drunkenness, violence and lust; providing a catalyst for pure
thought, sophistication and wit.”^29 The Enlightenment was coming into