The boy who wouldn’t stay ‘in his place’

The boy who wouldn’t stay ‘in his place’

Bust of George Boole at University College Cork • Photo by William Murphy (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Originally published 23 July 1990

Inside the entrance of the Boole Library, at Ire­land’s Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege in Cork, the watch­ful eyes of George Boole gaze down on vis­i­tors from the stern but kind­ly por­trait that hangs in a place of honor.

The name will be famil­iar to every com­put­er sci­en­tist. George Boole’s alge­bra of log­ic under­lies the design of all mod­ern com­put­ers. The memo­r­i­al plaque on his home in Cork bold­ly calls him “the father of com­put­er science.”

That’s a claim to fame suf­fi­cient for any­one, but the sto­ry of George Boole—and his fam­i­ly — is extra­or­di­nary for oth­er reasons.

In two ways Boole’s sto­ry illus­trates the pow­er of the human mind to escape the com­mon­place. With noth­ing but pluck and hard work the poor son of a shoe­mak­er lift­ed him­self to a pro­fes­sor­ship of high­er math­e­mat­ics. And in his math­e­mat­i­cal research­es, Boole freed alge­bra from its long servi­tude to arith­metic. No less an author­i­ty than Bertrand Rus­sell cred­it­ed Boole with the dis­cov­ery of pure mathematics.

Inspiration to Einstein

Rus­sel­l’s appraisal may be an exag­ger­a­tion, but no one under­es­ti­mates Boole’s con­tri­bu­tion to the 20th cen­tu­ry. His math­e­mat­ics of invari­ants became part of the inspi­ra­tion for Ein­stein’s the­o­ry of rel­a­tiv­i­ty. And the “Laws of Thought” which Boole pub­lished in 1854 pro­vide the lan­guage for dig­i­tal computing.

Boole was born in Lin­coln, Eng­land, in the year of Water­loo, into pover­ty no less restrict­ing than that of his Amer­i­can con­tem­po­rary Abra­ham Lin­coln. In 19th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca, a boy might be encour­aged to bet­ter his posi­tion in life, but in class-bound Britain it was expect­ed that sons or daugh­ters of the low­er class­es should stay uncom­plain­ing­ly in their places.

Boole want­ed out, but with no clear idea where he could go. With no edu­ca­tion beyond pri­ma­ry school, Boole taught him­self Latin, Greek, French, and Ger­man. His father, a man of wide-rang­ing curios­i­ty, inspired Boole to study math­e­mat­ics and nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy. At the age of 19, the pre­co­cious young­ster opened his own school at Lincoln.

Boole learned math­e­mat­ics by read­ing (in French) the works of the great French mas­ters, Lacroix, Laplace, and Lagrange, plod­ding by can­dle­light through hor­ren­dous­ly demand­ing texts, forced to invent for him­self all of the math­e­mat­i­cal pre­lim­i­nar­ies he had nev­er learned in school.

Per­haps because he was self-taught, Boole noticed things about the sym­me­try and beau­ty of math­e­mat­ics that the great math­e­mati­cians had missed, most notably the germ of the the­o­ry of invari­ance, which lat­er became the basis for Ein­stein­ian relativity.

The orig­i­nal­i­ty of Boole’s work was soon rec­og­nized, and in 1849 he was appoint­ed Pro­fes­sor of Math­e­mat­ics at the new­ly estab­lished Queen’s Col­lege in Cork, now Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege, where he remained for the rest of his life. In 1854 he pub­lished the work for which he is now chiefly known, An Inves­ti­ga­tion of the Laws of Thought.

The gist of Boole’s con­tri­bu­tion was to rec­og­nize that the sym­bols of alge­bra, such as X, Y, + and ×, need not refer only to num­bers or oper­a­tions on num­bers. Boole applied them to the terms and cat­e­gories of human thought.

His free-rang­ing alge­bra even­tu­al­ly become the basis for the the­o­ry of dig­i­tal com­put­ers, but in the short run it helped lib­er­ate math­e­mat­ics from the tyran­ny of num­bers. After Boole (and his con­tem­po­rary William Rowan Hamil­ton), math­e­mati­cians felt free to explore abstract worlds of their own invention.

Boole died at age 50, only 10 years after the pub­li­ca­tion of his great book, leav­ing behind a griev­ing wife and five young daugh­ters. Any­one who wish­es to argue that sci­en­tif­ic tal­ent is genet­i­cal­ly trans­mit­ted can do no bet­ter that refer to the daugh­ters of George and Mary Boole.

Talented family

Ali­cia became a math­e­mati­cian of con­sid­er­able tal­ent, like her father self-taught. Lucy was a chemist, the first woman Pro­fes­sor of Chem­istry at the Roy­al Free Hos­pi­tal, Lon­don. Mar­garet is best remem­bered for her son, the well-known physi­cist Geof­frey Ingram Tay­lor. Mary’s hus­band, the math­e­mati­cian Charles Hin­ton, wrote on worlds of dimen­sions oth­er than three; he was prob­a­bly inspired by his moth­er-in-law and her daugh­ters. Most inter­est­ing of all is Ethel, whose life as a polit­i­cal rad­i­cal, rev­o­lu­tion­ary, lover of mas­ter spy Syd­ney Reil­ly, and best-sell­ing nov­el­ist deserves a book to herself.

Boole’s wife Mary, her­self only 32 at the time of his death, went on to make eccen­tric but inter­est­ing con­tri­bu­tions to the psy­chol­o­gy of education.

The key word here is lib­er­a­tion. In using his mind to lib­er­ate him­self from bur­dens of pover­ty and class, George Boole helped lib­er­ate math­e­mat­ics from restrict­ing con­ven­tions of the past. He also point­ed the way for his wife and five daugh­ters to chart uncon­ven­tion­al cours­es at a time when women were expect­ed to act in strict sub­servience to men.

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