‘Our British Aesculapius’: John Radcliffe and Oxford

by Catherine Birch

Hello again! Sorry that the blog has gone a bit quiet in recent months – training took a pause while we supported all our busy readers through their exams and the end-of-year rush. We’ve all been working hard on the final stages of our projects, and we’ll soon have a couple of posts about our trainee showcase to share with you all! In the meantime, here’s a little local history lesson from the drafts to tide you over.


Since I moved to Oxford last year, it feels like I haven’t been able to escape the name Radcliffe. I work in the Radcliffe Camera, I get the bus to the John Radcliffe Hospital, I transfer books to the Radcliffe Science Library, and I walk past the Radcliffe Observatory Quarter on my lunch break strolls. It certainly seems like Radcliffe made the single greatest impact on Oxford since the city sprang up – but most people I ask just don’t know much about him. So, in true library fashion, I decided to start researching. Who exactly was Dr John Radcliffe, and why is half of Oxford dedicated to him?  

John Radcliffe was born c. 1650 in Wakefield, West Yorkshire. His origins weren’t humble: his father was an attorney, his mother’s family possessed “a considerable fortune”, and he had the benefit of being distantly related to the Earls of Derwentwater. However, it was Radcliffe’s brain that set him apart as a child. Local scholars, gentry, and clergy took note of his intelligence from a young age, advising his father to formally educate him rather than employing him in a trade or having him manage the estate. Radcliffe matriculated into University College in 1665, likely as a scholarship student, and immediately began making a name for himself.1 Records of his age vary, but it’s possible he started at Oxford when he was only 12!

Surrounded by other future scholars, reformers, and intellectual giants (think John Locke, Robert Boyle, and Christopher Wren), and with something to prove, he was all set to take Oxford by storm. He gained a series of degrees: a BA in 1669, an MA in 1672, an MB in 1675, and finally his MD in 1682. He was senior scholar at University College while attending and became a fellow at Lincoln College in 1670, lecturing in logic before he received license to practise medicine in 1675.   

Despite lending his name to two current Oxford libraries, Radcliffe himself was not well-read. Preferring to learn through practical medicine and anatomisation, he rejected classical ideas he considered outdated and had little patience for theory. This reached the point that his peers accused him of illiteracy, and his tutors were genuinely surprised by how little he read. When Dr Bathurst (an academic at Trinity College) visited Radcliffe’s chambers, he reportedly stood in shock and had to ask Radcliffe where his study actually was. Never one to be outdone, Radcliffe pointed to a skeleton, a herbal, and some vials, and said “Sir, this is Radcliffe’s library”. Thankfully he changed his stance on books later in life, and our current Radcliffe libraries are a little better stocked.  

Radcliffe gained much of his early notoriety in Oxford through his revolutionary approach to convalescence and healing. He shunned conventional practices like purging and resisted the use of invasive medicine where possible, encouraging patients to heal on their own. In 1675 Oxford was experiencing a devastating smallpox epidemic, and Radcliffe is credited with saving the lives of several patients who were viewed as beyond help. His unconventional methods also helped him attain his first patron, Lady Spencer of Yarnton, who was a well-connected society woman suffering from chronic pain. Several doctors had tried and failed to treat her, and she was losing any hope of recovery before her son-in-law recommended that she consult Radcliffe. Within weeks her treatment proved a resounding success – Spencer had not been able to walk in years, but with Radcliffe’s aid she was able to stand and move again. She was incredibly grateful for his help and repaid him by recommending him to anyone she could, starting him on the road to fame.  

After Radcliffe was denied further leave from his studies to practice medicine, he left Oxford for London and began attending to the rich and famous of the capital. Some of his more illustrious patients included Samuel Pepys, Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, and Isaac Newton! His reputation as a physician preceded him, although it was not an entirely positive one. Radcliffe was recognised as a talented doctor and an intelligent conversationalist, but equally as a plain-spoken and opinionated man whose bedside manner left something to be desired. One account claims that a bootmaker’s wife visited Radcliffe with a vial of her husband’s urine, hoping that the doctor could diagnose an illness from it (as was commonly done at the time). Radcliffe responded by emptying the container, filling it with his own urine, and demanding that the patient make him a pair of boots based on that.  

 In further evidence of both his genius and tactlessness, Radcliffe was appointed physician-in-Ordinary to King William III and to Princess Anne of Denmark but managed (on two separate occasions) to insult both royals so badly they forever rejected his help. When treating the king for gout, Radcliffe assessed the situation by declaring “I would not have your majesty’s two legs for your three kingdoms”, and he dismissed Queen Anne as hysterical because he didn’t want to leave the pub to attend to her. It’s testament to his skill as a doctor that even after these incidents the royals’ attendants and friends continued to consult him on their behalf, and he was privately involved with the family up until the queen’s death in 1714. Radcliffe himself would die only a few months later.  

With his death came Radcliffe’s true impact on Oxford, as his estate made provision for a great deal of investment in the university. His gifts included: 

  • £40,000 for the establishment of a library in his name (unsurprisingly, the Radcliffe Camera), and a further £150 a year for the librarian’s salary. 
  • £5000 to University College, for “the completion of college buildings”.
  • £600 a year to provide improved care and diets for the Radcliffe Infirmary
  • And a further £600 a year to fund two travelling fellowships for medical students at the university.  

Today, Radcliffe’s legacy stands firm in Oxford, with his marks visible across the city. Some people remember his life and work, but most simply know his name and not much more. Memory has certainly smoothed over some of his flaws – he isn’t best remembered for his royal blunders, after all – but it has also removed some of his best qualities.  

While Radcliffe himself may not have made much use of Oxford’s libraries in his day, I think the RadCam and the RSL are fitting tributes to the man. Radcliffe believed in research, practical knowledge, and independent learning – which is exactly what the Bodleian Libraries facilitate. More than a vanity project, his donations have enabled countless students to access information on their terms, direct their own studies, and learn in the ways which work for them. In a constantly changing world, a library is a powerful resource to have at your disposal – whether it’s full of books and journals or potions and skeletons.  

So next time you walk through the Observatory Quarter, or pay a visit to University College, or need a book from the History Faculty Library, think about John Radcliffe (and maybe be grateful he’s not in charge of treating you). 

  1. Note: While there isn’t concrete proof he was a scholarship student, his comparatively limited financial means and his dedication to funding fellowships make it highly plausible. ↩︎
  2. Wikipedia user ‘Camboxer’, via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0. See more details. ↩︎
  3. Photographed by the post author. ↩︎
  4. John Radcliffe by George Vertue, after Sir Godfrey Kneller, Bt. Line engraving, published 1757 (1710).
    NPG D31226 © National Portrait Gallery, London, CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 ↩︎

Astronomy at the Old Bodleian: The 1769 Transit of Venus

When you’re working at the Radcliffe Camera and the Bodleian Old Library, you sometimes end up fielding questions about the history of these establishments from curious readers, and so a colleague advised me early on to do a little bit of reading on the subject. We even keep a helpful printout of the Wikipedia page for the Bodleian Library at the Proscholium (the main entrance), and as I was looking through this a sentence caught my attention:

“The astronomer Thomas Hornsby observed the transit of Venus from the Tower of the Five Orders in 1769”. [1]

Interesting, I thought – having studied astrophysics at university, I’m a little bit of a space nerd. So, I started diving deeper into the topic.

What is the transit of Venus, and why was it important to observe?

Venus appears as a small black dot visible against the Sun, which appears large and orange.
The transit of Venus as photographed in 2004.

The transit of Venus simply refers to Venus crossing directly between the Earth and the Sun, like the moon does during a lunar eclipse. Since Venus is significantly further away from us than the moon, it appears much smaller, and so during its transit we would see a small black dot moving across the face of the Sun. The last two transits of Venus occurred in 2012 and 2004, and the next one won’t be until 2117. [2] Nowadays, an event like the transit of Venus is interesting to watch, and is a good way to get people interested in astronomy, but back in the 18th century, it was also of real scientific significance.

Edmond Halley (1656-1742), of Halley’s Comet fame, was the one to suggest that the 1761 and 1769 transits of Venus would be the perfect opportunities to take some measurements which could be used to calculate the distance of the Earth from the Sun, a question that became known as “the most noble problem in Nature”. [3]

But how would this be done? The answer lies in a phenomenon called parallax. [2] The simplest demonstration of parallax is to hold a finger a little distance in front of your nose, and close one eye, then the other. You should notice that your finger seems to move, because you’re now looking at it from a different angle. If you experiment with holding your finger at different distances from your face, the size of this effect will change. Similarly, if you watch the transit of Venus from multiple places on Earth, it will cross the edge of the Sun at very slightly different times, and if these times are measured accurately enough, you can work out the distances involved.

The 1769 transit

To get the best results, observations need to be made as far apart as possible. James Cook and his crew were to journey to Tahiti to observe the phenomenon there [4], and many scientists and keen amateurs planned to make their own observations all around the world [3]. As Bridgerton fans may recall, even King George III observed the transit.

The phenomenon really captured the public imagination. Lectures were held in the lead up to the event, and a wide range of prints and instruments were sold [3].

Observations in Oxford

Thomas Hornsby, the Savilian Professor of Astronomy at the time, chose to make

The Tower of the Five Orders. It is built of pale stone and is ornamental pilllars and statues decorating it..
The Tower of the Five Orders today.

his observations from the top of the Tower of the Five Orders at the Bodleian Library [5]. He described his reasoning as follows, in an article published by the Royal Society:

“I proposed to observe the transit of Venus and the Sun’s eclipse in the upper room of the tower of the Schools, which, though the floor of it be very unsteady, yet from its elevated situation afforded me the clearest view of the north-west part of the horizon, and is indeed the best place for making occasional observations in different parts of the heavens, and at different altitude, which this place at present affords.” [5]

Others made their own observations in locations including New College Tower and “an unfurnished room of the Hospital”. [5]

Hornsby described that although initially “the wind sometimes blew so hard as to incommode the observer”, the weather conditions soon became favourable to observe the transit. [5] However, he encountered the same problem as all the other observers: a phenomenon known at the time as the black drop effect, whereby Venus appears to stretch out and become pear-shaped as it meets the edge of the Sun’s disk. This, combined with the fact that the edge of the Sun’s disk appears darker than the centre, makes it very difficult to accurately judge the time at which Venus crosses the edge of the Sun. [2]

The results

Thomas Hornsby was one of several scientists who combined some of the data from different locations to attempt to calculate the distance from the Earth to the Sun. I found it fascinating that in his paper he does discuss ideas about errors and accuracy, albeit not in the quantitative way that a modern scientist would:

A series of drawings entitled "Appearances of Venus by Capt. Cook" showing Venus as a black circle with a grey halo around it , with the lower edge of the planet seeming to spread out as it crosses the edge of the Sun's disk.
Cook’s drawings of the black drop effect. [4]
“From the near agreement of the several results before found… and affected only by the necessary error in observing, the accuracy of the observation… is abundantly confirmed”. [6]

I also enjoyed the following sentence, which I can’t imagine ever seeing in a modern scientific paper, in which he explains an alteration he has made to the data gathered by the French astronomer Pingré:

“And Mr. Pingré… will probably be of the opinion, that an error of one minute was committed in writing down the time of his observation, as was conjectured by many persons, as well as myself; a mistake to which the most experienced observer is sometimes liable”. [6]

By the end of his calculations, Hornsby arrived at a figure of 93 726 900 miles [6] as the distance from the Earth to the Sun. Remarkably, there is only a 0.8% error in this compared to the modern value of 92 955 800 miles. [2]

However, different astronomers produced a wide range of different values [7], meaning that unfortunately, what we now know was a highly accurate result for Hornsby was a lucky fluke. Astronomers realised there were large errors in their data: instead of timings being precise to within a second, as they had hoped, there were uncertainties of about a minute, due to the black drop effect and the dark appearance of the edge of the Sun’s disk. [2] The final verdict was that the problem remained disappointingly unsolved. [7]

Final remarks

Despite the lack of a conclusive answer, I think this remains a fascinating part of the history of astronomy. The worldwide nature of the observations to my mind echoes modern enterprises such as the Event Horizon Experiment, which combines radio telescopes all around the world into effectively one huge telescope and so was able to take the first photo of a black hole in 2019. [8] Furthermore, the story of transit observations continues today as a key way in which astronomers are able to discover planets orbiting stars outside of our Solar System. [2] And all of this, to me, makes the connection to our own Bodleian Library site all the more exciting.

References

[1] Bodleian Library – Wikipedia Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.

[2] Transits of Venus | The Royal Astronomical Society (ras.ac.uk) Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.

[3] “The Most Noble Problem in Nature” (ox.ac.uk) Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.

[4] Cook, James, and Charles Green. “Observations Made, by Appointment of the Royal Society, at King George’s Island in the South Sea; By Mr. Charles Green, Formerly Assistant at the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, and Lieut. James Cook, of His Majesty’s Ship the Endeavour.” Philosophical Transactions (1683-1775), vol. 61, 1771, pp. 397–421. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/106113 Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.  https://solo.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/permalink/44OXF_INST/ao2p7t/cdi_jstor_primary_106113

[5] Hornsby, Thomas. “An Account of the Observations of the Transit of Venus and of the Eclipse of the Sun, Made at Shirburn Castle and at Oxford. By the Reverend Thomas Hornsby, M. A. F. R. S. and Savilian Professor of Astronomy in the University of Oxford.” Philosophical Transactions (1683-1775), vol. 59, 1769, pp. 172–82. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/105821 Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.  https://solo.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/permalink/44OXF_INST/ao2p7t/cdi_jstor_primary_105821

[6] Hornsby, Thomas. “The Quantity of the Sun’s Parallax, as Deduced from the Observations of the Transit of Venus, on June 3, 1769: By Thomas Hornsby, M. A. Savilian Professor of Astronomy in the University of Oxford, and F. R. S.” Philosophical Transactions (1683-1775), vol. 61, 1771, pp. 574–79. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/106123  Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.  https://solo.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/permalink/44OXF_INST/ao2p7t/cdi_jstor_primary_106123

[7] “The Most Noble Problem in Nature” (ox.ac.uk) Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.

[8] Press Release (April 10, 2019): Astronomers Capture First Image of a Black Hole | Event Horizon Telescope Accessed 6 Nov. 2023.

 

Happy Halloween (or autumn) from the Oxford Library trainees!

Whether you celebrate Halloween or not, it is hard to deny that autumn is an atmospheric, spooky

Radcliffe camera with a sunset illuminating its top half and shadow on the bottom. Blue cloudy sky behind.
Photo of the Radcliffe Camera at sunset.

time to be in Oxford. Walking around the city in October, the trees are turning auburn, the mist is setting in, and, as the clocks change, the orangey streetlamps lamps are illuminated earlier and earlier. The night sky turns a deep royal blue. The clamour of ghost tours resonates around Radcliffe Square, reminding readers in the Old Bodleian of the city’s ghastly and rather gory history.

To honour this, I thought that there was no better time to explore some of the more ghoulish stories from the history of the Bodleian (and Oxford College) Libraries. For a Library which can trace its history back to 1320, you can imagine that these stories are plentiful. Through periods of history such as the town vs gown riots, which saw a Brasenose student killed by a local murderous mob, Radcliffe square has a hidden gruesome history. Thanks to Old Bodleian trainee Nia Everett, I have been informed about an even more prolifically gory historical function of this beautiful square: the Old Bodleian Anatomy school.

Founded in 1617, the Old Bodleian Anatomy school was active in this location for over 60 years, with frequent dissections occurring to instruct students on all aspects of physical human anatomy, including the slimy bits! For a current student or librarian, only allowed to take liquids into the library if contained in a keep-cup or sealable bottle, such activities are impossible to imagine taking place within the walls of the current Bodleian. However, to 17th century readers in anatomy, this study formed a crucial part of their daily scholarly practice. Such readers were able to demand the body of anyone executed within 21 miles of Oxford for use in their dissections and examinations.

A particularly oddly-spooky story from the Anatomy school is the tale of Anne Green’s

Early modern woodcut reading 'behold god's providence' with an image of anne green being hung and her resurrected from her coffin.
Image of Anne Green’s hanging

resurrection at the hands of William Petty, the Reader in Anatomy at the time of her execution. Anne was hung in Oxford castle yard, accused of committing infanticide. On a cold December night, awaiting to be dissected on the operating table, Anne Green was resurrected by Petty and his colleagues after they detected a faint pulse. Though she was brought back to life, her story ends with arguably another early modern horror: being married off to a man.

 

Turning away from horrors carried out within the Bodleian building, and towards its collections, there are plenty of spooky, magical, occult and alchemical manuscripts within the Bodleian’s special collections. For example, the Ripley Scroll, almost 6 metres long, as illustrated in this excellent TikTok from the Bodleian libraries: The Ripley Scroll. This manuscript instructs the reader how to create the philosophers stone- an item which Harry Potter readers will know can grant immortality. Additionally, many grimoires used by medieval priests to exorcise demons still remain within the Bodleian’s collections, such as this manuscript whose facsimiles are hosted on Digital Bodleian: MS. Rawl. D. 252.

To finish, I would ask you to consider the history all around you. Students at many Oxford Libraries can look up and see hundreds of years of architecture and artistry. College libraries can be over four hundred years old (Corpus Christi), or can be moved to cloisters (Brasenose) or be so grand, like my library at All Souls, that there are metres and metres of intricate cornices, shelving and windows to gaze up into. At the time of Halloween, All Souls requiems and frosty mornings, the vale between the present and the past becomes ever thinner, and the weight of history ever heavier.