part0006

“Science is incompetent to reason upon the creation of matter itself out of nothing. We have reached the utmost limit of our thinking faculties when we have admitted that because matter cannot be eternal and self-existent it must have been created.”

When he began his professorial role at Marischal College, James Clerk Maxwell was by far the youngest member of the faculty. At only 25 years of age, he had already achieved much, yet he still had much to prove. After his father’s passing, he was the master of his father’s Scottish estate of Glenlair where he would spend much of his downtime. In these days, Maxwell was the quintessential Scottish bachelor, and his home at Glenlair reflected as much. It boasted a modest cottage for his personal dwelling and well cared for yards and gardens as its surroundings. It was a simple life that Maxwell led when he returned home, but it was one that he loved.

Bouncing back and forth between his beloved countryside estate and the campus of Marischal College, Maxwell seemed to be a man always on the run. At the school, he was dedicated to 15 hours’ worth of lectures weekly. Wishing to cram in as much as he could within that 15-hour window, Maxwell made the classes he held stewardship over a whirlwind of an affair. It is said that while quite brilliant in his teaching, Maxwell’s rapid-fire pace was often hard for his students to keep up with. He was also known to drift from topic to topic in such a fashion that it could at times be aggravating to the listener. Maxwell was so fragmented in his speech that he could be talking about the latest equations in electromagnetism one minute and what he had for breakfast the next. One can only imagine Maxwell’s students vigorously taking notes to try to keep up with the lightning speed of their professor.

Along with lecturing students, Maxwell also devoted a considerable amount of time to his continued efforts in scientific research. Electromagnetism was of course still in the forefront. Also among these efforts was an inquiry into the planet Saturn’s rings. Researchers had struggled for centuries to figure out how the rings of Saturn stayed in perfect orbit around the planet without falling apart. Many long-winded debates had ensued over whether Saturn’s rings were solid or if they were an orbiting river of fluid held in perfect balance with the planet. James, who was a lover of all things in perfect geometric symmetry, decided to give this long-asked question a try for himself.

In 1857, St. John’s College in Cambridge happened to be conducting an inquiry into the matter, offering an award called the Adams Prize to anyone that could provide a convincing solution. Maxwell spent the better part of two years attempting to solve this riddle. Armed with his expert knowledge in regard to liquids and solids, James Clerk Maxwell determined that the rings of Saturn consisted of neither because a solidified ring would not be able to maintain stability and a liquified ring would break up in blobs.

So, what was his solution? Maxwell proposed that the rings must be made up of small particles, which he termed “brickbats.” An odd-sounding name perhaps, but Maxwell was able to get his point across. He turned in an elaborate and detailed report showcasing his entire theory, and it didn’t take long for the judges to determine him to be the winner of the contest. At the time no one knew for sure whether Maxwell was right or wrong, but he had made the most convincing effort and argument. It was on the basis of this monumental effort that he was awarded the prize. The idea that Saturn’s rings were made up of many small orbiting objects would be confirmed over a century later by the Voyager spacecraft sent to Saturn in the 1980s. In honor of Maxwell’s erudite prediction, NASA would later name one of Saturn’s physical features after the scientist. The space between the rings of the planet is now known as the “Maxwell Gap.”

Around the same time that Maxwell won the Adams Prize, a woman by the name of Katherine Mary Dewar won his heart. She was the daughter of a certain Reverend Daniel Dewar, who served as the principal of Marischal. The reverend himself was an interesting character who was well known for his fiery sermons as well as his hard work effort at Marischal. Maxwell had befriended him first and was introduced to his daughter Katherine later.

Katherine was seven years older than Maxwell, but despite the age difference, the two took to each other immediately. Katherine was an intellectual in her own right, and she and Maxwell shared many of the same interests. Since most women of this time period married before the age of 30, Katherine may have almost given up on the idea when Maxwell came her way. The fact that she had attained such an admirer as he was must have been a welcome turn of events. Maxwell himself seemed to acknowledge this state of affairs in a poem he wrote at the time. Commemorating the love they found with each other, the romantic stanza read:

With the reverend’s blessing, Maxwell married Katherine on June 2, 1858. The first couple of years of the Maxwells’ marriage would be good ones, but 1860 would prove to be a rather difficult time. Maxwell, despite all of his distinction, found himself dismissed from his professorship at Marischal College. This was due to no fault of his own; it was a simple effort to downsize the staff after a merger was made between Marischal and nearby King’s College of Aberdeen, Scotland. As the faculties of the two schools were combined, many of the key roles ended up with duplicate posts. In Maxwell’s case, it was a decision of keeping him or dismissing the incoming head of Natural Philosophy from King’s College, David Thomson. Thomson was a seasoned member of King’s faculty and considered indispensable.

Initially, Maxwell took the matter in stride and attempted to gain the seat formerly occupied by his old mentor Forbes at Edinburgh University. This post was ultimately denied him in favor of his old friend and schoolmate Peter Guthrie Tait. In the midst of this turmoil, Maxwell’s health would deteriorate in the form of a bad case of smallpox. His symptoms were dreadful, but after finally being awarded a new professorship—this time at King’s College in London—Maxwell managed to recoup and moved with his wife to the bustling British capital.